Fire Engine Dead by Sheila Connolly Read Free Book Online

FBI, even if only a little.
    After we’d eaten, we strolled out of the restaurant onto Broad Street. “Thank you for lunch, James,” I said demurely.
    “Thank you for agreeing to join me on short notice. I appreciate your assistance.”
    “I’m happy to be of service.” I couldn’t take it any longer and burst out laughing. “Okay, which nineteenth-century novel are we imitating? Good to see you, James. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting. And I’ll tell Marty to stop prodding us.”
    “Like that’ll work. Thanks, Nell.”
    And we went our separate ways. I walked back to the Society feeling, for once, a small sense of control over circumstances. I was still feeling good when I got back to my office.
    “Have you eaten yet, Eric?” I asked.
    “No, I was waiting for you to get back.” He handed me my sheaf of messages. “And Felicity left some stuff on your desk for you.”
    “You go ahead and find lunch. I’ll deal with this stuff.” I waved the messages. Maybe my elevated status dictated that I should have an underling place calls for me, but I thought that was nonsense: I was perfectly capable of dialing a phone by myself.
    Felicity had deposited a stack of folders and documentsmaybe an inch thick in the center of the desk. I wondered briefly if this was everything we had or only as much as she could find in an hour—I suspected the latter. I settled into my chair and began reading. Much of the information consisted of clippings about Philadelphia firefighting history, going back to Benjamin Franklin, and articles about fire insignias and insurance company charters. Felicity had made some annotations about which of those might have found a place in the Fireman’s Museum collections. All that was straightforward. A second folder moved on to nonpaper items, like buckets and fire axes and helmets. A third, slimmer folder included images, both pre and post the invention of photography, of fire engines. The early models were endearingly primitive, and I had to wonder if they were really much better than a line of guys passing buckets. But they quickly grew in size and elaboration, and morphed from horse-drawn hand pumpers to steam-belching monsters. The file stopped short of modern engines, as expected.
    Felicity had added some clippings about the acquisition of the showpiece engine that had perished in the fire, mainly because of the mention of the Terwilliger name. We even had some eight-by-ten press photos. It might have been an early model, but it was unquestionably elegant, down to the lush detailing of the decorative images on the sides. What a lovely thing it had been, and what a waste its loss was for the historical community.
    But…something was not right. On a hunch I pulled out the paper I had read in the morning, and opened it to the page with the warehouse spread, including pictures. I laid the two images side by side.
    I heard Eric return. “Eric, can you come in here a moment?”
    “Sure, Nell. What is it?”
    I gestured him closer. “Take a look at these two pictures and tell me if I’m crazy.”
    He came around to my side of the desk and looked at the pictures. “That’s from the warehouse fire, right? What a mess. And this other one’s what it looked like before? But…” His eyes met mine. “It’s not the same one?”
    I nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought. Even allowing for shrinkage and warping and whatever, the burnt one is simply the wrong shape. I think somebody pulled a switch.”
    “Oh my,” Eric breathed.
    “Exactly.”
    “What’re you going to do?” he whispered.
    “I’m not sure. But I think I’d better call Agent Morrison again.”

CHAPTER 5
    Maybe I was seeing things, or maybe I was looking for problems where none existed. Could there have been two engines in the collection? I tried to recall the one visit I’d made to the museum, and I was pretty sure there wasn’t room for more than one in the tiny space they had. But I knew I’d