Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [11]
“Probably, although I’ve been studying Spanish for the past three years. Took it in high school and college and promptly forgot most of what I learned. But I’m closing in on fluency now. Más importante.”
“Splendid,” Consuela said. “Let’s get you settled upstairs. I’ll set it up with Manuscripts for after lunch.”
“Before we go …,” Annabel said, “I was wondering about the interview with Michele Paul. Is that still on?”
Consuela’s sigh spoke volumes. Next came a laugh. “Charm school didn’t take with Michele,” Consuela said, becoming conspiratorial. “The charm gene was missing at birth. I couldn’t pin him down, Annabel. He returned a day or so ago from a trip to Peru so I know he’s in town. Michele single-handedly consumes our travel budget. I’d raise it with him but …”
“But it keeps him away from here,” Annabel offered, not sure she should.
“From your mouth. Michele should be here by noon. I’ll bring up the interview again.”
“I don’t want to make waves,” Annabel said, following Consuela from the office and to a door leading to the Hispanic and Portuguese division’s stacks. Consuela swiped one of several magnetic badges hanging from her neck through a slot on the door, unlocking it. “Make all the waves you like,” she said over her shoulder as they ascended to the balcony overlooking the reading room.
Maybe he’ll drown in them, Annabel silently translated.
The space that would be Annabel’s for the next two months was one of four such areas, each approximately ten feet square, with a desk, lamp, empty bookcases, and a photocopy machine. A phone rested on a small table. “You can make all the local calls you want,” Consuela said. “I see you’ve brought the requisite laptop. Here’s an outlet for it, and there’s a phone jack if you want to tap into the Internet from here.”
“It’s better equipped than my home office,” said Annabel, placing the laptop computer and a compact, portable ink-jet printer she’d purchased especially for the project on the desk. She looked about: “Who uses these other spaces?”
“The cubicle at the end is occupied these days by a master’s candidate from the University of Missouri.”
“Oh? What’s he researching?”
“It’s a she—Mary Alice Warren. Nice gal. You’ll like her. She’s studying ancient Spanish burial rituals.”
“Why?”
Consuela laughed. “Why not? It’s the age of specialization. She’s been hard at it for over a month, seems to love the subject. That next cubicle belongs to Richard Kelman. You’ll get along fine with him. He’s on a Fulbright to study how Spanish law impacted the way the indigenous populations of Mexico were treated under the Inquisition. He spends most of his time in Manuscripts poring over items in the Kraus Collection, and in the law library.”
“And who’s on this side?”
“Dr. Michele Paul.”
“Oh,” Annabel said. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have bigger space considering his credentials.”
“He does. His cubicle is eleven by eleven. Space is at a premium around here. Push come to shove, the books get more space, not people. Actually, we’ve kept this space you’ll be using vacant as sort of a buffer zone between Michele and Dick Kelman. Michele read a paper Kelman had written and berated him in front of a group of people, told him he was a pathetic excuse for a scholar or something like that. No, worse than that. They aren’t fond of each other.”
“So I’ll be a human buffer zone.”
“Sorry, but it’s the only space available, at least in Hispanic. If you’re uncomfortable, I can call Wayne Brennan in Scholarly Programs and see if he still has space.”
“No, thanks, Consuela. I’d rather be right here in Hispanic. We’ll all get along just fine.”
“Good. By the way, that desk in the hall belongs to one of our interns from Maryland U. Delightful gal. She splits her time between here and the main reading room. I’ve got her cataloging Cuban newspapers. We collect fourteen of them.”
“Fourteen newspapers published in Communist Cuba?”
“Fidel, the benevolent dictator and champion of free speech. Sure I can’t get you coffee to kick-start your project?