Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [28]
“Joining you. I’m packing up to leave.”
“Suit yourself. How was your interview with the famous Ms. Huston?”
“Fine. Yours?”
“A waste of time. She knows nothing, asked a series of stupid questions that didn’t deserve an answer.”
Annabel said nothing.
As Paul started to leave, Consuela Martinez appeared. “A minute, Annabel?”
“Sure.”
Consuela waited until he was gone before saying, “You can see why he’s never been married. He’s insufferable. Lucianne Huston told me he was totally uncooperative during the interview, barely answered her questions.”
Annabel shrugged. “A brilliant foul ball.”
“But that’s not why I wanted to talk with you. Dr. Broadhurst is having a reception tonight for Senators Menendez and Hale. A small gathering, sort of a thank-you get-together for all Menendez and Hale have done for us over the years. Dr. Broadhurst called to see if you would be available to attend.”
“I don’t know. I—that’s very flattering. I would have dressed differently.”
“You look just fine. Can you stay for it?”
“I think so. I was supposed to meet Mac for dinner at seven. Let me try to reach him on his cell phone. He’s at a going-away party for a colleague at GW.”
“You’ll only have to stay an hour,” Consuela said. “The Librarian is hosting a small dinner party after cocktails for the senators and their wives.”
She was successful in reaching her husband. “Sorry to bust in on your party, Mac, but Cale Broadhurst has invited me to a reception this evening for Senator Menendez. Starts at seven, over in an hour. Can we push dinner back to eight, eight-fifteen?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call and change the reservation.”
“Good.”
“How’s the party?”
“All right.” Obviously, it wasn’t wonderful.
“Knee okay?”
“Fine. Let’s be safe and make it eight-thirty.”
“Okay. Oh, I was interviewed this afternoon by Lucianne Huston.”
“I’m the husband of a celebrity. Fill me in at dinner.”
At a little before seven, Annabel wandered up to the Librarian’s office in the Madison Building, where she was handed a laminated badge to add to the one she already sported on a chain. “This gives you access after closing hours,” she was told. “You’ll need it.”
Annabel went to the terrace overlooking the Jefferson Building, where two dozen people had gathered for cocktails, served by white-jacketed staff. Senator Menendez spotted her immediately and came to her side, drink in hand. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Annabel,” he said in a rich baritone.
“A last-minute invitation,” she replied, plucking a glass of white wine from a moving waiter’s tray.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I understand Lucianne Huston is doing a story at the library.”
“She was. I was interviewed this afternoon. She was supposed to do a piece on the Las Casas diaries, but I don’t think she’s pleased with what she’s gotten so far. Her network’s doing a show to coincide with the Columbus celebration. I think whatever she got may end up on that special.”
Cale Broadhurst joined them.
“Glad you could make it,” the Librarian said to Annabel. “Senator Menendez tells me he’s working closely with you on the special issue of Civilization.”
“That’s right. He’s my editor.”
“In name only,” Menendez said. “I leave the real editing to the magazine’s professional staff. It is a great magazine.”
“I wonder if I might buttonhole you for a few minutes?” Broadhurst asked the senator.
“Of course. Excuse us, Annabel.”
She watched them enter Broadhurst’s office, stopping along the way to say something to another guest.
“Where’s your husband?”
Annabel turned to face Michele Paul.
“At his own party,” Annabel said. “We’re meeting later for dinner.” She was annoyed at herself for even volunteering an answer to the question.
“You didn’t say you’d be here.”
“Because I didn’t know I would be. Excuse me.”
She walked off, not with any specific destination in mind but simply to move away from him. The word smarmy came to mind as she joined Consuela Martinez, Dolores Marwede, and Mary Beth Mullin, who were chatting with Senator Bruce Hale, the central-casting, silver-haired senior Democrat from