Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [51]
“Beats me. Somebody mentioned him, that’s all. Just a coincidence.”
Lucianne’s expression was probing.
“See you tomorrow,” Annabel said. “I have a husband with a bad knee limping around our apartment getting dinner ready. Got to run.”
“If he ever gets tired of cooking for you, send him down to me. I haven’t had a man cook for me in a long time.”
Fat chance, Annabel thought, smiling and walking away. Get your own man, tiger.
Chapter 20
Sue Gomara looked out over the vast main reading room from her position at the central desk. Directly above was the famed domed ceiling, a hundred and sixty feet high, the female figure in its cupola representing human understanding. Surrounding that woman were a dozen other paintings saluting the countries or epochs that had contributed most to the development of Western civilization.
The room itself was inspiring, especially since its reopening in June of 1991 after being closed to the public for more than three years of renovation. The card catalogs, part of the decor for eighty-nine years, rendered outmoded by LC’s computer system but still used by some, had been moved to another location. Reader desks now completely encircled the raised central desk. All the desks had been wired for laptop computers. Soundproof carpeting, its design based upon the room’s architectural elements, had been installed, providing the sort of voluptuous quietude expected of libraries. The visitor’s gallery and alcoves on the second-floor-gallery level had been glassed in to further reduce noise.
Peaceful, contemplative, dignified—those were words Sue often used to describe where she was interning to friends who viewed the Library of Congress as only something to add to out-of-town visitors’ sight-seeing lists.
Until recently.
Until the breathy, vile calls started a month ago.
Her eyes went to the magnificent John Flanagan clock above the room’s main entrance. Five-thirty. Time to pack up that stint, go back to Hispanic to change clothes, and head home.
“Sure I can’t buy you a drink?” a colleague at the central desk asked as Sue tidied up her station. Ken Silvestrie had been asking her out ever since he started working the main reading room six months ago. He was attracted to Sue the moment he first saw her, especially her eyes, large, oval brown eyes filled with compassion—and passion?
“Ken,” she said pleasantly and quietly, “I told you my boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate my going out with you, or anybody else for that matter. Besides, you’re working till nine-thirty.”
Silvestrie’s smile was boyish. “When I get off, I mean. You’re not married to the guy, Sue. I mean, what’s the harm of us having a drink together? We work together. Just a drink to talk—”
Sue laughed, something else he was attracted to, her easy laugh and her large, white teeth.
“Talk business?” she said, touching his arm.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Thanks for the offer but I can’t.”
“He’s always out of town.”
Which was true. Sue’s live-in boyfriend of the past seven months, Rick Holt, was a junior auditor for the Senate Financial Institutions and Regulatory Relief Subcommittee of the full Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs Committee. Long title, simple job—travel the country and audit federally chartered banks to ensure their compliance with federal regulations. He was gone three weeks out of each month.
There were times when she considered accepting other men’s offers of a drink or dinner, but she’d resisted those urges, spawned by loneliness, because Sue Gomara could be as much of a pragmatist as she was a dreamer. She envisioned a future with Rick Holt and wasn’t about to jeopardize it. Too, having fallen in love with him meant being able to leave campus housing for a more grown-up life in an apartment. Her parents hadn’t been pleased at first, but soon accepted their daughter’s decision and continued to help support her college work and career aspirations.
“See you tomorrow, Ken,” she said, stepping down from the circular desk and heading for the main entrance.
The reading room was filled to