Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [76]
“That must be terribly upsetting. He’ll probably become tired of calling and stop,” Annabel said, finishing her sandwich. “If it keeps up, tell me. Mac may have an idea or two. Thanks for sharing the table with me. Have to get back.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
Annabel was alone in the space on the upper gallery that afternoon, with the exception of Sue Gomara, who sat at her small desk going through the contents of a file box at her feet.
“Made any discoveries yet?” Annabel asked.
“No, only I suppose it’s all interesting to somebody. This guy Koser collected a lot of strange things. He was big into Haiti.”
“I love Haitian art. My husband and I have bought a few pieces over the years. What other collections will you be going through?”
Sue glanced at a note on her desk. “Aaronsen and Covington. I’m almost done with the Koser box.”
At four, Annabel remembered that Mac had had a two o’clock appointment with his orthopedic surgeon, Giles Scuderi. She called the apartment.
“Just came through the door,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fine, but the question is how are you? What did Giles say?”
“What he always says, that I need surgery.”
“And?”
“I told him to go ahead and schedule it. He assures me that my knee will be good as new. It’s an outpatient procedure. He’s getting back to me with a date.”
Annabel broke out in a self-satisfied smile. “Great,” she said.
“I suppose so. What’s new at LC?”
“Lots, although I’m trying to stay focused on my research. Lucianne Huston did a report on the noon news. She claims David Driscoll was paying Michele Paul really big bucks, ostensibly for his research findings.”
“No surprise. She talked to you about it and to us at dinner.”
“But it’s a different story when it’s broadcast around the world. Everyone’s on edge.”
“Stick to your guns, Annie, and stay out of it.”
“Wish I had a few guns. Not easy, but I’m trying. Should be home by six.”
“I’ll be here. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mac.”
She worked at her desk for a while until a kink in her back prompted her to get up and stretch. She wandered over to where Sue Gomara had just started on her second box, the one marked AARONSEN COLLECTION.
“How goes it?” Annabel asked.
“Great. I finished the first one; I’m starting this one now.”
“Good for you. I’d take my time, Sue, so you don’t overlook anything.”
Annabel started for the stairs but stopped when Sue called, “Mrs. Reed-Smith, look at this.”
Annabel returned to the intern’s side and looked at the envelope she held. Written on it was LAS CASAS.
“What have we here?” Annabel said, perching on the edge of the desk and opening the envelope. Inside were five computer discs; each had LAS CASAS written with a black felt-tip pen on its label.
“These might be helpful for the article you’re writing,” Sue said.
“I imagine they will be,” Annabel said, more to herself than in response to Sue. “The Aaronsens collected material on my guy?”
“Yup, looks that way. Underneath these other papers.”
Annabel had no idea who the Aaronsen family were, or their approach to collecting Hispanic and Portuguese manuscripts and books. But they evidently had quite an interest in the man who’d been consuming Annabel’s days and nights since starting her research. What good luck, she thought as she replaced the discs in the envelope and stood. “I think I’ll pop one of these in my laptop and see what’s on it. As the line goes, Sue, you might have made my day.”
“Great!”
At five-thirty, Annabel returned the disc she’d been looking at on her laptop to its envelope and started down to the reading room.
“Anything good on the discs?” Sue asked as Annabel passed.
“Ah, I think so, Sue. I have to talk to Consuela. Thanks again for finding these. They’re … they’re very interesting.”
Consuela was in her office preparing to leave for the evening. With her was Dolores Marwede.
“Got a minute?” Annabel asked.
“Sure,” the division chief said.
“I was just leaving,” Dolores said. “I have a date.”
“Good for you,” Consuela said.
“Yeah, nice guy. He’s a librarian at the Smithsonian.