Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [97]
She fast-forwarded through the pages until reaching the copy she’d made of the final fifteen pages from the fifth disc. Then, using the cursor, she slowly scrolled down through the pages, brow furrowed, tongue running over her lips as she went. She repeated the process three times, frequently stopping to make notes. As she was about to start a fourth reading, she realized she hadn’t told Mac that she wouldn’t be home for dinner. She called; he answered on the first ring.
“I’m going to be late, Mac. A meeting with Cale and others.”
“About?”
“The discs and what’s on them. They’re being duplicated and printed out now. The meeting won’t start until that process is completed, so I can’t give you a definite time.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“No, the adrenaline kicked in, and I had a cup of coffee after lunch that would wake the dead. Consuela is ordering dinner. Why don’t you pop down to the hotel, have a drink and dinner, and get to bed. Don’t wait up for me.”
“I’ll do what you suggest about a drink and dinner, but I’ll be up when you get here.”
“Okay, but it may be late.”
“Just don’t stick that pretty neck out too far, Annie. You’re there to research an article, not end up knee-deep in a murder case.”
“Take care of your own knees, darling.”
Annabel willed herself to get back to focusing on the article.
While she worked, Mac took Rufus down in the elevator for a walk, returned to the apartment, made a few phone calls, and started out the door to go to the Watergate Hotel’s dining room for dinner. The buzzer from the front desk of the South Building stopped him.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Smith, you have a visitor.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Ms. Huston. Shall I send her up?”
“Really?” He paused to think. “Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”
Lucianne was pacing the large lobby when Mac stepped off the elevator. “A pleasant surprise,” he said, shaking her hand. “What brings you here?”
She smiled and said, “Couldn’t it be that I simply wanted to stop in for a friendly visit?”
“Sure, but unlikely. This isn’t Mount Pleasant, Iowa. Friendly visits are usually preceded by a phone call.”
“I didn’t have time. I just got off a plane from Los Angeles.”
“I was just heading to the hotel for dinner,” Mac said. “Buy you a drink?”
“Sure, dinner, too, if you’re in the mood for company.”
They left the lobby and headed down into the mini-mall of shops that linked the buildings in the Watergate complex.
“Where’s your wife?” Lucianne asked.
“At the library.”
“Working late?”
“Yeah. The deadline for her article is coming up fast and she’s feeling under the gun. So to speak.”
“I tried to call her there but didn’t get any answer on the number I have. I assume you know how to reach her. What’s new there on the murder and David Driscoll?”
Mac stopped walking, turned, and asked, “Is that why you showed up at the apartment, to see if I can reach Annabel for you?”
“That’s one reason. I came to see you, too.”
He grunted and resumed walking.
“You’re limping,” she said.
“A trick knee, that’s all. I’d say it’s an old war or football injury, but the fact is it’s just an old man’s wear and tear.”
“Make up something exotic.”
“Maybe I will.”
They sat at a table in the Potomac Lounge and ordered drinks. Lucianne took in her surroundings before saying, “The famous Watergate, symbol of the Washington power elite.”
“And occasional scandal,” Mac added.
“Speaking of scandal….”
“You never quit, do you? I’m sure you know more than I do.”
“And you’re probably right, although I was hoping your wife’s insider status at the library would add, well, insider information.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
A tourist couple recognized Lucianne and stopped to tell her how much they enjoyed her work on television and asked for an autograph, which she graciously provided.
“What were you doing in Los Angeles?” Mac asked after the tourists left the table.
“Tracking down Driscoll.”
“Successfully?”
“I