Free Murder at the Library of Congress by Margaret Truman Page A

woman’s shoulder. “Hey, Susan, don’t let it throw you.He’s a little high-strung, that’s all.” It sounded like the right thing to say.
    “I guess so. Sorry to be such a baby.”
    “Don’t worry about it. He seems to do a lot of traveling. With any luck, Mr. Paul won’t be around very much.”
    “I hope not.”
    “You look lovely. A heavy date?”
    The intern had changed from her sweater-and-jeans outfit into a pleated gray skirt, teal blouse, and white cardigan sweater.
    “No. Whenever I work in the main reading room, I have to dress up. Rules. I’m heading there now, working until closing.”
    “Better than going through Cuban newspapers?”
    “Much better. Well, see ya. Thanks for playing shrink.”
    Annabel watched the young woman leave. The change of outfit made her look more mature and professional. How exciting to begin one’s career as an intern in the library of all libraries. With her determination and spirit, Susan might well end up one day as the Library of Congress’s first woman Librarian, Annabel mused.

8
    The Librarian of Congress slowly replaced the phone in its cradle and sat back in his blue leather chair. The wall to his right had bookcases up to the ceiling, as well as a bottom shelf on which rested a television set and framed photographs. Three blue leather chairs with wooden arms were on the opposite side of the desk. A large area to his left was devoted to comfortable furniture including a tan couch and stuffed chairs, another wall of bookcases, and an oversized rotating globe. Doors on both sides of the room gave access to terraces providing sweeping views of the Capitol.
    While the stereotypical perception of workaday librarians was demonstrably inaccurate, the image of Dr. Cale Broadhurst as the leader of the world’s largest institution of information might not have been. He looked distinctly academic; that is, were he an actor, he would have been cast as an academician, perhaps as the Librarian of Congress.
    He was a small man, almost half size, and bald with the exception of a fringe of salt-and-pepper hair. His half-glasses were tethered to his neck by a colorful strap, and he was fond of tweed jackets, gray slacks, button-down blue shirts, bow ties, which he took pride in tying himself, and sensible brown leather shoes with thickcrepe soles. Beneath it all was a brilliant mind, verbal fluidity, and an occasional flash of pixieish humor. But the phone call he’d just taken had not stimulated amusement. Excitement and shock were more like it.
    He checked a clock on the wall. Four o’clock. The reception for Senators Menendez and Hale was at seven, giving him three hours to respond to the call in a meaningful, proactive way.
    “I’ll be with Ms. Mullin,” Broadhurst told his secretary, leaving the office and on his way to the office of Mary Beth Mullin, LC’s general counsel. The lawyer was a big woman as women go, rendered more so when standing next to Broadhurst. Although her official role at the library was clearly delineated by her title, over the years she’d become Broadhurst’s confidante of choice. He liked her law school way of thinking even for matters having nothing to do with law. As his confidence in her grew, and she became aware of it, she never hesitated to tell him exactly what she thought, about almost anything, including an occasional personal problem he confided in her. Mary Beth Mullin was no yes-woman, an attribute the Librarian appreciated and needed.
    She was on the phone when he arrived, which didn’t deter him from entering and taking a seat across the desk from her. She finished her conversation, hung up, and leaned back in her chair.
    “You look satisfied,” he said.
    “For good reason. My older daughter aced her government course at Catholic, and the repair estimate for my car isn’t quite equal to the national debt. You?”
    “National debt? I thought we had all kinds of surplus. If I didn’t have to play the role of beggar over