Free Murder on Capitol Hill by Margaret Truman Page B

working for Senator MacLoon for over a year, led her down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs to an office which, Lydia instantly decided, had once been a large storage closet that had recently been cleaned out. A battered metal desk occupied the center of the room. Rings of dirt on the buff walls outlined where a row of file cabinets had once stood. Two small windows were caked with dirt, and what light they did allow to pass through had a yellowish-gray cast to it.
    “Just name it and it’s yours,” Petrone said. Lydia had taken an instant liking to him. He was tall and undeniably handsome, with a mop of brown hair that was appealingly unkempt. His smile was warm, genuine. He wore a brown plaid vested suit and tan knit tie.
    “I can think of a lot of things,” she said lightly, surprised and a little annoyed at her tone.
    He took a notepad and pen from his pocket. “Let’s make a list right now.”
    Twenty minutes later the list was completed. She thanked him for his courtesy and said she had to go back to her own offices for an appointment.
    “Just call on me anytime, Miss James,” he said. “I guess I’d be less than candid with you if I didn’t admit that I’m hoping to be able to hang around during the investigation. I graduated from law school last year and took this job with Senator MacLoon asa way to get a look at how government works. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve enjoyed it, and it’s been interesting. But I’d like to get back to something that’s a little closer to the law. I don’t want to be a pest but—”
    “Maybe I can have you assigned to me for the duration of the investigation. I’ll suggest it to the senator, if you’d like.”
    “I’d really appreciate that, Miss James. I really would.”
    “All right, then consider it done.”
    They walked down the hall together. Lydia’s gait was considerably faster than it had been earlier in the day, and Petrone had to move quickly to keep up with her. It had occurred to her as she stood in the small, temporary office that she deserved to be treated exactly as she had been since becoming involved with the Caldwell murder—like a small, helpless female child in awe of male authority. She’d been suffering from an unjustifiable fear of leaving the genteel comfort and security of her law practice to once again enter the more combative arena of Congress and criminal law, and was ashamed of how wishy-washy it had made her. Her dead father had had a favorite saying—“Drive it like you owned it,” and the warm memory of him and his insistence that she work for excellence in every phase of life filled her, at once, with guilt, and with determination to jump into this new and challenging role with all the vigor and dedication she could manage.
    “Remember what I said.” Petrone shook her hand. “You can call on me for anything. I just want to help in any way I can.”
    “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Very much, she added silently to herself.
    ***
    Petrone went back to MacLoon’s office, where he resumed reading his newspaper until the senator returned.
    “She squared away?” MacLoon asked.
    “I think so. We made a list of what she needs.”
    “What she really needs is a man,” MacLoon said. “You up to it?”
    Petrone smiled. “I’m always up for that. She intends to ask you to assign me to her for the duration of the investigation.”
    “I’ll put up a good argument against it but she can have you. Just make sure you stay close to her and keep me filled in on whatever the hell she’s up to.”
    “No problem there, Senator. I just want to help in any way I can.”

10
    The next two weeks passed quickly for Lydia. Rick Petrone proved to be a most helpful and efficient young man, and Lydia’s office was transformed into a workable, comfortable one. Besides providing all the necessary furniture and supplies, Petrone ordered extra touches—fresh flowers, prints on the walls, a radio and a love seat on which Lydia spent more