My eyes adjusted to the lower lighting level inside Barrel. Exposed brick walls and a wooden bar gave the watering hole a cozy, rustic feel, yet the place was a hipster’s paradise. Known for its craft beers, creative cocktails, bourbon, whiskey, and southern food, it was typically packed for happy hour. Luckily, the cold weather and our early arrival meant we almost had the place to ourselves. Dorian was sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the restaurant, and we hustled to join him.
Like any other self-respecting chief of staff, Dorian was buried in his iPhone and his fingers were flying across the screen faster than members of Congress racing to National Airport after the last vote of the week. After a few moments, he must have realized we’d arrived. His head popped up and a grin spread across his face.
“Evening, ladies. Please have a seat,” he said in a warm voice.
We squeezed into the seats opposite him. “Dorian, it’s fun to see you outside work,” said Meg. As she spoke, she smoothed her hair and returned the smile.
Maybe Meg didn’t even realize when she was flirting. It had become so ingrained in her modus operandi, flirting was the default rather than the exception.
Surprisingly, Dorian was all business. “Unfortunate circumstances, though,” he said as he passed out menus sitting on the table. “Perhaps we should order and then we can have our discussion.”
We studied the menu, although I knew what I’d get. Even though this was a bar specializing in spirits, I preferred wine. There was a long list of “brown water” options, namely bourbon, whiskey, and single malt scotch. I couldn’t touch the stuff. It made me queasy just thinking about it. Fortunately, happy hour Chardonnay was only five dollars. A match made in heaven.
Our waitress approached. Dorian asked for a Barrel Manhattan, the house specialty. Meg went next. “Make it two,” she said, with a wink. “Plus, an order of wings and buttermilk biscuits for everyone.”
I squirmed in my seat. So much for keeping it simple. However, the Barrel biscuits were legendary, and it seemed like an awfully long time since lunch.
After I placed my order, I turned my full attention to our guest. “Thank you again for agreeing to meet with us this evening, Dorian.”
He folded his hands. “If the Librarian thinks our discussion might be helpful, then it’s my job.”
Maybe not the friendliest response, but what the heck. At least he seemed cooperative. It was an improvement over what I encountered most days in my position as a congressional chief of staff.
“Do you know everyone who was present last night at the preview display?” I asked.
“I think so,” said Dorian. “Who are you specifically interested in knowing more about?”
This guy did not beat around the bush. “Let’s start with Joe Malden.”
“Red Sox fan extraordinaire,” said Dorian. “He would have been your guy if it had been something stolen from our baseball collection.”
Meg perked up. “Why does the Library of Congress have a baseball collection?”
“You should know this by now, but I’m happy to remind you that we have priceless treasures in many areas,” he said. “Including one of the best baseball card collections of the game’s early years.”
Our waitress arrived with our drinks and food. Meg dove right into the wings and made sure each of us had a plate with a buttermilk biscuit on it. “Don’t forget the honey butter,” she said in between bites.
“Back to Joe Malden,” I said, spreading the butter on my biscuit. “He seemed cagey when I inquired about the murder earlier today.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like Joe. What did you ask him about?”
“He was tight lipped when I asked who could have committed the crime,” I said. “Then he became uber defensive when I mentioned Lea Rutherford’s name.”
Mid-sip, Dorian put his drink down. “That explains it.”
Meg had also sampled her libation. She put it down quickly. “Quite strong. Maybe I should have stuck to my usual Prosecco.” The Italian bubbly was her favorite, and it was light years away from a stiff Manhattan.
“What explains it?” I asked. The biscuit was a perfect southern concoction, literally melting in my mouth. Thank goodness for Meg’s insatiable appetite.
“It’s not well known, but Joe Malden and Lea Rutherford are more than Library of Congress acquaintances.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
“They’re knocking boots?” asked Meg.
I shot my best friend a killer glance. No more liquor for her at happy hour. “What Meg meant to ask,” I said, “is whether they are engaged in a romantic relationship.”
Dorian laughed. “You don’t have to act politically correct around me. And the answer is yes. To both of your questions.”
“So that’s why Malden clammed up when I started fishing around,” I said.
“Because he was trying to protect Lea Rutherford?” asked Meg.
“Could be,” said Dorian. “But their relationship isn’t exactly well received.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She’s one of the Library’s most affluent patrons. It’s not kosher for an employee to be in a relationship with her,” said Dorian. “Quite frankly, I don’t mind so much and neither does Miriam. You know, live and let live.” He paused for a beat before continuing. “But Gustav Gaffney did not like it.”
I sipped my unoaked Chardonnay as I considered Dorian’s comment. “Did Gaffney forbid it?”
Dorian finished a wing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That’s tricky business. It’s hard to forbid a relationship between consenting adults. But Gustav could certainly make sure Joe knew he disapproved.”
“How so? By scolding him?” Meg imitated the words by wagging her index finger at Dorian while giggling.
“A little more than that,” said Dorian. “He could cut him out of meetings or decisions. You know, make sure he realized what the dalliance was costing him professionally.”
“Is that all it is?” I asked. “A fleeting affair?”
Dorian sipped his Manhattan and thought for a moment before responding. “It’s a fair question. I’m not sure how to answer it. Like any competent chief of staff, I make sure I know most of the gossip. But I haven’t asked Joe directly about his relationship with Lea.”
“Even if Joe and Lea are having a serious affair, it doesn’t explain the theft,” said Meg. “Joe might have had a motive to kill Gaffney, but why would he steal the contents of Lincoln’s pockets?”
Dorian nodded. “Meg has a good point. I can’t see Joe stealing a Library of Congress treasure. He might hold a grudge against Gaffney but stealing a valuable part of our collection would be really out of character.”
“Perhaps he has money troubles,” I said. “That’s the obvious motive. As a lawyer, he might know how to evade law enforcement when trying to sell the items.”
“That would make sense. But if Joe and Lea were hot and heavy, you’d think she’d take care of any financial problems Joe might have,” said Meg.
Meg was right. The motive for murder might be there, but why theft? The same reasoning applied to Lea Rutherford. She clearly disliked Gustav Gaffney, who didn’t seem to support her philanthropic initiatives and disapproved of her personal relationship with Joe Malden. Given that Lea had gobs of money, would she really need to steal valuable items? She could buy almost anything she wanted that was for sale legally.
“Let’s move on,” I said. “Gordon Endicott knew about the safe. Do you know anything about him?”
“He’s our rare books librarian,” said Dorian. “There’s not much gossip about him. But given his position, he’d definitely know how to move stolen goods on the black market. He’d have the connections.”
“He’s one of the only people with the means to profit from the theft,” said Meg. “We shouldn’
t forget that.”
“There’s another delicate matter concerning Endicott,” I said. “Joe Malden told me today that he wanted the job Doug ended up getting.”
Dorian took another sip of his drink before answering. “Joe is right. But Miriam thought Gordon’s talents were better suited for his current position. She preferred your husband for the job.”
“I’m worried Endicott might try to cast suspicion on Doug,” I said. “If he’s guilty, it would doubly benefit him.”
“Even if he’s not guilty,” said Meg. “It would be a convenient way to discredit Doug and take the job he always wanted.”
Dorian shook his head. “That sounds awfully calculating for Gordon Endicott. He’s a smart guy, don’t get me wrong. But that would be really malicious.”
Meg and I exchanged knowing glances. Dorian hadn’t been acquainted with as many murderers as we had. Criminals of this caliber were ruthless. A few years ago, we wouldn’t have believed seemingly normal people could stoop to such low levels. Now, our eyes were wide open.
“Thanks for your help, Dorian,” I said. “The last Library of Congress staff member who attended was Janice Jackson. Given our congressional work with the oversight committee, Meg knows Janice pretty well.” I motioned for her to take it over.
“I can’t think of a reason why Janice would do this,” said Meg. “After all, her job is to promote the Library of Congress with politicians. This debacle will raise a ton of questions about security and other matters. It will prove a real challenge.”
Dorian drained his drink. “Don’t remind me.” Meg’s comment must have depressed him. He motioned to our waitress he’d like another.
“Janice has always been very helpful when I’ve asked for information,” said Meg. “Am I missing something?”
Dorian pursed his lips. Was he trying to decide if he should divulge something?
“We’re not the police,” I said quickly. “Even rumors can be helpful. After all, the Librarian of Congress and Maeve Dixon wanted us to investigate.” I hoped my prodding would encourage Dorian to spill what was on his mind.
Before he could speak, we were interrupted by a familiar twang. “Well, snap my garters! If it isn’t Miss Detective of Capitol Hill.”
I turned around to the face of Grant Dawson, the head of the United States Botanic Garden.
“Mr. Dawson,” I said, extending my hand. “What a pleasure.”
Grant Dawson had been embroiled in our last murder mystery. He’d proven a particularly colorful character, full of southern musings and expressions. In the end, he’d been quite helpful in pointing me in the right direction of the guilty party.
“I see you know my friend Dorian. You really do get around.” Then he turned toward Dorian. “They’re both as pretty as a peach, but don’t underestimate them. These gals mean business.” He followed up his comment with a wicked cackle.
Dorian’s glass had been refilled, and he seemed especially grateful for it. “That’s fair warning, Grant.”
“How do you two know each other?” asked Meg. “I don’t see too much connection between plants and old books.”
“Well, it’s as plain as a pig on a sofa,” said Grant. “There’s a legislative branch working group who gets together and discusses how to promote our Capitol Hill events.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Meg.
“Let me tell you, little missy, there’s much more to the legislative branch than Congress,” said Dawson.
Factually correct, although wasn’t that like saying there was more to the executive branch than the President? Or more to the judicial branch than the Supreme Court? All true statements, but somehow not exactly right, either. Congress ruled Capitol Hill and everyone knew it.
“We’re still learning,” I said. “Since Maeve Dixon became the chair of the oversight committee.”
“That’s right,” said Dawson. “You’re like royalty these days.” Then he looked at Dorian and back at me and Meg. “Wait a second. This here is no coincidence.” He shook his finger at us. “You’re talking about the murder at the Library of Congress. I read about it online this afternoon.”
“We’re just having a friendly discussion,” I said. “Don’t read into it.”
Dawson smirked. “Congress’s junior Miss Marple is on the prowl again,” he said. “That killer should be worried. Y’all are more tenacious than flies on. . .” He paused. “Well, I won’t say.”
“We were talking about Janice Jackson,” said Meg. “Do you know her?”
I shot Meg daggers. Why was she egging Grant Dawson on? Besides, there was no need to discuss the investigation with outsiders.
Grant waved his hand dismissively. “That dog don’t hunt,” he said. “Janice Jackson is as straight as an arrow. Besides, why would she want to kill someone and steal from the Library of Congress? That’s where her buns are buttered.” He laughed at his own joke.
Dorian looked at Grant with an amused look on his face. “Well, if we knew the answer to that question, we wouldn’t be drinking bargain whiskey at happy hour.”
Grant Dawson stared at Dorian for several seconds and then burst into laughter. “Ladies, watch out. This one’s slicker than snot and smashed bananas. I’d better get back to my table. They’ll be wondering what happened to me. Holler if you need me!” With that, Grant Dawson disappeared into the now crowded bar area, sashaying his way back to his undoubtedly rapt entourage of plant-loving friends.
“That guy is too much,” said Meg.
“He’s certainly one of the livelier characters we’ve met in our travels,” I said. “There’s no forgetting Grant Dawson.”
“Or Janice Jackson,” said Meg. “We were just about to discuss her when Grant stopped by our table. Were you going to say something, Dorian?”
“I doubt it’s significant,” said Dorian. “But there was certainly friction between Gustav Gaffney and Janice.”
“Can you tell us more?” I prodded.
Dorian sighed. “Gustav thought she could maintain a broader network within Congress. At times, he was highly critical of her.”
“It sounds like Gaffney was really popular.” The sarcasm dripped from Meg’s voice. “Did anyone like him?”
“Miriam Dunlap did,” he said immediately. “I always got along with him, too. He really had to keep the trains running and hold people accountable. It wasn’t an easy job.”
“Understood,” I said. Dorian’s comments were consistent with what I’d heard from the Librarian earlier today. “But Janice Jackson could have simply murdered Gustav. She didn’t need to steal anything from the safe.”
Dorian finished his second drink. “Sounds like you both have your work cut out for you.” He threw down a twenty-dollar bill. “I need to get back to work. Give me a ring if you’d like to talk again.”
I gave Meg some cash towards the check, and as she settled up with the waitress, I glanced at my phone. Darn. I’d missed several text messages during happy hour, including one from my brother.
Are you and Doug free to have dinner w/ me and Lisa tonight? I’ll bring pizza.
I immediately texted Doug, who told me he’d left work as early as possible. He was already at home, enjoying a glass of vino and relaxing by our gas “faux” fireplace. He was happy to meet Sebastian’s new girlfriend, and even more delighted that the deal included pizza.
I responded in the affirmative to my brother and turned to Meg. “Time to go home. Sebastian is bringing Lisa Reddy over, the new girlfriend.”
We left the bar and picked up the pace down Pennsylvania Avenue to avoid the cold walk back to the Cannon Building. “Your brother isn’t wasting any time. He must really like her,” said Meg.
“I ran into Lisa today at the Library of Congress,” I said. “She was there to secure the building after the crime had been reported to the police. I’m sure she told S
ebastian about it.”
“Sort of an awkward first meeting,” said Meg. She imitated my voice. “Hello, my brother is dating you. And by the way, my husband is being questioned by your boss about the murder that just occurred upstairs!”
Meg had a way of funny way of making the mundane seem hilarious. “Well, it didn’t quite happen that way. But I’m sure it was confusing, especially for her.”
“I’m at my stop,” said Meg, pointing to the Hawk ‘n’ Dove bar.
“What are you doing tonight?” We were several blocks away from the Metro station.
“Clay is meeting up with some other G-O-P chiefs of staff,” said Meg. “He invited me to join them.”
What a romantic night. While the H&D had certainly upped its game in the past several years with major renovation and improved menu, it didn’t really qualify as a venue for a hot date. I’d best keep my mouth shut. Meg needed to sort this love triangle out on her own.
I forced a smile. “Have fun.” I couldn’t resist adding a dig. “On your group date.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Kit, don’t be so conventional.” With that rejoinder, she flipped her bob, opened the heavy door, and strutted into the bar.
There’s a fine line between convention and self-respect. On the other hand, who was I to judge? My husband and I were excited at the prospect of someone providing us with free pizza for dinner. We weren’t exactly on the Washingtonian party circuit.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled our Prius into the garage underneath our condo building in Arlington. If we moved to a house in a far-flung suburb, I was going to miss these relatively short commutes home.
After I parked the car, a text message was waiting for me from Doug.
Lisa & Sebastian brought a guest.
Maybe group dates were en vogue these days. Had they brought a friend of Lisa’s? It seemed strange to invite someone else when meeting the sibling of your significant other.
I braced myself before entering our condo, ready for Clarence’s usual exuberant greeting. After turning the knob, I slowly pushed the door open, waiting for the inevitable attempted escape. This time, Clarence was nowhere to be found.
Larceny at the Library Page 9