afternoon. Call me."
Simon carefully wrote down her number and silently rehearsed a message, if, as he expected, he got an answering machine, too. Simon loved answering machines. Communication without the distracting presence of the other person allowed one to tailor one's thoughts precisely. As the phone rang, he silently hoped that she didn't have a stupid message. He would have to scratch her name off his list if she did. She didn't.
When he got the beep, Simon did his best to sound like a grownup Pulitzer Prizewinning history professor entitled to her respect and even admiration.
"This is Simon Shaw. I'm going over to Chapel Hill to the Southern Historical Collection this afternoon to look at Charles Bloodworth's papers. Want to meet for dinner and compare notes? If you do, meet me at the Chinese place across from Kenan at seven."
Chapter Six
SIMON ALWAYS LISTENED TO JAMES TAYLOR WHILE DRIVING TO Chapel Hill. It just seemed appropriate. He had New Moonshine blaring on this trip, but he wasn't hearing it. He was so preoccupied with the Bloodworth murder puzzle that he arrived on the outskirts of town without any recollection of the passage of time or of the landmarks he must have passed on the way. Automatic pilot brought him straight to the library, where he found a place to park only because it was too pretty a Saturday afternoon for anyone other than the most desperate students to bury themselves in the windowless stacks. Simon had a sudden urge to defect himself, but instead, he found his way to the Southern Historical Collection and presented his requests to the student in charge. She looked at his request slips in horror.
"Do you know where this stuff is?" she asked. "I don't usually work here."
The girl was obviously in the middle of an intense cram session. She had bags under her eyes and her hair needed washing. Books and notes were piled at the desk where she had been working. She had probably planned to study during her entire shift.
"Exactly where," he said. "I've used these materials many times. Why don't you just let me go get them myself ?"
"I'm not supposed to do that," she said. "The Southern Historical Collection stacks are closed. I'm supposed to find them and bring them to you." She didn't move, though, just looked at the slips of paper and then at the monster card catalog in the middle of the reading room.
"Look," Simon said. "Let me find them myself. I went to grad school here. I just need a few minutes. I'll use them right there in the stacks and put everything back. You don't need to do anything."
Still she hesitated.
"I'm a full professor at Kenan College," Simon said. "I'm not going to steal anything. I just want to look a few things up. I can do it and be gone before you could probably find the stuff. You can hold on to my driver's license as collateral."
"Okay," she said. She carefully looked around before unlocking the barred door that guarded the collection.
Simon walked down two flights of steps and turned left into a regiment of shelves piled with file boxes. He found the aisle he was looking for, then pulled two of the boxes off a shelf. They were labeled CHARLES BLOODWORTH PAPERS, CHESAPEAKE AND SEABOARD RAILWAY. Bloodworth's papers were a small part of the huge inventory of files that the railway had given to the collection when its original Victorianstyle building had been torn down. The files covering the s had been an important source for Simon's thesis and book.
He hauled the boxes over to the nearest table and began to look for Bloodworth's appointment book and correspondence for 1926. Bloodworth left no other written records than these, Simon knew, because Simon and the local historical society's curator had thoroughly searched the Bloodworth House for documents when it had been deeded to Kenan College. Adam Bloodworth had left no written records behind at all.
He found the appointment book first. Among the usual business entries, Bloodworth occasionally jotted a few
Simon carefully wrote down her number and silently rehearsed a message, if, as he expected, he got an answering machine, too. Simon loved answering machines. Communication without the distracting presence of the other person allowed one to tailor one's thoughts precisely. As the phone rang, he silently hoped that she didn't have a stupid message. He would have to scratch her name off his list if she did. She didn't.
When he got the beep, Simon did his best to sound like a grownup Pulitzer Prizewinning history professor entitled to her respect and even admiration.
"This is Simon Shaw. I'm going over to Chapel Hill to the Southern Historical Collection this afternoon to look at Charles Bloodworth's papers. Want to meet for dinner and compare notes? If you do, meet me at the Chinese place across from Kenan at seven."
Chapter Six
SIMON ALWAYS LISTENED TO JAMES TAYLOR WHILE DRIVING TO Chapel Hill. It just seemed appropriate. He had New Moonshine blaring on this trip, but he wasn't hearing it. He was so preoccupied with the Bloodworth murder puzzle that he arrived on the outskirts of town without any recollection of the passage of time or of the landmarks he must have passed on the way. Automatic pilot brought him straight to the library, where he found a place to park only because it was too pretty a Saturday afternoon for anyone other than the most desperate students to bury themselves in the windowless stacks. Simon had a sudden urge to defect himself, but instead, he found his way to the Southern Historical Collection and presented his requests to the student in charge. She looked at his request slips in horror.
"Do you know where this stuff is?" she asked. "I don't usually work here."
The girl was obviously in the middle of an intense cram session. She had bags under her eyes and her hair needed washing. Books and notes were piled at the desk where she had been working. She had probably planned to study during her entire shift.
"Exactly where," he said. "I've used these materials many times. Why don't you just let me go get them myself ?"
"I'm not supposed to do that," she said. "The Southern Historical Collection stacks are closed. I'm supposed to find them and bring them to you." She didn't move, though, just looked at the slips of paper and then at the monster card catalog in the middle of the reading room.
"Look," Simon said. "Let me find them myself. I went to grad school here. I just need a few minutes. I'll use them right there in the stacks and put everything back. You don't need to do anything."
Still she hesitated.
"I'm a full professor at Kenan College," Simon said. "I'm not going to steal anything. I just want to look a few things up. I can do it and be gone before you could probably find the stuff. You can hold on to my driver's license as collateral."
"Okay," she said. She carefully looked around before unlocking the barred door that guarded the collection.
Simon walked down two flights of steps and turned left into a regiment of shelves piled with file boxes. He found the aisle he was looking for, then pulled two of the boxes off a shelf. They were labeled CHARLES BLOODWORTH PAPERS, CHESAPEAKE AND SEABOARD RAILWAY. Bloodworth's papers were a small part of the huge inventory of files that the railway had given to the collection when its original Victorianstyle building had been torn down. The files covering the s had been an important source for Simon's thesis and book.
He hauled the boxes over to the nearest table and began to look for Bloodworth's appointment book and correspondence for 1926. Bloodworth left no other written records than these, Simon knew, because Simon and the local historical society's curator had thoroughly searched the Bloodworth House for documents when it had been deeded to Kenan College. Adam Bloodworth had left no written records behind at all.
He found the appointment book first. Among the usual business entries, Bloodworth occasionally jotted a few
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