He spotted a small room that opened off the main library, so he wandered in and looked around. He noticed the walls; every square inch was covered with photographs and newspaper clippings featuring the future First Lady of the United States, Victoria Braden. There was Victoria on a yacht in the Chesapeake Bay; Victoria in a stunning dropped-back evening gown at the Bush 43 inaugural ball; Victoria on the steps of the Capitol beside her husband. Celebrities and famous faces were everywhere: There was Victoria with the Clintons, Victoria with the Bushes, Victoria with anyone and everyone who managed to push or shove their way in front of the camera to get their picture taken with one of the most beautiful women in the world.

Nick scanned a few of the newspaper and magazine clippings. Every one of them was a glowing tribute to one of Victoria’s stellar qualities: her beauty, her charm, her intelligence, her generosity, her tireless work for charity or on the public’s behalf. Apparently the woman was perfect; there wasn’t a single word of negative press anywhere in the room.

Nick shook his head. This isn’t a library, it’s a shrine.

“She’s somethin’, ain’t she?”

Nick turned. It was the librarian, standing and beaming proudly in the doorway.

“Yeah, she’s something. Who collected all this?”

“I did. She’s from Endor, y’know.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Most people don’t know that.”

Nick studied one of the photos. “I’ll bet she got a few invitations to the prom.”

“Oh, she left way before that—when she was just a little girl.”

Too bad for Endor, Nick thought. She would have made a major addition to the gene pool.

“She going to be First Lady of the United States,” the librarian said with a faraway look. “But she’ll always be our little Victoria—and she’ll never forget Endor.”

But I’ll bet she’s tried. “Did you find the records I asked for—the grave registries?”

Her face dropped. “No, sir, I didn’t. I’m sorry to say they just weren’t there.”

“Are they checked out?”

“You can’t check ’em out. They’re part of our historical holdings— that’s why we keep ’em in the back.”

“Maybe if I helped you look.”

“You’re welcome to try, but it won’t do you no good. I been the librarian here for goin’ on fifty years—I know every book we got and I know what shelf it sits on. We just don’t have no grave registries; I thought we might, but we don’t.”

“Can you think of any other historical record that might describe a graveyard near the Patriot Center? I’m looking for a burial plot or a list of the people buried there—even a good physical description of the area might help.”