Murder in the stacks?

Why do writers love libraries? Maybe a better question would be: how could we resist? All those books, all that quiet, all those lovely little corners to hide away in. I recently found that I could get a limited pass to Harvard University's storied Widener Library and, boy, am I having fun. My excuse is that my current work-in-progress features a grad student who just happens to stumble across a body. The body belongs to her roommate, and the stacks are her refuge. But having spent a few hours in the quiet, narrow passageways, with floor-to-ceiling books making everything feel very private, I have a feeling things may change... not sure I want to put a body in there. But maybe... hmmm...