Read Online Cyanide Wells by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcia Muller
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well reasoned stories. I admire that kind of control.”
And how had Gwen achieved such control? The picture that Maynard painted was not of the woman Matt had married.
“What’s Coleman like personally? She married? Have kids?”
Maynard smiled. “What, you thinking of asking her for a date?”
“I’m just curious about how a woman like that balances work and family, if she has any.”
Maynard seemed unconvinced of his reply. “Look,” he said, “she’s a good friend of McGuire’s. Why don’t you ask her?”
He’d have more success prying information out of the Great Sphinx. “I guess I’d better wait till she’s having a better day.”
“Good luck, buddy.”
Within fifteen minutes, a memo from McGuire was delivered to his desk by a young man with magenta-and-green hair and multiple body piercings, who identified himself as the office gofer. “Name’s Nile, like the river.”
“No last name?”
“Don’t need one. How many people’re called Nile? Besides, Nile Schultz sounds just plain stupid.” He gave him a little salute and walked away.
Matt picked up the memo and studied it. It was computer-generated, printed on the back of what looked to be copy for a story, which had a big black X through it. McGuire clearly didn’t waste paper—or type very well, either.
John, I called your former editor this a.m.and she gave you a glowing recommendation. I hope youcan live up to it. Here’s the schedule of your assignments fortoday. I want to meetwith you at 4:30 after you’ve completed them.11:30a--meet Vera Craig at the newKinkade gallery, MainSt.next to the Book nook. Vera will tell you what shots she needs.1:30p--Gundersons silver wedding anniversaryshoot, their home,111 Estes St. I assume youhave a map, if not purchase one.2:15p--Pooh’s Corner, next toAram’s, need shots of new line of anatomically correct dolls that are causing thecurrent flap. Avoid private parts, the parents are up in arms and we don’t want to further incitethem. Thanks, Carly.
It was now a little after ten; since his first assignment wasn’t until eleven-thirty, he had time to slip away and check out Gwen’s home more closely. Grabbing his camera bag, he left the office and drove off toward Drinkwater Road.
The expensive SUV sat in the paved area by the footbridge but in a different place than on the previous afternoon; probably Gwen had driven her little girl to school. Matt drove past, turned, and zoomed in on it, snapping a photo showing its license plate number. Then he drove to where he’d parked before and moved along the road, taking random shots to either side. A casual observer would probably have assumed he was documenting the regional plants and trees, but the true objects of his shots were Gwen’s mailbox, the footbridge, and the extent of her property. When he finished the roll, he drove back toward town and his first appointment, wondering whether he could persuade Vera Craig to have lunch with him. The arts editor seemed open and friendly, exactly the sort of person who might be willing to answer his questions about the paper’s prizewinning former reporter.
“Hell, honey,” Vera Craig said, “none of us see much of Ard these days.” She speared a lobster ravioli from the plate she and Matt were sharing at Mamma Mia’s, bit into it with her eyes closed, and made a sound of pure sensual delight.
Matt tasted one. It was good, but not enough to nearly induce an orgasm. “Why not?”
“I guess she’s just holed up at home, working on her book. It’s giving her trouble. At least that’s what Carly says.”
“You know her well?”
“Nobody knows Ard well, except for Carly, and sometimes I wonder about that. I’ve been acquainted with her since she came to town, and after fourteen or fifteen years, I still don’t know what makes her tick.”
“She worked for the paper right from the first?”
“Yeah, as a gofer, then general assignment reporter. Good one, willing to take on
And how had Gwen achieved such control? The picture that Maynard painted was not of the woman Matt had married.
“What’s Coleman like personally? She married? Have kids?”
Maynard smiled. “What, you thinking of asking her for a date?”
“I’m just curious about how a woman like that balances work and family, if she has any.”
Maynard seemed unconvinced of his reply. “Look,” he said, “she’s a good friend of McGuire’s. Why don’t you ask her?”
He’d have more success prying information out of the Great Sphinx. “I guess I’d better wait till she’s having a better day.”
“Good luck, buddy.”
Within fifteen minutes, a memo from McGuire was delivered to his desk by a young man with magenta-and-green hair and multiple body piercings, who identified himself as the office gofer. “Name’s Nile, like the river.”
“No last name?”
“Don’t need one. How many people’re called Nile? Besides, Nile Schultz sounds just plain stupid.” He gave him a little salute and walked away.
Matt picked up the memo and studied it. It was computer-generated, printed on the back of what looked to be copy for a story, which had a big black X through it. McGuire clearly didn’t waste paper—or type very well, either.
John, I called your former editor this a.m.and she gave you a glowing recommendation. I hope youcan live up to it. Here’s the schedule of your assignments fortoday. I want to meetwith you at 4:30 after you’ve completed them.11:30a--meet Vera Craig at the newKinkade gallery, MainSt.next to the Book nook. Vera will tell you what shots she needs.1:30p--Gundersons silver wedding anniversaryshoot, their home,111 Estes St. I assume youhave a map, if not purchase one.2:15p--Pooh’s Corner, next toAram’s, need shots of new line of anatomically correct dolls that are causing thecurrent flap. Avoid private parts, the parents are up in arms and we don’t want to further incitethem. Thanks, Carly.
It was now a little after ten; since his first assignment wasn’t until eleven-thirty, he had time to slip away and check out Gwen’s home more closely. Grabbing his camera bag, he left the office and drove off toward Drinkwater Road.
The expensive SUV sat in the paved area by the footbridge but in a different place than on the previous afternoon; probably Gwen had driven her little girl to school. Matt drove past, turned, and zoomed in on it, snapping a photo showing its license plate number. Then he drove to where he’d parked before and moved along the road, taking random shots to either side. A casual observer would probably have assumed he was documenting the regional plants and trees, but the true objects of his shots were Gwen’s mailbox, the footbridge, and the extent of her property. When he finished the roll, he drove back toward town and his first appointment, wondering whether he could persuade Vera Craig to have lunch with him. The arts editor seemed open and friendly, exactly the sort of person who might be willing to answer his questions about the paper’s prizewinning former reporter.
“Hell, honey,” Vera Craig said, “none of us see much of Ard these days.” She speared a lobster ravioli from the plate she and Matt were sharing at Mamma Mia’s, bit into it with her eyes closed, and made a sound of pure sensual delight.
Matt tasted one. It was good, but not enough to nearly induce an orgasm. “Why not?”
“I guess she’s just holed up at home, working on her book. It’s giving her trouble. At least that’s what Carly says.”
“You know her well?”
“Nobody knows Ard well, except for Carly, and sometimes I wonder about that. I’ve been acquainted with her since she came to town, and after fourteen or fifteen years, I still don’t know what makes her tick.”
“She worked for the paper right from the first?”
“Yeah, as a gofer, then general assignment reporter. Good one, willing to take on
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