Read Online Cyanide Wells by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online Page B

spoke, her voice low and dangerous. “Get the fuck out of my office, Gar.”
    “You’re being unreasonable—”
    With a shock, Matt remembered where he’d heard that voice.
    “Out. Now!”
    The door opened, grazing Matt’s shoulder. The man who pushed through was tall and lean, with a thick mane of gray hair. The cut of his suit, and his even hothouse tan, spoke of money; an old, jagged scar on his right cheek and the iciness of his eyes were at odds with his gentlemanly appearance. His gaze barely registered Matt’s presence as he strode from the building.
    McGuire came to the door, her face pale, mouth rigid. She started when she saw Matt. “I suppose you heard that,” she said.
    “I heard you telling him”—he jerked his thumb at the door—“to get the fuck out of your office. Good for you. I don’t like the look of him.”
    “What’s to like?”
    “Who is he?”
    “Our mayor, the esteemed Garson Payne. An asshole who, in four years, hopes to be our district’s representative to the state legislature.”
    At least now Matt had a name for the man who had made the anonymous call to him in Port Regis. But why would an elected official do such a thing? And how had he found him?
    He tried to ask more questions about Payne; McGuire declined to discuss him further. Instead she invited Matt into her office and went over the contact sheets intently, staring at them through her half-glasses, circling the shots she wanted him to print. When she came to the doll series, she said, “Oh, my God!
This
is what all the commotion’s about?”
    “Maybe you’d like to run one of them as your arty shot of the week?”
    She grinned. “I’ve half a mind to. No, instead I think I’ll run one with Sev’s article. He said the same things you’ve captured here. This one.” She circled it. “And also this, where their faces look like they’re flirting with each other. The smug mommies and daddies of this county can use a shaking up.”
    “You like messing with people’s heads.”
    “If it serves a purpose. That’s what a good newspaper should do: Challenge the readership’s opinions; make them think. I’ll need these by tomorrow at one. Nice first day on the job, John.”
    “Thanks, I enjoyed it. The people I talked with really like and respect the paper. Of course, not every town of this size can boast of a Pulitzer-winning publication.”
    “True.” She handed the sheets back to him and stood.
    “I’ve read the series, and I liked it a lot, particularly the stories written by Ardis Coleman.”
    “Ard’s a terrific writer. We’ll never see the likes of her again.”
    “She quit to write a book on the murders?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “You still see her?”
    McGuire had been gathering papers and putting them in her briefcase, but now her hands stilled. “Look, John, we’d better get one thing straight right off the bat. This is a small paper, and a small community. When you live at close quarters with your coworkers and fellow citizens, you’ve got to draw boundaries. The one I insist on is the separation of one’s professional and personal life.”
    “I couldn’t agree with you more. The only reason I asked about Ms. Coleman is that I’d like to meet her, talk with her about the articles.”
    “That’s not possible. Ard’s at a difficult place in her work right now, and she doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
    “Maybe later, when the book’s finished?”
    “Maybe, if you haven’t moved on by then.”
    “Why would I move on?”
    She busied herself with the papers again, avoiding his eyes. “You moved on after eighteen years with your former paper.”
    “Eighteen years is a long time.”
    “You’re what—thirty-eight?”
    “Thirty-nine.”
    “Well, in my experience, that’s an age when men tend to get antsy. Move from woman to woman, job to job, place to place. Right now you could be at the beginning of a long journey.”
    As he worked on the leaky faucet in Sam’s small bathroom early