Read Online Death on Deadline by Robert Goldsborough - Free Book Online

less than a year after his first wife died, and both of his children, David and Donna—they were in their teens at the time—made no attempt to hide their feelings. They treated me like an outsider.”
    “Did that attitude moderate as they got older?”
    “If anything, it increased. Oh, our relations have been outwardly civil. And in Wilkins’ presence, both of them always were polite, even deferential, to me. But it was a facade. That facade fell away totally when Wilkins died and they found that he had willed most of his holding in the Gazette to me. Their resentment was really out in the open then—especially with David. But I knew Wilkins had wanted me to run the paper, and I—”
    “You made the Gazette greater than Wilkins ever dreamed,” Dean cut in, reaching over and putting a hand on Harriet’s arm. If a man can utter a sympathetic wheeze, I guess you can say that’s what Dean did.
    “Elliot, it would have been every bit as good, and better, if he had lived.” She might have been scolding a six-year-old. “Anyway, Mr. Wolfe, through the years I’ve worked hard—maybe sometimes too hard—to prove myself. I’ve been pushy sometimes, and probably seem hard-bitten to plenty of people inside the Gazette and out. I’m not unaware that my employees call me ‘The Iron Maiden’ and ‘Harriet the Heartless.’”
    “Stop talking that way!” Dean snapped, increasing the pressure on her arm.
    “It’s true,” she said, gently pulling away from him. “I know what’s said of me, and in a funny way, I’m proud of it. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have any kind of management background. In the small Southern town where I grew up, young ladies didn’t dirty their hands on such things as commercial ventures. And my first husband, who was financially very successful, never wanted me to have anything to do with his business dealings, so I went into middle age almost totally ignorant of that world. My days, both in Georgia and later when we moved up North, were spent on what my people called ‘good works’—charities of all kinds.”
    “Moving on to your second marriage,” Wolfe said, soaking all this up without comment, “did Mr. Haverhill take it upon himself to give you a business education?”
    Harriet wrinkled a brow and cocked her head. “I suppose that’s one way to put it, although it was hardly a formal sort of thing. But the paper was all-consuming to him and he enjoyed talking about it with me, all the facets—advertising, circulation, the newsroom operation, even the management of the building itself. When he found I was interested, he naturally began sharing more and more of the details with me, and before too many months went by, he was even occasionally asking my advice.”
    “His children undoubtedly resented this.”
    “Yes, especially David. It actually made poor David furious. I’ve always suspected he used his father’s dependence on me as an excuse for his drinking. I didn’t mean to get off on a tangent, Mr. Wolfe. The real reason for my wanting to see you, of course, is that page of yours in the Times.”
    “Of course.” Wolfe nodded.
    She’s one cool customer, I thought as I watched her in profile. An intriguing mix of toughness, honesty, and femininity. I began to appreciate why she’d been so successful, and I knew Wolfe did too. I can always tell when he approves of a woman, which isn’t very often. Probably no one else would notice it, but he unbends just a little.
    “Mr. Wolfe,” she said, smoothing her tailored skirt with a manicured hand, “I won’t beat around the bush. I’m terribly worried about the Gazette, and I—”
    “Harriet, should you be talking like this to a stranger?” Dean piped up. He was wearing his loyal retainer look again.
    “Elliot, I know what I’m doing.” Again, that crackle. She turned back to Wolfe. “I started to say, I’m worried about the paper, and I’d like to know why you really bought the page in the Times. ”