Free Death on Deadline by Robert Goldsborough

hold back any longer. “Harriet, you didn’t tell me about MacLaren!” he rasped. “How can I function as your adviser when I don’t even know what’s going on half the time?”
    “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you on the way over here, but I forgot,” Harriet said, showing no regret. “I only made the appointment this morning.”
    Elliot resumed both his slump and his pout.
    “You mentioned your nephew,” Wolfe said. “What part does he play?”
    “Scott is the son of my husband’s younger brother, Lucas. When Lucas died, Scott inherited his holding, which is almost exactly ten percent. He’s general manager of the company now. He wants more than that, but like David, he has his limitations.”
    “Such as?”
    “He’s extremely ambitious, which in itself is all well and good. But Scott hasn’t got the … well, the vision, to run a large newspaper. I know that must sound arrogant, because it’s tantamount to saying that I do have the vision.”
    “As you do,” Dean cut in. I resisted the urge to pick him up by the collar and deposit him on the stoop. Harriet Haverhill was some lady, but a body can take just so much grovelling.
    “The fact is, except for Wilkins, the Haverhill men just haven’t been strong,” Harriet said, ignoring him. “I’d personally take Scott over David, but both their wives would make better executives than they are, particularly Carolyn—David’s wife. Now, there’s a dynamo. I sometimes wish she were my daughter instead of my daughter-in-law.”
    “Does she have an active role at the Gazette?”
    “No. She’s all wound up in charitable activities around town. She’s made quite a name for herself in fund-raisers, and I think David is jealous of her popularity, which I’m sure is why he’s always kept her away from any kind of role at the paper. As a stepmother, I shouldn’t be saying this, but I often wonder why she married him in the first place.”
    “Back to your nephew,” Wolfe said. “Is he likely to sell to MacLaren?”
    “I honestly don’t know. When I first told Scott about my plan to establish a trust, he didn’t like it at all—I believe he had always held out the hope that someday he’d get to be chairman. I think he sensed I put more faith in him than in David. And I’m sure he was hurt that I didn’t name him one of the three trustees.”
    “He’s got enough equity so that if he stayed in your camp, along with Mr. Dean and Mr. Bishop, you could maintain control of the newspaper,” Wolfe observed.
    “Don’t think that hasn’t been on my mind. Together, the four of us hold fifty-two percent. By Friday I hope to know exactly where Scott stands—where everybody stands. Mr. Wolfe, you’ve asked most of the questions, you’re exceedingly good at that. Now I’ve got one: What kind of reaction have you gotten from your letter in the Times ?”
    “You’ve been most candid,” Wolfe began, taking a deep breath. “I’ll return that candor, although as you’ll see, it isn’t a sacrifice; I have little to lay before you. Mr. Goodwin spent much of the morning answering the telephone. We’ve had many inquiries from newspaper and television reporters, but only two calls from potential purchasers, if indeed they can be so termed. Neither of them is a likely candidate.
    “It is possible, however, that more calls have come in the last hour,” he continued. “Both instruments in this room are turned off so we wouldn’t be interrupted, and Mr. Brenner will have fielded any messages. Archie, call Fritz.”
    I switched on the phone, buzzed the kitchen, and got a quick fill-in. “Three,” I said, looking first at Wolfe and then at Harriet. “All from the media.”
    “I have another engagement,” Wolfe said, glancing at the wall clock, which read three minutes to four. “Mr. Goodwin will keep you abreast of any major developments.” He hefted his bulk upright and dipped his chin a full half-inch. For him, that’s a flourish.
    In one of