Free Father’s Day Murder by Leslie Meier

to hoard information in hopes of eventually developing a well-balanced—and exclusive—story.
    â€œYou were only sitting a few feet from the victim,” said the detective, looking each of them in the eye in turn. “What did you see?”
    His eyes moved from Ted to the New Hampshire couple, whom Lucy knew now as Arthur and Mildred, to the man with eyeglasses, Jim Prince, and his two younger colleagues, Kevin and Steve. The heavyset, glum Sylvia simpered flirtatiously when he turned to her, and Harriet gave him a motherly smile. Herb crossed his arms defensively across his chest and harrumphed. Then it was Lucy’s turn to squirm uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze.
    â€œI don’t think this means anything at all,” she began, “but I opened the wrong door, looking for the banquet. The Reads were having some sort of private cocktail party.”
    â€œFigures,” fumed Herb. “Too good to mingle with the hoi polloi on the mezzanine like everybody else.”
    â€œShhh,” hissed Harriet.
    â€œDid something happen at this party?” asked Sullivan.
    â€œI don’t think you should attach too much importance to it,” said Lucy, thinking once again of Bill’s harsh words to Toby just before she left home. “Family members say things they don’t mean.”
    â€œI understand that,” said Sullivan. “Why don’t you tell me what you heard and let me decide if it’s important or not.”
    Everyone at the table was looking at Lucy.
    â€œI don’t remember exactly, but Junior and Luther were arguing. Junior’s voice was angry, and Luther said something about pouring his lifeblood into the company for forty years. Something like that. That’s all I remember.”
    â€œThat fits in with what I heard,” said Jim, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “I heard that Luther changed his mind, and the sale to National Media is off.”
    â€œWell, he was a fool if he decided not to sell,” said Herb. “There’ll never get another offer like this one. Now’s the time to sell. The newspaper business is going to the dogs.”
    â€œYou’re right about that,” said Arthur. “But Luther never was much of a businessman. His focus was always on the news side of things.”
    â€œGive me a break,” said Jim. “If you ask me, Pioneer Press is strictly amateur hour. It’s one crusade after another. They have no idea what balanced, fair reporting means.”
    Kevin and Steve nodded their agreement, much to Lucy’s surprise. Until now she had thought everyone admired Luther.
    The detective also looked puzzled. “Wasn’t this guy Newspaperman of the Year?”
    â€œHe’s been campaigning for it for years,” said Sylvia, rolling her eyes and leaning heavily on the table. “The hospitality suite. The committees. The giveaways.”
    â€œShe’s right,” said Ted. “Newspaperman of the Year isn’t like the Pulitzer prize, which is awarded for excellence in journalism. It’s more of a reward for helping the organization, the Northeast Newspaper Association. It’s kind of a payback for going to a lot of meetings, stuff like that.”
    â€œLuther should have gotten it a few years ago, when he was NNA president,” said Arthur, “but he made people so mad when he claimed thousands of dollars in expenses that they gave it to somebody else. Hildebrand, I think.”
    â€œNo, it was Halvorsen,” said Mildred, correcting her husband.
    â€œThe very next year he started the hospitality suite. I remember that well enough.” Arthur smiled. “Free food and booze. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I mean, you have to understand the nature of the newspaper business to appreciate it. Strictly low budget. Until Luther you were lucky to get a free pen at this shindig.”
    â€œIt worked,” said Mildred.