Death on Deadline (7 page)

“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.
” Me, too, I thought.

“My motive, or at least part of it, should have been clear from the text. I don’t want to see that man in control of the
Gazette,
and I’m offering my services, which are admittedly limited, to help prevent that occurrence.

“However, as you no doubt have concluded, I did have another motive, closely tied to the first, for expending over thirty thousand dollars. I wanted to meet both you and Mr. MacLaren, and I felt the advertisement was the quickest way to effect these meetings.”

Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded, at least with me, although I must say that’s an expensive way to arrange an introduction. But I’m here, and you’ve got my attention, Mr. Wolfe. As a matter of curiosity, have you heard from MacLaren?”

Wolfe nodded. “He’s coming tonight. After dinner.”

“This man’s a mountebank!” Dean squawked, shooting halfway out of his chair. His face turned an interesting shade of purple. “Harriet, he intends to pump you for information so he can turn around and peddle it to that goddamn swindling Scot! Let’s get out of here.”

Harriet waved him off patiently, keeping her blue eyes on Wolfe. “As I said, Mr. Wolfe, you’ve got my attention.”

“Thank you. I’m going to have beer. Will either of you join me for that or something else?”

They declined again, and Wolfe stretched his arms out, palms down on the desk. He thinks he’s exercising when he does that. “If newspaper and television reports are accurate, Mr. MacLaren is mounting a serious campaign to gain control of the
Gazette.
Does he have a chance to succeed?”

Harriet looked at the ample sapphire on her finger and then back at Wolfe. “I think he does,” she said, pausing as Fritz walked in bearing a tray. After he left, she went on. “I own, personally, about thirty-four and a fraction percent of the company’s stock. What is the fraction, Elliot?”

“As your adviser, I warn you I don’t think you should be discussing these matters with this man,” Dean muttered testily. “Let’s leave, before we regret it.”

She turned to him, giving me the back of her head. “You asked to come along,” she snapped. “It was your idea, not mine, but I had a notion you might provide moral support. I know what I want to say, Elliot. If it bothers you, I suggest you go out and wait in the car.”

“I’m just thinking about you and the paper,” Dean sputtered, but we all knew he’d lost.

“I know you are, but let me go on—this is important.” Harriet’s voice had risen an octave, and her facade of coolness for the first time showed some cracks. Her hand was shaking as she flicked invisible lint from her skirt.

“Anyway,” she said, returning to Wolfe, “I own something over thirty-four percent of the stock, substantially more than any other shareholder. And I can assure you, I have no intention of selling to MacLaren—ever.”

“That leaves almost two-thirds of the shares.”

“Not really. Elliot here has three percent and Carl Bishop, our publisher, holds almost five, and I’m certain they’re safe,” she said, looking at Dean for confirmation. He gave a grim nod.

“All right,” Wolfe conceded. “Fifty-eight percent remains for which Mr. MacLaren presumably can forage. How comfortable are you about that?”

“Not very. It’s unclear how much of the remainder I can count on. My stepson and stepdaughter each control seventeen-and-a-half percent, left to them by their father, and with the price MacLaren claims he’s willing to pay, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d sell to him.”

“Might they not also sell in part to spite you?”

Harriet had regained her composure and gracefully tilted her head to one side. It was probably a mannerism she had learned as a Southern belle. It still was effective. “I don’t think so, Mr. Wolfe. Despite what I said before, I don’t want you to get the idea that our family is feuding and plotting like a bunch of Borgias, like something out of
Dynasty.
It’s hardly that intriguing, I assure you. But Donna—my stepdaughter, Donna Palmer—has no desire whatever to become involved in the
Gazette.
She runs a very successful business in Boston, and she’d like to expand into an advertising agency as well. If she sold her stock, or even some of it, the capital would give her the opportunity to grow.”

Wolfe drank beer and set the glass down. “Do you know if she’s met with MacLaren?”

“She’s been on vacation in Europe for the last two weeks; she gets home tomorrow, and I was planning to phone her then. Unless she saw him over there, I doubt if they’ve talked, but I don’t know for sure.”

“And your stepson?”

“David—David is …” She paused, searching for the right words. “He is not chairman-of-the-board material, despite the fact that he now holds the title of president. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but … well, it’s no secret that David isn’t a strong leader. He could never handle ultimate control of the
Gazette.”

“And he wants that control?”

“Yes, no question. He’s had ambitions, but I’m afraid he hasn’t shown overly good judgment in critical situations. When we had that printers’ strike four years ago, you may remember that he called the head of the union a ‘cheap thug’ during a televised press conference.”

Wolfe nodded. “There was talk of a lawsuit.”

“Yes, but fortunately it blew over after the strike got settled. That’s just one example of how David handles himself under pressure.”

“He knows your feelings about his abilities?”

“He most certainly does. He also knows he’ll never get any of my holding in the
Gazette.
On my death, my shares will go into a trust to be administered by Elliot here, plus Carl Bishop and a man named Fitzpatrick from the Consolidated Bank and Trust Company. That fact is not widely known, and I would appreciate your discretion.”

“You have it,” Wolfe said as Dean squirmed in his chair. His face was turning fuchsia, he wanted to cut in so badly. He made a few more noises, but confined himself to groping for his mustache. I was beginning to feel sorry for the guy.

“It has always been my hope that I would eventually get David and Donna to sell their shares to the trust. And my nephew Scott, too. He has a ten-percent holding. But until this MacLaren business came up, there didn’t seem to be that much of a hurry.”

“How do your stepchildren feel about the trust?”

Harriet studied Wolfe coolly for a second, then decided to be candid.

“Donna seemed pretty neutral when I first told her about it six months ago. Of course she didn’t know then that she’d have a chance to make a lot more money—the kind MacLaren apparently is offering.”

“In either case, she’d stand to make a great deal, wouldn’t she?”

“Donna may not care about the
Gazette,
but she does care about money, Mr. Wolfe. She’s a shrewd businesswoman, and if I were betting, I’d give odds that she’ll sell to him rather than to the trust. I don’t like to hear myself saying it, but there you are.” She took a deep breath as Wolfe resettled himself. Maybe it was my imagination, but I was beginning to see stress lines on her regal face.

“What about your stepson? Will he sell? Indeed, has he already?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. For the last several days, I’ve been pressing him to find out what, if anything, he’s done, and he keeps avoiding me. He’s barely been in the office at all. But I’m bringing things to a head on Friday. I’ve called a special board meeting for that morning—it’s one of the reasons I have to reach Donna tomorrow. I’m going to make a plea that everyone hold onto their shares, at least for now. Although I honestly don’t know what good it will do. In some cases, it may already be too late. And I’ve asked MacLaren to come and see me that afternoon as well.”

Dean couldn’t 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
?”