Death on Deadline - Robert Goldsborough Page 0,42

of Saturday’s Mets-Dodgers game at Shea, a sixteen-inning dandy won by the Mets on an inside-the-park home run.

Starting about one-thirty, I caught myself looking at my wrist every three or four minutes, so I went upstairs and got busy with such matters as deciding which suits to take to the cleaners tomorrow. I was back at my desk scrubbing the typewriter keys with a little brush at five after two when the doorbell rang.

Seen through the one-way glass in the front door, they didn’t seem like brother and sister. David Haverhill appeared older than his forty-four years. He was tall and lanky, probably an inch over six feet, with hair the color of a grocery sack. It fell on the right side of a long, angular face that looked like it didn’t know how to smile. And I’m sure a smile was the farthest thing from his mind right now. He came in pale and stayed pale.

It was easy to pick out Carolyn—David was clutching her arm possessively. She was tall, too, and blond, her hair just a shade lighter than platinum. She wore it skinned back tightly and tied in a bun—without doubt my least-favorite style—and her well-arranged, blue-eyed, ivory-skinned face had a self-assured look. Ten to one it was her usual expression.

I’m happy to report that Donna Palmer bore no discernible resemblance to her brother. She might have been five-four—in her heels. She probably put “dark brown” on her driver’s license, although I would have called her hair black, and she wore it shoulder-length, framing an oval face with green eyes, a slightly turned-up nose, and a mouth that looked like it knew how to smile, even though now wasn’t the time. And if Lon hadn’t told me she was thirty-nine, I would have pegged her at seven years younger.

“Mr. and Mrs. Haverhill, Mrs. Palmer? Please come in,” I said, swinging open the door and standing aside. He scowled, Donna frowned, and Carolyn stayed with her assured look, chin tilted up. But none of them said a word as they walked into the front hall, where I caught a hint of Madame Rochas on Donna. I also got a good look at her figure, which was fuller and more to my liking than Carolyn’s. I guided Donna to the red leather chair, motioning the couple to the yellow ones, then went around behind the big desk to push the buzzer. “Mr. Wolfe will be right in. May I get any of you something to drink?”

“Thank you, no,” David grunted as if speaking for all of them. I’d bet he’d already had a couple.

I looked at the two women, my face asking the same question. They both shook their heads, Donna giving me an almost-smile and Carolyn keeping it poised and unshakable.

I headed for my desk just as Wolfe entered, detoured around the guests, got behind his own desk, and sat. “Mrs. Palmer, Mr. and Mrs. Haverhill,” he began formally, dipping his head a fraction of an inch to each of them. “I appreciate your making the time to see me. Now, if—”

“Well, we don’t appreciate being here,” David said. His voice was pitched just below a shout. “It’s because Carl twisted our arms—that’s the only reason we came. Well, maybe not the only reason,” he corrected himself, with a glance at his wife, who nodded serenely. “We also want to know why you’re running around telling the whole world our stepmother was murdered. It’s a sad enough time for us without having her memory defiled by all this murder talk!” He was halfway out of his chair during the tirade, and he sank back when he finished, brushing his wispy hair off his forehead and thrusting his jaw forward. When he was mad, his nose twitched.

Wolfe considered him for several seconds, then turned to the women. “Does either of you wish to make a statement before I begin?”

“I agree with David,” Donna said in a voice that was both soft and strong as she crossed one nicely formed calf over the other and smoothed the skirt of her blue dress. “It’s tragic what happened to Harriet, and to have this murder gossip on top of it ... I know you’re a friend of the Gazette, but I just don’t understand this.”

Wolfe turned to Carolyn, who gave him a shadow of a smile. “I have some thoughts, but I’d prefer to hear what you have to say first,” she said in a husky tone. This one is interesting, skinned-back