is mutual.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Thank you. That means more than you can imagine right now.”
“What exactly is Freeman up to?” he asked.
“The
what
is probably less telling than the
why,
” she said, pausing to sip from her wine as it was placed before her. “But what he’s doing,” she resumed, “is niggling my entire staff half to death about every item he can think of, including stationery supplies, no doubt hoping to push me into the one act of insubordination that will allow him to fire me. And trust me,” she added, “there are days like today when he almost succeeds.”
“I noticed,” Joe told her. “But how can he get away with it, and why now?”
“In a nutshell, because he’s come into some information he’s using to blackmail me.”
Joe stared at her, his mouth half open. “Beverly. For Christ’s sake.”
She held up her hand to stop him. “That’s what it boils down to, Joe. In truth, it’s not quite that dramatic. I’m a little at wit’s end. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“Of course, but what’s it all about?”
“God knows how many years ago, I was working in Connecticut for a man named Howard Medwed. You might have heard of him, even not being in the business.”
“I have,” Joe interjected. “He’s like Helpern or Noguchi, right? One of the legends?”
“Correct. Very good. A wonderful man and a mentor in the truest sense of the word. If I were to claim just one person as being the single biggest influence in my life, it would be Howard. He gave me my first job, straight out of school, back when women were as rare as hen’s teeth in this profession, and he set about making me the best I could possibly be, just as he did with many others. He was an inspiration.”
Joe smelled a too-good-to-be-true set-up. “Except for . . . ,” he suggested.
She gave him a sad smile. “One single mistake, not a character flaw, and one he had good reasons for making.”
He shook his head slightly.
She understood. “I know, I know. I’ll explain.” She paused to take another large sip of wine and motioned to the waiter for a second glass, even though hers was still partly full. Joe, drinking Coke, merely took note.
“Howard Medwed was near the end of his life when this happened,” Hillstrom continued. “He was seventy-three years old, his wife had died six months earlier, and he was being pressured as never before from a group of political opponents. Also, unbeknownst to everyone except me and his son, he’d just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. So, in purely practical terms, politics notwithstanding, he felt he needed to maintain his medical benefits.”
Joe frowned. “Couldn’t he have retired and kept the coverage?”
She held up a finger. “That gets complicated, but more to the point, it misses the bigger problem—the same people who wanted him gone were also backing a candidate he knew would be a disaster. It was only Dr. Medwed staying in place that was stopping them. I won’t bore you with ancient history, but in a nutshell, if he retired too soon, this idiot was a shoo-in; if he held on for just a few months, then the idiot went away and Medwed got to name his own successor. It was thornier than that, but that’s what it came down to: timing.”
The second wine arrived. Hillstrom drained her first glass and pushed it toward the waiter, who lingered with it in his hand.
“Would you like to order?”
“I’m not hungry,” Hillstrom said shortly.
“You have any soup?” Joe asked.
The waiter recited the options, and Joe chose a bowl of split pea, causing his companion to capitulate and join him with a French onion soup and a side order of bread to share.
Joe waited for the young man to leave before asking, “What happened?”
“There was a high-level case,” Hillstrom went on. “A reported dog in the road being hit multiple times turned out to be the remains of a woman. It became front-page news when she was finally
She gave him a weak smile. “Thank you. That means more than you can imagine right now.”
“What exactly is Freeman up to?” he asked.
“The
what
is probably less telling than the
why,
” she said, pausing to sip from her wine as it was placed before her. “But what he’s doing,” she resumed, “is niggling my entire staff half to death about every item he can think of, including stationery supplies, no doubt hoping to push me into the one act of insubordination that will allow him to fire me. And trust me,” she added, “there are days like today when he almost succeeds.”
“I noticed,” Joe told her. “But how can he get away with it, and why now?”
“In a nutshell, because he’s come into some information he’s using to blackmail me.”
Joe stared at her, his mouth half open. “Beverly. For Christ’s sake.”
She held up her hand to stop him. “That’s what it boils down to, Joe. In truth, it’s not quite that dramatic. I’m a little at wit’s end. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“Of course, but what’s it all about?”
“God knows how many years ago, I was working in Connecticut for a man named Howard Medwed. You might have heard of him, even not being in the business.”
“I have,” Joe interjected. “He’s like Helpern or Noguchi, right? One of the legends?”
“Correct. Very good. A wonderful man and a mentor in the truest sense of the word. If I were to claim just one person as being the single biggest influence in my life, it would be Howard. He gave me my first job, straight out of school, back when women were as rare as hen’s teeth in this profession, and he set about making me the best I could possibly be, just as he did with many others. He was an inspiration.”
Joe smelled a too-good-to-be-true set-up. “Except for . . . ,” he suggested.
She gave him a sad smile. “One single mistake, not a character flaw, and one he had good reasons for making.”
He shook his head slightly.
She understood. “I know, I know. I’ll explain.” She paused to take another large sip of wine and motioned to the waiter for a second glass, even though hers was still partly full. Joe, drinking Coke, merely took note.
“Howard Medwed was near the end of his life when this happened,” Hillstrom continued. “He was seventy-three years old, his wife had died six months earlier, and he was being pressured as never before from a group of political opponents. Also, unbeknownst to everyone except me and his son, he’d just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. So, in purely practical terms, politics notwithstanding, he felt he needed to maintain his medical benefits.”
Joe frowned. “Couldn’t he have retired and kept the coverage?”
She held up a finger. “That gets complicated, but more to the point, it misses the bigger problem—the same people who wanted him gone were also backing a candidate he knew would be a disaster. It was only Dr. Medwed staying in place that was stopping them. I won’t bore you with ancient history, but in a nutshell, if he retired too soon, this idiot was a shoo-in; if he held on for just a few months, then the idiot went away and Medwed got to name his own successor. It was thornier than that, but that’s what it came down to: timing.”
The second wine arrived. Hillstrom drained her first glass and pushed it toward the waiter, who lingered with it in his hand.
“Would you like to order?”
“I’m not hungry,” Hillstrom said shortly.
“You have any soup?” Joe asked.
The waiter recited the options, and Joe chose a bowl of split pea, causing his companion to capitulate and join him with a French onion soup and a side order of bread to share.
Joe waited for the young man to leave before asking, “What happened?”
“There was a high-level case,” Hillstrom went on. “A reported dog in the road being hit multiple times turned out to be the remains of a woman. It became front-page news when she was finally
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