Body Language Read Online Free Page B

the publisher’s office, a computer specialist with a military background and a stiff, efficient manner to match. While I was immersed in my investigation of the festival conspiracy last summer, she provided me with key information that helped crack the story. I also learned that she was a lesbian, a guarded aspect of her private life that she had kept well removed from the job.
    “Lucy?” I mused aloud. “Gordon says he finds her indispensable, which surprises me—he’s such an affable sort of backslapper, and she, well… isn’t. But I have to admit that she’s smart, dedicated, and no-nonsense. If she feels she could handle the Dumont job, she’d probably make a hell of an editor.” I fell silent.
    Neil prompted me, “But…”
    “But I’d hate to raid Gordon’s staff. I mean, he’s already losing me. ”
    “He’ll live,” Neil reminded me, smirking.
    I laughed, putting Lucy’s application aside, tucking it back in my briefcase for future consideration. I swirled the ice in my empty glass, asking Neil, “Another?”
    “Sure,” he said. “I’ll get it.” He rose from the stool where he sat, picked up both glasses, and crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator, saying over his shoulder, “We’d better plan to eat soon, or we’ll be smashed—on a weeknight, no less.”
    “God forbid.” Absentmindedly, I opened the next envelope and skimmed the cover letter. Intrigued, I read it again in detail, then flipped to the résumé and studied it. “Hmm.”
    “Who is it?” asked Neil, setting down my glass, snooping over my shoulder.
    “Someone named Parker Trent.”
    Neil shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
    “Me neither, but he has nearly thirty years’ experience with credentials as a hardworking editor at lots of papers, large and small.”
    “Sounds kind of old,” Neil said under his breath. With curiosity slaked, he returned to the far side of the island, preparing to dig deeper into the slushpile of applications.
    “He’s fifty-one,” I admonished Neil, reminding him, “only nine years older than yours truly.”
    “Whatever. If this guy’s so hot, why has he moved around so much?”
    A reasonable question. “He says he’s been in search of the perfect position. He wants to ‘make a difference.’ And get this: he’s currently managing editor of the Milwaukee Triangle. ”
    Neil’s brows rose reflexively. “The gay paper?”
    “Yeah.” I passed Parker Trent’s material across the counter, and Neil began perusing it. I continued. “The Triangle is one of the best gay weeklies around, known for its solid reporting as well as its tough stance on gay issues. This guy’s at least partly responsible for that reputation.”
    Impressed, Neil acknowledged, “He writes a good letter. Listen: ‘I can think of no more rewarding career move than to work at the side of Mark Manning, helping to shape the Register into a top-notch daily.’ Pretty smooth. Does he jump to the top of your interview list?”
    “With any luck, he’ll be the only interview. He’s qualified, he’s nearby, he wants to work with me—and he’s gay.”
    Neil beaded me with a stare. “Remember now. No casting-couch antics.”
    “Hardly,” I assured him. “Even if the thought crossed my mind, I wouldn’t get far with you in the room.”
    “ Me? ” Neil looked up from sipping his vodka. “Why would I be in the room?”
    “Because I insist. Whoever ends up as my managing editor will be working with me on a daily basis, sometimes day and night. It’s bad enough that you and I will be spending our weeks apart—I certainly don’t want to burden you with ‘casting-couch’ suspicions. So I won’t hire anyone without your approval.”
    Neil sucked an ice cube into his mouth and rolled his tongue around it. Dropping it back into the glass, he grinned, telling me, “This interview process may take longer than you think.”
    The process began that Saturday. I had phoned Parker Trent the day after reading his