Heartsick Read Online Free
Author: Chelsea Cain
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Psychological, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Mystery Fiction, Police, Police Procedural, Women serial murderers, oregon, Women Journalists, Portland (Or.), Police - Oregon - Portland
The rain had progressed from a spit to a halfhearted drizzle. She pressed a business card into his hand. “My name is Susan Ward. I’m with the Herald. ”
CHAPTER
5
T he lobby of the Oregon Herald didn’t open until 7:30 A . M ., so Susan had to use the loading-dock entrance at the south side of the building. She was running on four hours’ sleep. She’d spent an hour on-line that morning, trying to get up to speed on the latest missing girl, forsaking a shower, so her hair still smelled vaguely of cigarettes and beer. She’d tied it back and dressed simply in black pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. Then threw on some canary sneakers. No point being completely boring.
She flashed her press pass at the night security guard, a plump African-American kid who had finally made it through The Two Towers and had just started reading The Return of the King. “How’s the book?” she asked.
He shrugged and buzzed her into the basement with barely a glance. There were three elevators in the Herald building. Only one of them ever worked at one time. She took it to the fifth floor.
The Herald was located in downtown Portland. It was a beautiful downtown, full of grand buildings that dated back to when Portland was the largest shipping port in the Northwest. The streets were tree-lined and bicycle-friendly, there were plenty of parks, and public art on every block. Office workers on break lounged next to homeless people playing chess in Pioneer Square, street musicians serenaded shoppers, and, Portland being Portland, there was almost always somebody protesting something. In the midst of all this elegance and bustle was the Herald building, an eight-story brick and sandstone behemoth that the good citizenry of Portland thought was unsightly back when it was built in 1920 and had thought was unsightly ever since. Any interior charm had been gutted during an ill-conceived renovation in the 1970s, which must have been the worst decade in which to renovate anything. Gray industrial carpeting, white walls, low-paneled ceilings, fluorescent lights. Except for the framed Herald stories that lined the halls and the unusually cluttered desks of the employees, it could have been an insurance agency. When she had thought about working in a newspaper office, she had imagined bustling chaos and color and fast-talking colleagues. The Herald was soundless and formal. If you sneezed, everybody turned to look.
The paper was independent, meaning that it was one of the few major dailies in the country that wasn’t part of a corporate chain. A family of timber barons had owned it since the 1960s, having purchased the paper from another family of timber barons. The timber barons had brought in a new publisher, a former public-relations executive from New York named Howard Jenkins, to run the place a few years before, and since then the paper had won three Pulitzers. It was a good thing, Susan figured, because, newsprint aside, there wasn’t a lot of money in being a timber baron anymore.
The fifth floor was so quiet that Susan could hear the water-cooler buzzing. She scanned the main room, where rows of low-walled pens housed the Herald ’s news and features staff. A few of the copyeditors sat hunched over their desks, blinking sadly at computer screens. Susan spotted Nedda Carson, the assistant news editor, walking down the hallway with her usual large travel mug of chai in hand.
“They’re in there,” Nedda said, jerking her head toward one of the small meeting rooms.
“Thanks,” Susan said. She could see Ian Harper through the glass panel next to the door. He had been one of Jenkins’s first hires, away from the New York Times, and he was one of the paper’s star editors. She walked over and knocked once on the glass. He looked up and waved her in. The room was small and painted white, with a conference table, four chairs, and a poster encouraging Herald employees to recycle. Ian was perched on the back of one of
CHAPTER
5
T he lobby of the Oregon Herald didn’t open until 7:30 A . M ., so Susan had to use the loading-dock entrance at the south side of the building. She was running on four hours’ sleep. She’d spent an hour on-line that morning, trying to get up to speed on the latest missing girl, forsaking a shower, so her hair still smelled vaguely of cigarettes and beer. She’d tied it back and dressed simply in black pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. Then threw on some canary sneakers. No point being completely boring.
She flashed her press pass at the night security guard, a plump African-American kid who had finally made it through The Two Towers and had just started reading The Return of the King. “How’s the book?” she asked.
He shrugged and buzzed her into the basement with barely a glance. There were three elevators in the Herald building. Only one of them ever worked at one time. She took it to the fifth floor.
The Herald was located in downtown Portland. It was a beautiful downtown, full of grand buildings that dated back to when Portland was the largest shipping port in the Northwest. The streets were tree-lined and bicycle-friendly, there were plenty of parks, and public art on every block. Office workers on break lounged next to homeless people playing chess in Pioneer Square, street musicians serenaded shoppers, and, Portland being Portland, there was almost always somebody protesting something. In the midst of all this elegance and bustle was the Herald building, an eight-story brick and sandstone behemoth that the good citizenry of Portland thought was unsightly back when it was built in 1920 and had thought was unsightly ever since. Any interior charm had been gutted during an ill-conceived renovation in the 1970s, which must have been the worst decade in which to renovate anything. Gray industrial carpeting, white walls, low-paneled ceilings, fluorescent lights. Except for the framed Herald stories that lined the halls and the unusually cluttered desks of the employees, it could have been an insurance agency. When she had thought about working in a newspaper office, she had imagined bustling chaos and color and fast-talking colleagues. The Herald was soundless and formal. If you sneezed, everybody turned to look.
The paper was independent, meaning that it was one of the few major dailies in the country that wasn’t part of a corporate chain. A family of timber barons had owned it since the 1960s, having purchased the paper from another family of timber barons. The timber barons had brought in a new publisher, a former public-relations executive from New York named Howard Jenkins, to run the place a few years before, and since then the paper had won three Pulitzers. It was a good thing, Susan figured, because, newsprint aside, there wasn’t a lot of money in being a timber baron anymore.
The fifth floor was so quiet that Susan could hear the water-cooler buzzing. She scanned the main room, where rows of low-walled pens housed the Herald ’s news and features staff. A few of the copyeditors sat hunched over their desks, blinking sadly at computer screens. Susan spotted Nedda Carson, the assistant news editor, walking down the hallway with her usual large travel mug of chai in hand.
“They’re in there,” Nedda said, jerking her head toward one of the small meeting rooms.
“Thanks,” Susan said. She could see Ian Harper through the glass panel next to the door. He had been one of Jenkins’s first hires, away from the New York Times, and he was one of the paper’s star editors. She walked over and knocked once on the glass. He looked up and waved her in. The room was small and painted white, with a conference table, four chairs, and a poster encouraging Herald employees to recycle. Ian was perched on the back of one of
Readers choose
Louis L’Amour
R.E. Butler
Hannah Howell
Kate Avery Ellison
Julie Klassen
Kaitlyn O'Connor
Zena Wynn
Sidney Bristol