HEARTTHROB Read Online Free Page A

dark wood behind
Mr. Mulgrave's desk, there on its silver tray, surrounded by four
water glasses, each of which was ready to take into itself the lovely
cool water which was protected within the smooth, sleek-lined silver
carafe. And, thinking of what the water poured from such a device
might taste like, often Durwood would be brought abruptly back to
more mundane things by a sharp suggestion from his superior that he
was not paying attention to what was being discussed.
    Meekly Durwood would apologize, but once back into his little office,
that of the administrative assistant to the general manager, an
office, which contained meager furniture and a dull brown plastic
carafe from which Durwood never, drank, Durwood would smile. For, day
by day, the plot he was hatching was nearing completion. For, day by
day, Durwood was doing things to the company records — things which,
when revealed, would show Mr. Mulgrave to be at the very least a most
incompetent steward of company property and which might even hint
that the general manager had been feathering his own nest from what
rightfully might have been expected to line the company coffers.
Carefully, slowly, did Durwood Beech plot. Then he struck. A single
telephone calls to Chicago headquarters, a mention of an uncovered
"irregularity," brought an executive vice-president to Mr.
Mulgrave's office two days later. With the powerful company official
came a team of auditors. They were all very efficient. In three hours
they had enough to confront the general manager with what they called
a number of "serious discrepancies." Further investigation,
to take place the following morning, would complete their findings.
In the meantime, would Mr. Mulgrave mind terribly if the executive
vice-president kept the office keys?
    What went on in Mr. Mulgrave's mind — well, one can only guess. As
for Durwood Beech, already he was rubbing his hands together,
anticipating the feel of Mulgrave's chair, and inhaling a thick cigar
behind that wide desk. For he felt that once the hated Mulgrave was
deposed, the despot's throne would be given to the faithful servant.
And he was right. The executive vice-president, mistaking the gleam
of greed in Durwood's eyes for a gleam of intelligence, did in fact
promote the "loyal" employee to the position of general
manager. The very next morning, it was. The morning they found Mr.
Mulgrave dead in his office chair.
    He evidently had another set of keys. Also
evidently — and this evidence was furnished by the police — he had
poisoned himself. There was enough arsenic in the water in the silver
carafe to kill three men. Durwood was not acting when he said
he was shocked. He'd not expected his little ruse to end this way.
He'd hoped only for Mulgrave's removal. But... inwardly he could not
help smiling. Certainly Mulgrave had been removed, hadn't he?
Therefore, once the offer came from the executive vice-president, he
felt there was absolutely no reason for him to wait to take up his
new quarters. Out of respect for the dead, however, he did wait until
Mr. Mulgrave's body was removed. It was as he was getting adjusted to
his swivel chair that he noticed that something was missing. The
carafe! It was gone. Of course, the police would have taken it for —
ah, but no, they hadn't. Mulgrave's secretary — no, now she was
Durwood's secretary — explained that all the police wanted was what
was inside the silver container. They were efficient, the police,
having already noted for the record that the only fingerprints on the
shiny surface were those of the dead man's. She, in fact, was just
engaged in washing it thoroughly.
    "You'll not want it in the office," the secretary said.
    "Not want it?" Durwood
laughed. "Of course I want it." He then directed her to be
very sure that it was very clean... and to fill it with cold
water. He felt a bit thirsty.
    The girl did as she was told, not bothering to hide the look of
distaste she