“Sofia?” Mr. Harlan says from behind me.
“Mitch,” I exclaim, using my boss’s first name.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he replies.
“Can I talk to you?” I ask.
“Sure,” he agrees, leading me back to his office.
I step inside, feeling relieved for the time being. No one can hurt me in Mr. Harlan’s office. He’s the editor of a newspaper, and no one would dare try anything with him around. I feel comforted knowing that for now, I don’t have to worry about my safety. But there are more critical issues running through my mind, things like Frankie and Danny.
I remember the conversation with my father, and how he asked me what story Danny was working on. I have only theinformation that Danny shared with me before he passed away. He said he was working on a story, but he didn’t give me any details. He promised he would share everything the next time he met, but of course, that was impossible.
“Do you know what my brother was working on when he died?” I ask suddenly.
Mr. Harlan gives me a look as if he doesn’t understand why it’s relevant. “No,” he says.
“Because if I knew what he was working on, that might give me some clues about my own investigation,” I explain, addressing his unspoken question.
“I don’t think so,” he replies with much more conviction than I expect.
“Why not?” I demand.
“Just drop it,” he snaps.
I’m surprised. There’s a lot more acidity in his voice than I expected. “What’s wrong?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he responds, recovering. “I just don’t think that’s relevant.”
“Well, maybe I can decide whether it’s relevant,” I suggest.
“There’s nothing that he was working on that rises to the level you’re thinking,” he replies.
“My brother was killed—” I begin.
“Your brother killed himself,” Mr. Harlan cuts me off.
“No, he didn’t!” I shout. I’m getting flashbacks of the argument with my dad. That one didn’t go so well, and this one isn’t turning out any better. “If he was working on a story about the Corello family?—”
“He wasn’t,” Mr. Harlan assures me gruffly.
“Then you know what he was working on,” I accuse. Danny held my same position in the years before he died. He was working for the same paper, under the same editor. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me until just now, but Mr. Harlan must know something.
“It was a fluff piece on geese,” he replies.
“Bullshit,” I snap.
“Watch your tone,” he warns me.
“Mr. Harlan,” I try again. “Mitch. Things just don’t add up. Danny was killed for something he was investigating, I’m sure of it.”
“And I’m telling you he wasn’t,” Mr. Harlan insists.
“Well, can you show me his notes, and I can judge for myself?” I ask.
“I threw it all away,” Mr. Harlan replies.
I narrow my eyes. This is getting too weird for my tastes. Here I thought my boss was one of the good guys, but the way he’s acting now makes me reconsider. What if he’s working with Corello? What if he’s known all along that I was narrowing in on the family?
