Katherine Pulitzer Novels & Stories

Katherine committed suicide on her wedding night, at least that was what everyone thought even her but what she couldn't understand was how could all this happen to a modern New Yorker? To be continued...

This wasn't the first time I'd overheard them discussing a mysterious she-wolf. A month ago, Miss Eliza had tasked Nanny with finding someone. The details were scarce—just that it was to remain confidential unless Elder Morgan inquired directly. "It's Ruby Pearson," I whispered to Ivy. "Katherine Morgan's younger sister." Ivy's mouth fell open in shock. "Katherine had a sister? A real one?" I nodded solemnly. "Katherine's biological parents had three children: Katherine herself, Ruby, and a brother named Ryan." The door suddenly opened, and I nearly tumbled forward. Nanny Agatha stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

Katherine Bennet took a sip of his coffee then let out a sigh as she swallowed the bitter, milky liquid. Looking about her apartment, she felt something that she had never felt before and only realize that it was loneliness. She felt alone even though never in her five years of living here had she ever felt that way before. Shaking her head, she moved her gaze back to the screen of her laptop and continued working on the publishing contract for one of the Summers Publishing House's famous non-fiction authors, Julie St Matthews.

She looked at the time on the kitchen clock. Nine forty-seven. Two hours and thirteen minutes. “Mr. Hale,” she said. “I am not going to give you a quote tonight. But I want you to understand one thing before you publish.” She paused. “The person who started this investigation was not me. It was a woman named Helena Calloway. She was a biochemist’s widow who spent the last year of her life pursuing the truth about stolen research and was killed for getting close to it.” She paused. “Her name needs to be in the first paragraph. Not in a list at the end. The first paragraph.”

“You heard me. You’ve got the job.” A flicker of shock crossed her face, followed quickly by disbelief. Damien leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “But, where were you working before this? Why’d you leave?” Katherine met his gaze, her smile fading. There was a pause before she replied. “I was a publisher,” she said slowly. “But things changed. Something happened in the company. I had to walk away.” He studied her face for a moment but didn’t pry. Then, with a nod of acceptance, he extended his hand across the desk.

"You said this would fix things. It had better." Footsteps on the stairs. Coming closer. The bedroom door swings open. Katherine Hawthorne steps into the room, and for a moment, everything stops. She's even more stunning up close than she is across a crowded campus. Forty-five years old and carved from marble — tall, ice-blonde, cheekbones that could cut glass, lips painted a red so dark it's almost black. She's wearing a cream cashmere coat that probably cost more than my car, pearls at her throat that scream old money.