CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Haddie followed the woman down the hall. A thick miasma of antiseptic and medicinal scents filled the air.
“I’m Rona,” the woman said. She had a round figure under her white coat. “I’ll be watching over Rock today. He’s in good hands.”
Haddie smiled. “Thank you.”
Rona led them into a room with two cages lined in metal; they’d put Rock in the one to the left with blankets. He had a cone over his head and his chest had blue wraps over white bandages. Seeing her, he lifted his head, but didn’t try to rise. He seemed so weak.
“Oh, baby.” Haddie’s chest hurt just seeing him.
Rona opened the latch, letting Haddie kneel at the edge. “He’s a tough boy. I checked his vitals before I let you in. He’s doing well. All things considered.”
Haddie slipped her hand inside the cone and caressed Rock’s jaw. He didn’t exactly whimper, but cooed as she rubbed his face. His tongue licked out as she scratched through short black fur. Big, wet eyes studied her, almost regretful, though she owed the apology. He would have been safe at Liz’s. Silent tears trickled down her cheeks.
“When will he be able to go home?”
Rona chuckled. “Not for a while. Dr. Stevens will check on him today and give us a better time frame. I’d bet he’ll have an answer to that midday. We’re just going to let Rock rest.”
Haddie got a few more minutes with Rock before Rona kicked her back to the waiting room. “He needs to rest. He can’t when his mom is here. We’ll call you, I promise.”
Haddie stepped back out into the waiting room, smelling coffee.
Another employee, a young woman with tight black braids, had arrived and sat behind the counter printing documents. She sipped from an over-sized mug and then smiled. “Good morning. You must be Ms. Dawson. Can I get you to sign some papers?”
Haddie’s hand shook slightly as she signed documents and eyed the coffee, searching the area behind for the coffee maker. She had time to find a coffee shop, or even head home. Yesterday jumbled in the back of her head and she needed focus. Rock and Liz wouldn’t happen for hours. Without work, she felt lost. Her paper still needed to be finished, or at least started.
The rain followed her in a steady pour to her car and pounded on the windshield as she started her RAV4. There was a coffee shop down Hilyard, or she could go home. She put her car in reverse, then turned toward the coffee shop. If they weren’t open yet, they would be soon. It was nearly 7:00, and the commuters would need their coffee.
Mostly residential houses south of downtown didn’t give her much traffic to contend with. Grace would be at the office soon. Would she know about the mugging? Andrea had likely sent an email.
Haddie didn’t want to go home. Sam would come check on her, and there would be Rock’s blood to clean up. The apartment felt unsafe. The memory of Rock being shot bothered her most of all from the past twenty-four hours. She could deal with being attacked and Dad’s delusions — somewhat.
Andrea’s uncomfortable forced time off made it seem like Haddie had made some mistake. Had she? The attack hadn’t been her fault. What would Andrea think about Rock getting shot at her apartment? She might not take Haddie back at all. A chill ran up Haddie’s spine. I’ve made a mess of this.
Haddie pulled up to the front of the coffee shop, jumped over the stream in the gutter, and dashed in. Windows lined the front of the building with wood paneled walls stretched around the inside; an older couple already sat at one of the tables to the left of the counter. A wondrous aroma of roasted coffee scented the air.
A young man in a green apron smiled from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Large black coffee, please.” She eyed one of the pastries, but her stomach still felt off.
She picked a table by the window and sipped the too-hot coffee. Blowing on it, she watched the rain and the traffic as commuters headed off to work. She couldn’t spend the day at the coffee shop; she’d have to make a plan. There wasn’t much to plan. There was no work and home didn’t feel safe, so she might just end up back at the vet’s waiting on Rock.
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A man in a black raincoat dashed in and shook droplets onto the wood floor. She could go home and get changed. It wouldn’t take long, and she could grab her satchel, dust off the laptop, and bring it to the vet to get started on her paper.
Her phone vibrated and she put down the coffee to squeeze her good hand into her damp jeans.
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?”
“Uhm. I think they saw me.” In the background, fabric shuffled. “There was a car, like yours, but silver with tinted windows, and they pulled into your parking space. I thought they might mess with your motorcycle, but when they got out, one guy, the passenger, looked up here, and they left.”
“Did you get their plate number?” Stunned, Haddie stared at the steam rising off the black pool of coffee. They were not done yet.
“No. Sorry. Should I call the police?”
“Yes. Yes.” Haddie wouldn’t be able to live with it if Sam were hurt. How had she not insisted that Sam hang up and call the police? “Call me back.” She hung up, hopefully forcing Sam to act.
What were they doing at her apartment? Who was after her? They hadn’t gone after anyone at the law firm, so it had to be her investigations that someone wanted to stop. Most of that had been done on the internet, or through records the DA sent, except for the trip to Mark Coleman’s office and the ride to Portland. No, she’d seen the tinted SUV before the ride north with Dad. It had all started when she interviewed Jasmine at the mortgage company office. Jasmine’s resume and phone number sat in her satchel at home. They had to be concerned that the secretary knew something or someone who associated with Mark Coleman.
She took the last swig of coffee, then stood and nodded to the young man before hurrying out the door to her RAV4. Part of her wanted to go home and get Jasmine’s number and change, but she planned on going to the mortgage company office first. She was close to the truth; otherwise, they wouldn’t be after her. Her friends were in danger. They’d already shot Rock.
By the time she got to the mortgage company parking lot, it was after 8:00. For all the rain they had in Eugene, people still couldn’t drive in it.
The red Porsche Cayman Harold Holmes drove sat alone while a white Durango and a blue Taurus parked together at the back by the alley. Haddie pulled in beside the Porsche. If nothing else, she could see what Harold Holmes knew. She had hoped someone would be in the offices; even the tellers at the drive-thru might know something. Digging had gotten her into trouble, so more digging seemed the only way out. Andrea might not appreciate it, but if Haddie came up with something tangible, it might clear everything up concerning Mel’s case and the people hunting Haddie.
The stench of mold hit her as she scrambled through the door to get out of the rain. As she tested the door to the mortgage company, she thought of Detective Cooper and Dad. Locked. Taking a picture of the note with the son’s number on it, she headed back to the door that Harold Holmes had exited.
Liz texted as Haddie reached up to knock.
“Detective Cooper filed a report on the mugging including two suspects.”
Haddie nodded to herself. “Thanks.”
“Rock okay?”
“Yes.” Haddie leaned on the wall, then grimaced at the smell and stood straight.
“Still at vet? You should come get the key,” Liz texted.
“At Mark Coleman’s office.” Haddie felt ashamed lying to Liz, but she was trying to interview someone. It wouldn’t be a total lie, and Liz had gone to work. “I’m trying to interview his neighbor, Harold Holmes.”
“Maybe come by after and pick up the key? You should be resting.”
Haddie wasn’t about to bring up Sam. Liz was already overprotective. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
Haddie sighed. Detective Cooper did seem to be investigating; at least, he’d put the suspects on the report. She would like to see the report. Did he actually try and find them? He’d gone to their residence evidently. After Dad.
She stopped at the door marked “Kupatal Imports.” She knocked before opening it.
Dressed in a sharp, black business suit, Harold Holmes sat at his desk with his cell phone to his ear. He smiled and motioned to the padded chairs. Considering the condition of Mark Coleman’s office, the decor was luxurious. The room stretched the full depth of that side of the building, leaving a walk from the door to where he sat. The desk looked like an antique, perhaps mahogany. A matching dark bookshelf stretched across the back wall, scroll work marked the edges and top. Amid bronze statues and books, an old clock, painted with hummingbirds, sat in the center with the correct time. A dark blue curtain hung over the window, leaving the long fluorescent light in the ceiling to brighten the room.
His blue eyes watched her. “At 12:12 this afternoon. Delta. Got it.” His handsome face was freshly shaved, but he still looked sickly with dark splotches. The rash had diminished, but she could still see them as she sat, suddenly conscious of the garish yellow and red clothes she wore.
“Family.” He gestured with his phone. “They can be quite troublesome.” Texting, he focused on his phone. “Ms. Dawson, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes. I’m sorry to just drop in,” looking like a clown who hasn’t slept. “I was wondering if I could follow up with you about Mark Colman.”
He glanced up from his text, finishing, and put the phone face down on his desk. “I’m pleased you’re here. What questions do you have?”
Haddie sighed. She’d barged in here, looking like a mess, and still he was polite. “I’ve been looking into Mark Coleman’s business dealings. Have you ever noticed if there was anyone he dealt with regularly? Maybe a business partner?”
His phone dinged and he pulled it up, smiling at a text. “Now that you mention it, yes. I believe he did have a business partner.”
Finally, a lead that might get her somewhere. “Do you know who it is?”
The door from outside opened, and someone shook their coat as they entered the hall. Perhaps, Mark Coleman’s son?
Harold Holmes smiled. “Of course. Me.”
The door behind Haddie opened, and the man from the coffee shop in his long black coat stepped in. He pulled his hand from his pocket and pointed a small gun, possibly a 9mm, at her. She focused on the round muzzle.
Harold Holmes laughed. “I do want to thank you for stopping in, Ms. Dawson. We’ve gone through a lot of effort trying to pin you down. Your phone please?”