CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Haddie pulled her Fat Boy into the parking lot of Mark Colman’s office. Dad’s Shovelhead rumbled in beside her.

Solidly built and tall, he moved slowly. He’d always complained about aching joints. He scanned the small lot with the same intensity he had always had. Everything he’d always done seemed different, shaded with what she learned about him.

She couldn’t look at her dad without her stomach turning queasy. Insanity made the most logical sense, but only if she wasn’t sure that Dad hadn’t aged her entire life. The other option — that he actually was centuries old — What was he? What did that make her? Had her mother known?

She shivered and turned away. The lot had a white Maxima and a silver Cruze parked in it. The air smelled crisp, with a faint tinge of grease coming from the paint-peeled shop next door. The bank drive-thru had a white Ford work van stopped at it.

The camera footage had been requested and the credit union hadn’t required a subpoena. It would be interesting to see the activity on the night of Mark Colman’s murder. Perhaps there would be a clue.

“What are we here for?” Her dad asked, smoothing back his hair.

She didn’t look at him, but pointed toward the office entrances. “This is the first victim’s office. I want to ask the secretary here about the other business he owned. The one that doesn’t exist. She might have handled something, even mail, for Sirota Imports.”

Jasmine had been forthcoming and might shed some light onto the fabricated business. The company had to get mail, even if just a business license.

The stench of mold hit her as she entered. A note hung on the mortgage company door. Trying not to take a breath, Haddie walked down the hall. The mortgage company had been closed and a cell number had been left to call for service. Had Jasmine found another job, or had the son taken over? She should have gotten Jasmine’s number. The resume would have it, or at least an email.

“Damn.” Haddie pulled out her phone to take a picture of the note.

“What is it?” Dad asked.

He stepped closer to read the note, and she found herself stepping away. Was she scared of him now? Her throat swelled. “They’re closed. I’d hoped they might have some mail, better yet, records on this Sirota Imports.”

Moving around him, she headed for the exit. Between the smell and the close confines of the narrow hall, she wanted to be back outside. She’d taken two steps when the door thumped open. Turning, she found him dropping his knife back into the sheath at his belt.

“It’s open.” He tilted his head and shrugged before walking into the office.

The alarm. Drawing in a stiff breath of moldy air, Haddie raced toward him. The light flicked on in the office. She reached the doorway and the alarm pad still flashed its error message. “Dad,” she hissed. What was he thinking?

He’d walked past Jasmine’s desk and stood in the interior office facing the light from the window outside.

Breaking and entering. Not something the bar association looked favorably on. “Dad, leave. Now.”

He stepped into the office, disappearing from view. Haddie closed the door, making sure the jam hadn’t been damaged. She should have left her gloves on.

Dad rummaged through an inbox on a cheap office desk. Pens and a coffee mug lay on a calendar pad with circular stains and doodles. A red stapler and a pink box of tissues sat on the far side. A wood-laminate bookcase stood against the wall to the left of the window; its blinds slanted up so that she could see the sidewalk. A matching file cabinet sat on the right with a picture of Sarah and Mark Colman on a boat. A happier time of their life. Mel must have enjoyed seeing that.

“Nothing addressed to Sirota Imports,” her dad said.

“We’re leaving.” Haddie wanted to grab him, pull him out, but she also didn’t want to touch him.

“Might as well look around. You’ve already broken the law. Make the best of it.” He waved unopened envelopes over his shoulder.

Haddie glared, but he didn’t turn around. The wooden filing cabinet seemed to be the only storage in the room, though the desk likely had drawers. Raising her eyebrows, she took a deep breath. “This could be just as bad for you. What if they arrested you, checked your license? What would they find?”

He grunted and moved around to the back of the desk, opening a drawer. “Perfect credentials. Every generation, they make them more sophisticated. But there is always someone as good as them.”

“Fingerprints?” Had he been arrested? Great. Now she had something else to look up. A background check on her dad.

He nodded, as if agreeing, but then held up his right hand and wiggled fingers. He’d pulled his glove off enough to cover his fingertips.

Clumsily, she tested the filing cabinet trying not to use her fingertips. Locked. It didn’t mean Mark Colman hid something important here. Everyone locked office cabinets.

Dad had noticed her dilemma and approached, drawing his knife. She didn’t stop him as he popped the latch and opened the top drawer.

He went back to the desk. “Man didn’t keep much here.”

She grabbed a tissue from the desk and flicked through the sparse file tabs. The one listed as business license had two documents regarding the mortgage company. In another folder, Colman kept his broker’s license. There was nothing in the top drawer for Sirota Imports. She moved down to the bottom drawer, glancing at their picture. Palm trees on a distant beach — tropical. “Who killed you? Why?”

If Colman worked for organized crime, would he keep anything incriminating in this office? Maybe he’d had records at home. Is that why Sarah Colman had been burned too?

“Condoms and sweets. Doesn’t even keep a bottle in here.” Dad closed the drawer closest to Haddie. “Find anything?”

When she didn’t respond, he moved to the shelves and began looking through the dozen books there. Model cars took up most of the space along with some pictures.

Haddie found nothing. The lower drawer held blank forms. The file cabinet seemed as much decoration as the rest of the room. Jasmine likely had been in charge of client records — or they kept everything digital. Did Colman have online storage?

She couldn’t spend too much time in the office, certainly not enough to dig through the company computer, which was likely password protected. This had been a mistake. One that Dad had started. She’d never seen him do anything illegal before, besides speeding. Maybe a little trespassing when they’d hiked or camped. Was it just their conversation today that had him acting differently? Or was this the real him? The centuries-old him?

“Where were you born, and when?” She blurted it out before she could stop herself.

He stopped, returning a gray book to its place on the shelf. Facing her, he rubbed his hair back with a grim look, wincing as he sat on the edge of the desk. “I was born in Laconia, New Hampshire, in 1985.” He stared out the window.

That — was impossible. He’s insane. All of this, some bizarre, imagined manifestation to explain why he still looked the same. A physical anomaly. Some disease that affected the brain, and made him seem not to age. The room felt colder. She closed her eyes. She’d actually begun believing in some paranormal explanation.

Haddie opened her eyes and kicked the file cabinet drawer shut. Wordlessly, she spun and headed out of the office, using the tissue she held to open the door to the hall. She left it open, ignoring the stench as she marched toward the exit. She’d been a fool. The morning had been wasted. The trip to Portland — useless.

She took a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clean out her lungs and mind. Get back to the office. Thursdays were her afternoons there. Dig up some more on Sirota Imports — and forget about her dad. Something in Mark Colman’s business interests would link her to sketchy connections. She was sure of it.

Dad exited the building as she neared her bike. She couldn’t look at him. It physically hurt. She would have to get him help.

“Hadhira?”

She turned to the voice, recognizing it. David walked toward her with bright eyes and broad smile.

“Back again?” she asked. “What do you do? You said you had a client here.”

He stepped close enough that she could see the smile lines at the edges of his eyes. “Electrical engineer. What are you doing back here?”

Haddie felt a cold chill and rescued her smile. Oh, just breaking into an office. “Wanted to see if Jasmine was here.” Partly true.

Dad waited on his bike, helmet on.

David looked awkward for a moment, clearing his throat. “Listen, I’m just picking up some plans, and have the afternoon off. Hadhira, would you like to — grab a coffee.”

Tea, but yes. He seemed quite adorable when he was being shy. Not too shy, he had asked her out. “Call me Haddie. I can’t. I’ve got to get back to work, but this weekend?” With a paper due Monday. I could use a distraction.

David beamed. “Haddie. That would be great. I’ll give you my number, we can set up something.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow, Friday. We can pick a place and time.” She opened up her contacts.

Dad still sat on his bike, beside hers, as David went inside with a quick glance and smile back at her.

Haddie climbed on wordlessly, started up the engine, and rolled back. They would need a little time before she could get into all this with him. She dropped into gear and angled toward the alley that led to the street.

She heard screeching tires behind her and veered back into the parking lot. A beat-up gold Taurus raced past her, almost clipping her back tire. It must have been coming down the cross alley. Had it turned toward her? As the car squealed onto the road, she caught a glimpse of the driver, a young white male with short blond hair, almost a military cut. The right rear quarter had been hit prior; the turn lights had red tape over them. It had a hand-written paper tag. Horns blared as a utility truck braked to avoid rear-ending the car.

“Haddie.” Dad was off his bike, moving toward her with a concerned frown.

Turning her wheel, she checked the alley twice before driving into it.