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She scratched absently at a spot on her shoulder. "But maybe you're right. Maybe we were all fooled."
"What about any other threats against the business?" Catcher asked. "Harassing e-mails? Phone calls? Anything that would suggest you'd been targeted specifically?"
"Nothing at all. No communications, phone calls, anything. Not a single e-mail."
"What about union disputes?" I asked.
"We aren't unionized," Charla said, "and the union hasn't shown much interest because of our ties to the supernatural. They aren't really sure what to do with us."
"Supply chain issues?" Catcher asked. "Arguments with suppliers or vendors?"
"Our contracts are negotiated annually, and we're right in the middle of the term, so it will be six months before anyone starts complaining. Here's the thing - production is still running. So whoever hit us, if they meant to knock us off-line, didn't know anything about how we operate. They hit the front of the building - where the offices are located - not the back."
"Where the production actually occurs," I said.
"Exactly." She shrugged. "If they wanted to shut us down, they did a pretty crappy job of it. Thank goodness. Almost all of our employees live here, work here in the neighborhood. They take a lot of pride in what they do. We're a very family-oriented company. And speaking of family," she said, as a tall man with dark skin, glasses, and a goatee walked toward us. He was dressed in a perfectly fitting suit, which only added to the sense of business acumen.
"Alan," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "This is Catcher Bell and Merit. They're helping investigate the riots."
"Good to meet you," he said, shaking both of our hands. His handshake was strong, confident. "Thank you for your help."
"Of course," Catcher said. "We're sorry about the trouble and property damage."
"I was just telling them you'd get the security tapes," Charla said.
Alan frowned. "I'm not sure what help they'll be, as they aren't outside the building. They wouldn't show the rioters."
"Even if they don't," Catcher said, "they might help us eliminate theories."
Alan nodded. "I see. Of course. I should be able to get them onto DVDs. I assume that will work for you?"
"Perfectly," Catcher said.
"Charla said you handle the science aspects of the business?" I asked.
"He actually just finished his PhD in December," Charla said. "We're very proud of him."
Alan rolled his eyes affectionately. "It's no big deal."
"What's your degree in?" Catcher asked.
"Biochemistry," he said, gesturing toward the building. "You could say I grew up in the field. I've been heading our R and D division."
"New products in the works?" Catcher asked.
"Always," Charla said with a smile. "But not just new products. We've developed additives to keep blood from spoiling, products to keep the blood in suspension, nutritional enhancements."
"Stronger teeth and shinier coat?" Catcher asked, earning an elbow from me.
But Charla laughed good-naturedly. "That's not far from the truth. Fangs are important to vampires. No reason not to give them a calcium boost."
Catcher smiled. "I'm sure they appreciate it. We should let you get back to work, unless there's anything else you think we should know?"
Charla put her hands on her hips and frowned sadly at the remains of the building. "Only that I wish you could wave a wand, fix this damage, and turn idiots into humanitarians."
"If I had a wand that could do that," Catcher said, "I'd do nothing but wave it."
Chapter Eight
LIKE A GOOD NEIGHBOR, VAMPIRES ARE THERE
Charla disappeared into the building, and without our escort, the cops shooed us back behind the police tape. We regrouped beside Moneypenny, and looked very sharp doing it.
"Thoughts?" he asked.
"I think we have to wait for the CPD to question Robin Pope. I'm curious to know exactly how pissed she was about losing 'most popular hot dish' at the company potluck."
"Hot dish? What's a hot dish?"
"You know," I said, moving my index fingers in the shape of a square. "A casserole. A hot dish."
"Nobody says hot dish."
I rolled my eyes. "People say hot dish. My roommate at NYU was from Minneapolis. She said it all the time."
Catcher looked far from convinced, but he let it go. For the moment. "Idioms aside, I think you're right, especially since we don't actually have any other leads."
The wind was picking up. I spied a coffee shop across the street; a man with a laptop sat at a table in front, sipping at his mug while he stared out the window. Aspiring novelist looking for inspiration in violence . . . or sociology student with a window on a natural experiment?
"It's cold out here," I said, gesturing toward the cafe. "Why don't we grab something warm? We can talk shop."
"Sure," Catcher said.
We walked across the hills and valleys of snow to the shop's front door, and then inside. The shop, which was new to me, was just the kind of place I'd have frequented in grad school. Dark and a little cozy, with shabby couches and mismatched chairs and the scents of coffee, cinnamon, and smoke from the roaster. A checkers set was on one small table; saltshakers and other random tchotchkes replaced missing pieces.
We walked to the counter, where Catcher immediately pulled out his wallet.
"Latte, half caf, extra hot, double foam, two shots, soy milk," he rattled off, then looked at me.
"I'm not really sure how I can follow that," I said, before looking over the chalkboard menu and picking something simple. "Hot chocolate?"
The barista looked suddenly tired. "Caramel, salted caramel, mocha, Aztec, dark chocolate, double chocolate, white chocolate, black and white, low cal, fat free, or regular?"
"Regular?"
The clerk seemed utterly unimpressed by my decision, but she rang us up. Ever the gentleman - or at least in coffee bars in February - Catcher paid for both drinks. We waited in silence for them to arrive, then picked them up and tucked into a sitting area along the back wall. Window views were nice, but not in Chicago in the winter. The cold inevitably seeped through, which left you only slightly less chilled than if you'd been outside in the first place.
I took a seat on the couch and curled my feet under me, then sipped my hot chocolate. It was tasty, although the residual warmth from the mug was more valuable than the drink.
