and stood. “We need to find Barb and Emmett Doyle.”
LJ reappeared, rolled his eyes, and motioned backward with the remote. “Look what the cat drug in.” He was followed by a bulk of a man wearing a heavy overcoat over an expensive suit and polished black shoes. The man had a wide face, neck, and nose and wore sleek silver glasses. His eyes narrowed when he saw Jack and Derrick.
“Mr. Coon!” Travis jumped two feet. “We been tryin’ to reach you all day.”
Ralston Coon set down his brown briefcase, removed his fedora, and held it in front of him with both hands. Smoothly, he ignored Travis’s outburst, as well as Jack and Derrick, and crossed directly to Galen Randall’s bedside. “Mr. Randall.” He patted Galen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear about your complications. How are you feeling?”
“Galen. I’ve told you before, call me Galen. I could’ve gone home today if it weren’t for the paranoid doctors ’round here. So afraid of lawsuits they keep you till you git sick all over again.”
Coon smiled. “Well, you look very good, I must say.”
“Do you know what’s happened today?” Travis pushed up his sleeves. “Did you get my messages?”
Coon’s eyes flicked to Jack and Derrick.
“It’s okay,” Travis said. “These are friends. Jack Crittendon and Derrick … what’s the last name?”
“Whittaker,” Derrick said.
“I tried to reach you today too,” Jack spoke up. “We’re with the Dispatch.”
“You know Daddy got poisoned this morning?” Travis said.
Coon nodded. “Yes, I got your messages.”
Travis unfolded the piece of paper he’d finally found in his pocket and stuffed it in Coon’s hand. “Our house got busted into this morning.”
Coon stuffed his hat under his armpit, unfolded the paper, and read the note the intruders had left at the Randalls’ house. His eyes locked on Travis. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No one was hurt because no one was there,” LJ spouted. “But whoever it was took them Demler-Vargus notes of Daddy’s.”
“The ones you copied,” Travis said.
“What else did they take?” Coon said.
“That’s it—after they destroyed everything,” LJ said.
“Mr. Coon, I’d like to see the copy you have of Galen’s notes,” Jack said. “We’re doing an investigative piece on Demler-Vargus.”
Before Jack had finished speaking, Coon gave a shake of the head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The Randalls are my private client. Those notes are confidential.” He looked at Travis, then Galen. “You’ve got to understand that giving those notes to the press would impede our case.”
“What exactly is your case?” Jack said. “How far have you gotten with Demler-Vargus?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Crittendon, with all courtesy, this is all confidential.”
“You can answer,” Travis said. “Where are we? We must be getting close if they’re goin’ to all the trouble to poison Daddy and ransack our house.”
Coon shook his head at Travis and spoke in a firm, parental tone. “I would not be serving in your best interest to talk about the case here, now, with these men present. I hope you haven’t divulged too much already. I’ll be glad to give you the latest once they’ve gone.”
For an awkward moment everyone looked at everyone else. LJ slapped the remote against his thigh repeatedly.
“Look.” Coon sliced the air with a karate chop. “I understand you are all friends. But we are at a crucial place in our negotiations. I urge you, Randalls, to refrain from speaking with these gentlemen—with any representative of the media—about Demler-Vargus until we reach a settlement.”
Jack understood where Coon was coming from and wanted the Randalls to win whatever case they had. Even if he and Derrick couldn’t get their hands on Galen’s notes, they had a handful of fresh leads to pursue: Spivey Brinkman, Emmett and Barb Doyle, and Amy Sheets, for starters.
With both hands on his waist, Travis arched way
LJ reappeared, rolled his eyes, and motioned backward with the remote. “Look what the cat drug in.” He was followed by a bulk of a man wearing a heavy overcoat over an expensive suit and polished black shoes. The man had a wide face, neck, and nose and wore sleek silver glasses. His eyes narrowed when he saw Jack and Derrick.
“Mr. Coon!” Travis jumped two feet. “We been tryin’ to reach you all day.”
Ralston Coon set down his brown briefcase, removed his fedora, and held it in front of him with both hands. Smoothly, he ignored Travis’s outburst, as well as Jack and Derrick, and crossed directly to Galen Randall’s bedside. “Mr. Randall.” He patted Galen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear about your complications. How are you feeling?”
“Galen. I’ve told you before, call me Galen. I could’ve gone home today if it weren’t for the paranoid doctors ’round here. So afraid of lawsuits they keep you till you git sick all over again.”
Coon smiled. “Well, you look very good, I must say.”
“Do you know what’s happened today?” Travis pushed up his sleeves. “Did you get my messages?”
Coon’s eyes flicked to Jack and Derrick.
“It’s okay,” Travis said. “These are friends. Jack Crittendon and Derrick … what’s the last name?”
“Whittaker,” Derrick said.
“I tried to reach you today too,” Jack spoke up. “We’re with the Dispatch.”
“You know Daddy got poisoned this morning?” Travis said.
Coon nodded. “Yes, I got your messages.”
Travis unfolded the piece of paper he’d finally found in his pocket and stuffed it in Coon’s hand. “Our house got busted into this morning.”
Coon stuffed his hat under his armpit, unfolded the paper, and read the note the intruders had left at the Randalls’ house. His eyes locked on Travis. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No one was hurt because no one was there,” LJ spouted. “But whoever it was took them Demler-Vargus notes of Daddy’s.”
“The ones you copied,” Travis said.
“What else did they take?” Coon said.
“That’s it—after they destroyed everything,” LJ said.
“Mr. Coon, I’d like to see the copy you have of Galen’s notes,” Jack said. “We’re doing an investigative piece on Demler-Vargus.”
Before Jack had finished speaking, Coon gave a shake of the head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The Randalls are my private client. Those notes are confidential.” He looked at Travis, then Galen. “You’ve got to understand that giving those notes to the press would impede our case.”
“What exactly is your case?” Jack said. “How far have you gotten with Demler-Vargus?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Crittendon, with all courtesy, this is all confidential.”
“You can answer,” Travis said. “Where are we? We must be getting close if they’re goin’ to all the trouble to poison Daddy and ransack our house.”
Coon shook his head at Travis and spoke in a firm, parental tone. “I would not be serving in your best interest to talk about the case here, now, with these men present. I hope you haven’t divulged too much already. I’ll be glad to give you the latest once they’ve gone.”
For an awkward moment everyone looked at everyone else. LJ slapped the remote against his thigh repeatedly.
“Look.” Coon sliced the air with a karate chop. “I understand you are all friends. But we are at a crucial place in our negotiations. I urge you, Randalls, to refrain from speaking with these gentlemen—with any representative of the media—about Demler-Vargus until we reach a settlement.”
Jack understood where Coon was coming from and wanted the Randalls to win whatever case they had. Even if he and Derrick couldn’t get their hands on Galen’s notes, they had a handful of fresh leads to pursue: Spivey Brinkman, Emmett and Barb Doyle, and Amy Sheets, for starters.
With both hands on his waist, Travis arched way
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