Miss Frost Chills the Cheater

by Kristen Painter

  His stern expression held on for a second longer, then suddenly melted away as he sighed. “She made me angry. But you’re right.” He turned toward Mamie. “Send Constable Larsen a pound of chocolate mint fudge and a note telling her I spoke in haste, and I apologize. She’s not off the hook, but I won’t put her on the naughty list.”

  Mamie’s sharply arched brows stayed skyward as she scribbled in her steno pad. “Consider it done.”

  “Mamie, this is my boyfriend, Sinclair Crowe. Sinclair, this is Mamie Wynters, my uncle’s secretary and the woman who helps keep this factory running.”

  Mamie smiled and offered her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowe.”

  “Likewise.” He shook her delicate little hand.

  Uncle Kris settled his hands on his hips. “Mamie’s more than my secretary.” He nodded at her. “I couldn’t get on without her. Now, she and I should head in and see what these tinkers have to say for themselves.”

  She tapped her pen against her steno pad. “Ready when you are, sir.”

  “Jayne, take Sinclair into observation room one. We’ll start with…” He looked at Mamie. “Which one is in that room?”

  “Terrance Whitley. He’s the young man who presented Mega Chick.”

  “Very good. We’ll start there.” He nodded at me. “Go on.”

  I gave him the thumbs-up. “See you in a few.”

  I grabbed Sinclair’s hand and led him to the observation room, flicking the lights on as we went in. “They can’t see or hear us in here.”

  He glanced up. “Is that why the lights are low?”

  “Yes. Helps keep shadows off the one-way glass.” I took a seat in one of the big comfortable chairs positioned toward the mirrored wall, but Sin stood there, looking through to the focus group room.

  On the other side of the mirror, Terrance Whitley sat in a gray metal chair at a small folding table, both of which had been brought in for the questioning. The table was one of those with the metal legs and fake wood top. A second metal chair was tucked under the table. In the bright yellow room with red and blue stuffed ottomans, the setup was glaringly out of place.

  “He looks nervous. And a little afraid,” Sin said.

  “Understandable. He hasn’t been a tinker long, and this great opportunity has suddenly turned into a big mess. I’m sure he’s freaked out.”

  “Or guilty,” Sin said. He glanced back at me. “Not saying he is, but it’s a possibility.” He came over and sat next to me.

  “He could be.”

  My uncle walked in with Mamie behind him, and Terrance went rigid. “Mr. Kringle, sir, I just want you to know that I’m very sorry about what happened, but Mega Chick was my idea. I s-swear.”

  Mamie sat on a bright blue stuffed ottoman by the door, but Uncle Kris took the other folding chair at the table. He nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate you coming in today.”

  I snorted. “Like he had a choice.”

  “He could have run,” Sin said.

  “Into the forest with the yetis? I don’t think so.”

  Uncle Kris folded his hands on the table. “I know you’ve given your statement to the constable, but I’d like to hear it from you. Why don’t you tell me about your inspiration for the toy? How did you come up with the idea?”

  Mamie had her steno pad and pen poised.

  Terrance took a breath and hesitated. Probably gathering his thoughts.

  “In your own time,” my uncle said.

  Terrance exhaled and began. “It was just something that came to me, really. I’ve always liked chickens.”

  “Why is that?”

  “My mother is a baker, and when I was little, the egg man invited us out to see his farm. My mother thought it would be a good idea, so we went. When we got there, the peeps had just hatched. They were so cute. All yellow and fuzzy. And the mother hens were so smart, the way they took care of their broods. I guess I was at an impressionable age, and those chickens made a lasting impression.”

  “Have you designed chicken toys before?”

  Terrance shook his head. “No, but I did make a wind-up penguin two years ago. Thought I might make it into the Tinkers’ Tourney with that, but I realize now it was too simple. Cute, but wind-up toys are pretty common.”

  “So a robot chicken was the next step?”

  Terrance blinked a few times. “I had a dream about a giant chicken that came to the North Pole. It wasn’t like one of those monster movies or anything. It was a nice chicken. It laid eggs filled with candy. I’m sure that was part of my inspiration.”

  “When did you have this dream?”

  He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “I could check my notes—I journal everything. Probably right after the last Tinkers’ Tourney? I’ve been working on Mega Chick for nearly twelve months, so that seems about right.”

  Uncle Kris glanced toward us. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to say he believed Terrance or not. Then he focused on the tinker again. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help us sort this incident out?”

  Terrance swallowed. “Just that I swear I would never do anything to cause a problem like this. As much as I would love to win the tourney and see my toy produced, I would never resort to cheating. I have many years of tinkering ahead of me. I hope, anyway. And that means many opportunities to get into the tourney again.”

  “True,” my uncle said. “We’ll need you for a few more moments. I’ll send someone in to dismiss you when we’re through.”

  “Yes, sir.” Terrance went back to looking miserable as my uncle got up and left with Mamie.

  The door to the observation room opened, and they walked in.

  “What do you think?” my uncle asked.

  I sighed. “He seems sincere. I guess it’s plausible that he could have had a dream about a giant chicken.”

  Uncle Kris looked at Sinclair. “What do you think, son?”

  “He seems sincere to me too. Totally freaked out and scared, but honest.”

  Uncle Kris nodded. “I think so too. I guess we’d best go see what Stanley Kinder has to say.”

  There wasn’t much else we could do at the moment. “And if we don’t learn anything new from him?”

  Uncle Kris sighed heavily. “Then I’m going to have to turn this investigation over to Constable Larsen.”

  I frowned. “I understand, but I can’t see her letting me and Sin help.”

  “I don’t suppose she will since that’s not procedure.” His eyes narrowed. “But I know you pretty well, Jay, and I don’t think you’d let a little thing like lack of permission get in your way.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, but still. She’s the law.”

  He shook his head. “And you are the Winter Princess. Heir to the throne. With your title comes the unique ability to accomplish things others can’t. Investigate. Dig. See what you can uncover. No one, and I mean no one, is going to stop you.”

  At the table on the other side of the observation room glass, Stanley Kinder sat with a resigned gaze, a relaxed posture, and his hands resting lightly on the table’s surface. Okay, he was frowning a bit, too, but mostly he seemed calm. And why shouldn’t he, considering everything I knew about him?

  He’d been a tinker for a long time. He was trustworthy. A hard worker. A perennial producer of solid toys. He’d won numerous awards for his excellence, and innovation, and had twice created the toy of the year. The Pocket Pets that we’d sold out of last Christmas? Those were a Kinder Creation.

  I know you’ve seen that brand. Or at least you’ve heard of it. That was one of the awards bestowed on him by my uncle—having his own label. He was one of three tinkers who’d earned that distinction in the last decade.

  Stanley Kinder was not a cheater. He had no reason to be. He was already golden.

  So yes, I was going into this interrogation with some bias. I didn’t dislike Terrance, but Stanley just seemed like the most improbable candidate of the two to be involved in something shady.

 
As Sin and I once again settled in to watch from the observation room, I couldn’t keep my opinion to myself. “There’s no way Stanley is guilty.”

  “No way? He does look sure of himself. A little nervous maybe. No, stressed is probably a better description. And who wouldn’t be? But he’s not on the verge of losing it like Terrance was.” Sin shot me a curious glance. “Is that why you’re so convinced?”

  “That and because I know him. Everybody does. He’s one of the old-school tinkers, been here a long time, won a lot of awards, and is already known for his skills. His reputation speaks for itself. He doesn’t need to prove anything.”

  “Even against a young up and comer like Terrance? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Then I thought about that. “Well, I was sure until you put it that way. But I just can’t believe Stanley has it in him to do anything so sneaky as to steal Terrance’s idea. Or anyone’s idea. Besides, Stanley has to be getting close to retirement. Why would he do something to jeopardize that?”

  “Maybe he was looking to pad his nest egg. No pun intended. But I see what you’re saying.” Sin seemed to ponder it all a bit more. “When did Stanley last have a big win?”

  “Last Christmas, actually. He came up with Pocket Pets, which were huge. We couldn’t keep them on the shelves.”

  Sin nodded. “I think I bought some of those for my nieces.” He glanced through the glass at Stanley. “A plush robot chicken isn’t really that far away from the Pocket Pets, is it? They’re still animals.”

  “Not so different in the world of toys, no. But that could go either way. It’s either a great way to explain Mrs. Clucks-A-Lot as his new idea or a great way of covering up stealing the idea by saying it was the next logical step.” I slipped down in my seat, feeling perturbed.

  I’d been so sure Stanley was the innocent in all this, and now I was doubting that assumption. And I hated that. I didn’t want either of the tinkers to be guilty of anything, but how else was a coincidence like this possible?

  And until we proved what had actually happened, we had no definitive proof to offer the citizenship that Sinclair was not bad juju.

  My uncle and Mamie entered the focus group room, and just like before, Uncle Kris sat at the table while Mamie stayed in the background to take her notes.

  Sin and I leaned in, as if that was going to make a difference in what we heard.

  Stanley nodded at my uncle. “Kris. How are you?”

  My uncle chuckled softly. “I should be asking you that.”

  Stanley shrugged. “I’ve had worse days. Not many, but a few. This will all be cleared up soon, I’m sure. What can I tell you to make your job easier?”

  That was Stanley. A giver. A true tinker’s heart to ease the minds and moods of those around him.

  My uncle let out a long breath. “Tell me about your toy. How you came up with it. What your inspiration was. Anything that might explain how it came to be.”

  Stanley took his glasses off, pulled a cloth from his vest pocket and began to polish the lenses. “Last year, I had Pocket Pets.”

  Sin gave me a little nudge as if to say we’d guessed what his explanation would be.

  “Of course,” my uncle said. “One of our best launches ever.”

  “Yes, a big toy. Hard to top. But I wanted to. It was a challenge. I started right after the New Year. I thought and thought and thought about how to make a toy that was even better.” He folded the polishing cloth into a neat square before returning it to his vest pocket. “For a long time, I came up with nothing.”

  My uncle listened intently as Stanley continued.

  “A few months go by. Spring comes. Still no good ideas. Just lots of frustration.” He put his glasses back on and smiled. “Then my granddaughter, Lyla, she says to me, Grandpa, why can’t Easter be every day? I wish I had a rabbit that laid magic eggs whenever I wanted.”

  Uncle Kris smiled. He loved children, obviously, but making their dreams come true was his life’s work.

  Stanley laughed, his gaze far away in the memory for a moment. “So what does any good grandfather do? I set to work on that very thing.”

  He leaned in, suddenly very amused by something. He held his thumb and forefinger up, pinched together but not quite touching. “I was this close to having a working prototype, and you know what she says to me? Grandpa, our class went to the farm today. Rabbits don’t lay eggs, but chickens do. And I met the most beautiful chicken in the world. She has fluffy white feathers and can count to ten by pecking her beak on the ground.”

  He sat back, arms wide. “This chicken was all Lyla talked about. So for her, I changed the rabbit to a hen. A fluffy white hen who knows her numbers and lays magic eggs.” He sighed and shook his head. “And then Terrance steals my idea.”

  My uncle stiffened, and all traces of amusement vanished off his face. “You know that for sure? That he stole your idea?”

  Stanley shrugged. “How else would he come up with that thing? It’s so much like mine. Could it be a coincidence? I guess. But I don’t think so.”

  My uncle sat back. “Did he ever come to your workshop? Was there ever a time he would have been alone with your plans? Or had an opportunity to see what you were working on? Maybe caught a glimpse of something through the door as you were both locking up for the night?”

  Stanley’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Not that I recall. And our workshops are on opposite sides of the lab floor. I see him on the elevator headed to lunch sometimes, but not much more than that. Although I suppose if he was going to do something like steal an idea, he’d do it on the sly. Wouldn’t he?”

  “I suppose he would. But maybe he was in your workshop for another reason and just happened to see your plans?”

  I leaned toward Sin. “It’s not unusual for younger tinkers to be mentored by the more experienced, or even just to spend some time with them learning new techniques.”

  Sin tilted his head toward me. “So it wouldn’t be out of place for one tinker to be in another’s work space?”

  “Not if they were invited. But the toy competition is sort of a sacred thing. It’s a given that the secrecy around a tinker’s new toy is respected.”

  “Interesting. Would there be any security footage to review? To check if Terrance did get into Stanley’s shop?”

  I shot him a look. “In the North Pole? No.”

  He grinned like he’d already known the answer to that question. “Didn’t hurt to ask.” He sighed and looked forward again. “We have nothing to go on. No real proof of Terrance doing anything. So we’re back to this being a coincidence. Not that I think it is.”

  “There’s always room for some investigating.”

  Sin glanced at me. “What are you suggesting?”

  What was I suggesting? I said the first thing that came to mind because it seemed like the logical place to start. “We go visit both their work spaces. The lab floor. Now. While they’re here.”

  “Do we have permission to do that? Don’t we need a search warrant or something?”

  I shook my head. “Master tinkers are given a private work space here in the factory, and that is truly where the bulk of their work is done. And while it’s their private space, it’s also company property.”

  “They don’t work at home?”

  “They can work on personal things at home, but anything meant for production is generally produced here on factory grounds. There’s some special exceptions granted, but most don’t like to take work back and forth from home anyway. Toys in the prototype stage can be fragile. And moving a toy can mean letting people see it before it’s ready.”

  He put his hands on the arms of the chair. “Let’s go, then.”

  I got up. “Let me tell my uncle where we’re going. He can give me their work space numbers. Then we’re off.”

  A few minutes later, we were back in the elevator headed to the penultimate floor. The tinkers’ work space was one floor below my uncle’s penthouse office. It was also restricted space, but
Uncle Kris had assured me our all-access badges would get us in.

  He was right. Swiping our badges through the card reader lit up the button for the lab floor. I’d never been able to push that button before, even though I’d tried a few times when I was younger. I might have been able to get under the door with my Santa Slide ability, but Uncle Kris had told me the doors were proofed against that.

  Pretty sure now he’d been making that up, but I hadn’t wanted to test it then, or now.

  “Wow, this is cool.” Sin looked around as we stepped out of the elevator. “And very, very quiet.”

  The space had been a collaboration between the builders and the tinkers. Rivets trimmed the doors, and on each one, backlit glass plates held a perfectly etched number. Well below the number plate was a wide mail slot with a hinged cover.

  The walls were brushed bronze with leather panels, and thick ivory wool carpeted each hall floor, absorbing footsteps. Edison bulbs dotted the ceiling, while color-changing LEDs along the baseboards washed the walkways in color. The space managed to mix old-world charm with modern tech in a way that worked remarkably well. It looked like the kind of place where amazing inventions came to life.

  “It is cool. And the quiet is on purpose.” I took a good look around myself. “I’ve only been here a few times in my life with my dad and uncle. Never by myself, though. I’ve never had clearance before.”

  Sin seemed taken back by that. “Really?”

  I nodded. “The tinkers’ work space is a safe, sacred area. They are never disturbed while they’re here. Not even the cleaning crew has access.”

  “Maintenance?”

  “If there’s an issue, it gets called in, then a special work order is granted.”

  Sin’s eyes widened a little. “I feel odd being here now.”

  “It’s okay. We’re not going anywhere but to Terrance’s and Stanley’s labs. And for good reason.”

  He nodded. “How many tinkers have labs here?”

  “I believe there are seventy-five in total, but only about seventy have been allotted.”

  “Still a lot.”