The Best-Kept Secret

by Adrianne Lee

  Mac rubbed his forefinger under his lower lip, a gesture belonging wholly to Mac. She worried anew whether or not they could pull off this charade.

  He tipped his head to the side, his expression serious. “In lieu of being flies on the wall, I guess we’ll have to police things as best we can. But we can’t be everywhere at once.”

  “Agreed. But we have to do something.”

  He thought a moment. “I told the department heads I’d pay them each a visit today. Since neither of us is supposed to know the first thing about the toy business, I guess it won’t seem odd if we ask a lot of questions about what they’re doing.”

  Tia scooted off the table. The department heads. Mac’s first line of suspects, one of whom had probably killed Grant. And now they were going one on one, face-to-face with each of them. The prospect was daunting. What if Mac gave himself away? Somehow alerted the wrong person to the fatal mistake he or she had made?

  The urge to call this whole sham to a halt swept over her. She’d agreed to help Mac get his Christmas toy launched. Not to find a killer. Belatedly she was realizing the two things went hand in hand. Fear skittered through her, but she managed to keep it from her face. She just couldn’t get cold feet now. Mac needed her. She forced a confident smile. “So, where do we start, ‘Grant’?”

  He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders and executed that forefinger-and-thumb, pistolshooting-at-you gesture Grant always used, instead of saying, “sure thing,” or, “okay.” The simple pantomime lacked Grant’s grace, looked awkward. Tia’s sense of impending disaster deepened.

  Mac opened the door. “Might as well start at the bottom and work our way up.”

  Short minutes later the elevator deposited them in a huge warehouse area with roll-up doors hanging open to the cold December air. The area teemed with voices and machinery, the commotion of a bustling team scrambling toward a singular goal.

  In a low voice Mac explained that this part of the building was divided into two sections, each as long as the structure. He leaned toward her as he spoke, his warm breath feathering against her ear, her cheek. She swayed unwittingly closer to him.

  He said, “This is shipping and receiving.”

  Rubbing her outer arms with both hands, Tia wrestled with the pleasant sensation his nearness stirred, but she couldn’t stifle the yearning deep inside her—that needy, empty hole in her heart that responded to this man as it had to no other.

  Beneath the tug of attraction, however, tension knotted her stomach. Nervously, she eyed the freight truck hugging the nearest bay. A man on a hydraulic forklift was pulling boxes from within its depths, then delivering them to a growing mound near the elevator. She watched for some sort of response to “Grant,” but the man ignored them.

  “Empty.” Mac told her, pointing to the cartons. “They’re filling them in Marketing.”

  Tia spotted a counter at the far end wall. A man with a phone to his ear was staring at them intently. Despite the cold, sweat beaded her upper lip. “Is that the shipping clerk? Are we going to speak with him first?”

  Mac gave a short, nervous chortle.

  “What?” She stiffened, befuddled.

  “That’s Fred Vogler, the operations manager.” Mac relaxed a modicum, a teasing glint lighting his turquoise eyes. The warm gleam sent a honeyed shiver through her. “He’s responsible for getting the toys shipped to our customers. He’d be highly offended at being called a clerk.”

  “Oh.” She swept her hair behind one ear, her hand shaky. “I guess my naiveté is a plus, but if anyone catches you talking with such authority about the running of this company…”

  He winced and his ears reddened. “I’ll remember.”

  She prayed he would, because at the moment, he loped beside her in an easy gait that was nothing like Grant’s strut. She glanced sharply in all directions to see if anyone had noticed. Fred Vogler was still staring at them. Her stomach clutched. She had to warn Mac.

  As she moved toward him, she spotted an approaching employee. He, too, was frowning at Mac. Her throat tightened. She grasped Mac’s arm and pulled him close against her. She felt his indrawn breath as his upper arm connected with her breast, felt an echoing disturbance in her very depths. Heat coiled m her, brushed her face. She whispered, “Grant, darling, you’re walking like Mac.”

  The employee, a rangy young man with blond, shoulder-length dreadlocks bouncing on his head, matched the stiff grin Tia gave him. He wore a ring in his nose, a padded vest over a quilted flannel shirt, logger socks and boots, and, in spite of the cold, calflength jeans. His blue eyes widened as he took in Mac. “Whoa, dude. You could be Mac.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Mac assured him m his best Grant voice.

  “I know, dude.” The man nodded his head. “That’d be impossible, wouldn’t it?”

  But his gaze narrowed at Mac as though he questioned the truth of his own statement.

  Tia’s mouth dried, her body flushing damply.

  Mac growled, “I’m Grant Coy. Who are you?”

  “Stewart Stewicki, but everybody calls me Stewy. I work in shipping.”

  “Then I suggest you get on with whatever you’re doing.”

  Stewy hesitated, and Tia’s pulse jumped. Had he realized this was Mac? Or was the guy just worrying about his job and the future of Coy Toys with this “dude” at the helm?

  “What don’t you understand about getting back to work, Stewy?” Mac asked in a deceptively soft tone. “I presume you know by now the launch has been moved up?”

  “Yep.” Stewy nodded, his hair jumping. “I just wanted, well, to say I’m sorry about your brother, dude.”

  Mac’s frown softened. “Thank you.”

  Stewy nodded again. “Man, what an ugly way to die.”

  Mac paled. Stewy’s eyebrows shot up and he looked as though he’d like to reel his words back in, but at least he didn’t compound the faux pas by trying to apologize or explain it. “You here to see Fred, er, Mr. Vogler?”

  “No.” Mac straightened his tie, and his composure. “No, I want to see Suzanne…Ms. Chang.”

  Stewy pointed along the wall. “She’s down there, getting the temps online. And checking the new arrivals.”

  Temps? New arrivals? Tia’s breath snagged. Again she scanned the warehouse. Was anyone else watching them? No. Even Vogler had spun the other way now. But what about these new people? An even worse thought struck her. What if one of them knew Grant? “What temps?”

  Stewy shrugged. “We always hire temporary workers when we have an order this size going out. They make up the assembly line.”

  “I see.” She saw nothing. What assembly line? She patted her arms, the cold fear clammy inside her.

  “I guess we have a lot to learn,” Mac added.

  “Hey, I could help you out, dude,” Stewy offered. “You know, show you around the plant.”

  “Thanks, but I think we’ll just take it as it comes.” Mac shook his head, then gently reminded Stewy, “I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere.”

  “Oh, yeah, right on, dude.” Stewy had the grace to look sheepish. He bobbed his dreadlocks at them one more time, then ambled off toward the rest rooms.

  Mac caught Tia’s clammy hand in both of his dry ones. Apparently he wasn’t as uptight as she’d thought he was. Or else he was hiding it better. Her fingers nuzzled his palm as though with a will of their own. Her quavery stomach calmed, and warmth hurried the chill from her blood. His touch felt right and good.

  He squinted at her, dipping his head lower. “I should have suggested you bring your coat. You’re freezing.”

  “No, just anxious.” The right, good feeling slipped into guilty pleasure. She knew she should pull free, but couldn’t. “I always get cold when I’m nervous.”

  He squeezed her hand, the pressure reassuring and sensual at the same time. She struggled with the lonely ache inside. As right as his touch seemed to her, she was not right for Mac. For his sake, she couldn’t encourage that tender gle
am in his eyes.

  Now she did pull free. Abruptly. Mac looked relieved, and somehow that hurt worst of all.

  “That’s Suzanne over there.” He pointed. “The one buried in the boxes of new arrivals.”

  “New arrivals?” Confusion chased off Tia’s personal concerns. “I thought the temps and the new arrivals were one and the same.”

  Mac laughed again, and again it was short and rife with hidden nerves. “Hardly, but I’ll let Suzanne explain that to you…er, to us.”

  He steered her along the dividing wall toward a conveyor belt that emerged from a pass-through opening in the partition and disappeared into a similar opening farther on, forming a giant C.

  She watched workers at the far end load the fluffy white bears face up on the moving belt. The toys moved slowly through the opening and disappeared. Oblong packages wrapped in cellophane emerged from the opening at this end. Tucked inside each was a single Holly Beary, her snowball-fat cheeks and red velvet nose pressed against the clear wrapping like a child peering into a candy shop.

  She swept an apprehensive gaze across the two women stacking the packages into the master carton. But neither gave Mac or her a second look. Still she felt uneasy. Watched. She scanned the warehouse, but found nothing to explain the sensation. No one appeared to be paying attention to them. Workers did glance at “Grant” as they passed, but mostly she detected sadness and pity in their faces. Not suspicion.

  They headed for Suzanne. A petite woman in a sweatshirt twice her size, she was bent over an open carton. She seemed to be doing a quality check on the bears before handing them along for transport on the conveyor belt.

  “Ms Chang,” Mac called out.

  Suzanne started, her spine tensing as though his voice had cut through her shoulder blades. She jerked around, her gaze flying to him. Something as dark as distress danced across her tiny face, and something less definable. Tia froze. Fear crashed through her. But Suzanne shook off the momentary upset before Tia could discern its source. Sorrow? Or guilt?

  “Something wrong with the bears?” Mac’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Tia recalled from the meeting earlier that Suzanne was head of product marketing—although what her job entailed remained a mystery. Apparently, quality control of some sort.

  “Oh, no. Top quality, as always.” Suzanne’s delicate mouth tipped up at the corners, but the pride went all the way to her intelligent dark brown eyes.

  “Good.” Mac kept his voice deep and strong, hiding his relief well.

  They could not afford any disasters if the launch was to go as scheduled. But she and Mac both knew that preventing them would likely prove impossible.

  “Why don’t we talk in my office?” Suzanne stepped toward them on feet that looked too small to carry a grown woman. Short raven hair capped her face, accentuating her almond-shaped eyes. Energy arced from her like a hyper-hum in the air.

  They followed Suzanne through a door next to the end of the conveyor belt. “Product Marketing” was painted in black lettering on the glass inset. Warmer air brushed Tia’s cheeks, chasing some of the chill from her limbs. On this side of the wall the conveyor belt formed a much wider C. The bears rode the belt past a line of workers performing various tasks. Some were plugging the heart-shaped computer chips into the toy’s chest, while others were inserting the bears into their packaging. Once that was done, the package rolled through a machine and came out the other end in cellophane wrapping.

  Workers glanced at “Grant” and her. Tia held her breath. But she saw nothing more than the sadness and pity she’d detected in other employees. She blew out the breath through clenched teeth.

  Suzanne said, “As assembly lines go, it’s a crude setup by some standards, I suppose. But Mac insisted on the personal touch for this toy. Plus, it kept the cost down. It’s less expensive to hire temporary workers than to purchase the machines that insert the computer chips and stuff the bears into the packages. And I think you’ll appreciate that the toy must be affordable to be profitable.”

  “Definitely,” Mac said.

  With a start Tia realized he held himself as stiff as one of the cartons in the warehouse. Anxiety stirred the acid in her belly. What if he keeled over? She hoped he hadn’t locked his knees. She’d seen grown men black out at weddings from that very ploy against nerves.

  Suzanne gestured toward her office at the back. Her desk faced plate-glass windows that overlooked the assembly line. There was no window to the outside. A built-in counter, with cupboards beneath, embraced the other three walls. Above two of the counters, cork boards, framed in oak, sported scraps of fabric and drawings and color renderings of Holly Beary from her earliest conception to the finished product, and the last counter held three cutaway models of the bear.

  Obviously Suzanne’s job comprised more than quality control.

  Awed fascination snagged Tia’s attention as she moved from drawing to drawing. It was like looking at someone’s baby pictures, at the different stages of growth. She was so caught up in her perusal, it took her a few minutes to realize that Mac hadn’t given the pictures more than a brief glance. He wasn’t looking at these as though seeing them for the first time—as he should have been.

  Her heart fell to her toes. She had to warn him. Get him back on track. But how? She took a step toward him. Then stopped herself. He wasn’t standing wrong. He wasn’t rubbing his chin or poking his missing glasses up the bridge of his nose. So what was it? Something odd. He kept shifting his gaze from corner to corner as though assessing the room and its contents and finding them lacking.

  Relief shuddered through Tia. Contrary to what she’d been thinking, Mac was doing a great job imitating his twin. Grant wouldn’t have given the drawings more than a cursory once-over, either. He’d never cared about how a thing came into being, about what made it work. He found no interest in dreaming and seeing a dream reach fruition.

  Grant preferred knowing what made people tick. Why they did the things they did. It was this curiosity that brought him success as a detective.

  Suzanne, however, didn’t seem to like Mac’s uninterested attitude. She pointed at the wall as though that would force him to look at her work. “Mac and I took the toy from his idea through the design stages. We made a lot of drawings and color renderings.”

  “They’re wonderful,” Tia told her.

  “Thank you.” Suzanne pointed to the end counter at three model Holly Bearys with cutaway sides. “After a while we moved on to making models until we hit on something we both thought perfect.”

  Mac said nothing, just nodded and glanced back at Suzanne with the same bland expression. It was obvious he was angering Suzanne, and yet, he held his silence like a shield. The reason weakened Tia’s knees. This office was a testament to how closely Mac and Suzanne had worked on this project. He had to be terrified he’d give himself away.

  Tia forced a bright smile. “I can’t believe the amount of work that’s gone into making this teddy bear.”

  “Exactly,” Suzanne said as though that was the point and should be appreciated. She smoothed the hair at her nape. “Anyway, once we knew what we wanted, I went looking for the right fabric. I had to have something soft and plush, yet fireproof. I think we came up with a great one.”

  Tia fingered the various fabrics on the workboard, trying to act interested. But her hand wasn’t as steady as she’d like and she dropped it immediately. Praying Suzanne hadn’t noticed. Wouldn’t wonder about it later.

  “What about the blueprint for Holly Beary?” Mac broke his silence.

  Both women lurched slightly.

  “I assume it’s in Mac’s safe.” Suzanne shrugged. “That was where he was keeping it.”

  “I guess I’ll just make sure of that,” he said. “Come on, Tia. Ms. Chang, I assume you’ve got everything running smoothly?”

  “Yes.” She spit the word as though he’d insulted her. She followed them back to the shipping-dock area and made straight for the new arrivals, which s
he began inspecting again.

  The cold air wrapped itself around Tia with fresh vigor. She moved to where Suzanne worked, lifted one of the bears from the carton and did her own analysis, checking the seams and the details of construction as she hadn’t before.

  Suzanne gawked at her, alert. Edgy. Why? The quality of the bear was exceptional. Bad vibes coursed the short distance separating her from Suzanne. An unpleasant notion took hold of Tia. “Where are the bears made? In Asia?”

  Suzanne blinked and swallowed quickly. “Why, no. In Mexico.”

  Tia didn’t know this woman, but she could swear she was lying. And she could think of only one reason for such a lie. Something dark and ugly slithered through her mind, tripped her pulse. “It’s a fine product.”

  “I’m particularly pleased with it.”

  “You should be,” Mac told her, reaching for Tia’s elbow and applying a gentle force that said it was time to move on.

  She resisted his silent urging to leave. “Have you been to the factory yourself, Ms. Chang?”

  Sweat dampened Tia’s underarms. The last thing Mac needed on top of a spy in his company were charges of hiring a sweatshop to make his toys. That kind of negative publicity could wipe a product out.

  “Yes, I have visited the factory.” Suzanne’s tiny chin shot up and defiance flared her nostrils. “Several times.”

  Tia felt the pressure on her elbow tense, and knew Suzanne lied. Her stomach felt like a pin cushion. They needed to check the cost sheets. Maybe even investigate the factory personally. She quit resisting Mac’s attempt to move her away from Suzanne.

  Once they were out of anyone’s earshot, Mac said, “I only recall her taking one visit to the factory. Why did she lie?”

  Tia shook her head. “We’re going to have to find out.”

  “Come on, then. I want to talk to Fred Vogler next.”

  “Okay—in a minute, though.” She felt sick with worry…and fear. She needed some cold water on her face. “I have to hit the ladies’ room after all the coffee I’ve consumed. Be right back.”