by Adrianne Lee
His mind tripped loose a memory. What was it Nancy had said to him just before he’d left today? The office Christmas party. In all the excitement at Grant’s condo, he’d forgotten it again.
He groaned and Tia spun toward him. “What?”
“Weeks ago I turned the company party over to Bijou to handle.” He hung the dish towel on the refrigerator-door handle and started toward Tia. “It’s tomorrow night at the Wilderness Golf and Country Club. Henry’s Switch Bar and Grill is catering.”
“A party?” She looked dismayed. “Under the circumstances shouldn’t it be canceled?”
He nodded sheepishly. “Normally losing the CEO would be reason to call off a company party.”
“But?” Her brows twisted with disbelief.
“But ‘Mac’ wouldn’t want the party canceled because he’d had the misfortune of meeting an untimely and accidental demise.”
“And?”
“And I think it would be wise not to let the killer know that we suspect foul play in my brother’s death.” He shoved his hand through his short hair. “Plus, I’d like the opportunity to observe everyone without the cloak of work around them. Maybe he or she will let down their guard.”
She considered a moment. “I guess it might be interesting and maybe even informative to observe our suspects interacting in a social setting.”
“Of course this year won’t be the all-night bash I usually throw—and we only need to put in an appearance.”
She glanced at the fire again, then back at Mac. “I take it you normally love Christmas?”
Mac moved to the navy leather chair and settled into its comfortable, familiar cushions. He gazed up at Tia. “As far back as I can remember this has been my favorite holiday.”
“And my least favorite.” Her emerald eyes darkened to forest. She hugged herself as though the heat from the burning logs offered no warmth.
Anger flared inside Mac. Grant’s death had insured that Tia would forever deplore this time of year. His heart ached for her. For them both. But he, at least, had happy memories to call up when morose ones threatened.
She took the chair across from him.
Mac leaned toward her, placing his forearms on his thighs. “I liked everything about Christmas—playing a shepherd in the Sunday-school pageant, the anticipation Grant and I shared about opening presents, the huge meals prepared by our mom and Grandma Coy, and in recent years, my participation with the children at the shelters.” He flung an arm outward. “Usually I have this place decked out like a department store. But then, I don’t usually have a Christmas-toy shipping three weeks before the twenty-fifth. Holiday merchandise goes out in October at the latest. This is usually our slow time.”
Her head was tilted to one side. She was listening, but seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And now?”
His heart felt as heavy as a sleigh full of presents with no destination. “Grant’s murder will always color the season with sadness, but as long as I create toys, as long as children believe in Santa, I’ll feel like I’m a part of Christmas.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then why did you groan just now?”
He blew out a noisy breath. “Because I won’t be going to the Christmas party as Mac.” He pointed at his suit. “I can wear this again tomorrow, but not again tomorrow night. And it’s the last of Grant’s clothes in my possession.”
She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear. The fire.”
He nodded, thinking he’d prefer his own clothes. He supposed, however, that was out of the question.
“Clothes are the least of our worries.” She touched his knee. “I’ll call Nordstrom’s in the morning. They have Grant’s sizes and his personal tastes on file.”
“Of course, I hadn’t realized—” He broke off, a knife of jealousy stabbing his heart. How could he hope to win her heart—her mind—when both were so full of Grant? “I guess all we need now is to figure out who killed Grant and how we can prove it.”
FIRST THING NEXT MORNING they collected the phone records for the year from Nancy and took them into Mac’s office. They sat on opposite sides of the worktable with pages spread between them. Tia asked, “What are we looking for?”
He glanced over at her, his expression so like Grant’s it caused her heart to trip with pain. And worry. Was Mac becoming more like Grant, or was it just her imagination? No, it was her imagination. And her fear he’d lose the qualities that made him uniquely Mac.
The confusion in his eyes told her that. Grant would have attacked these phone records with purpose, his course of action honed from years of experience. Mac was as much at sea as she was.
He shrugged and suggested, “Calls to Taiwan?”
The phone company separated the calls according to long distance and international, listing each call beneath the extension it originated from. Each department head had his or her own four-digit extension. So tracking who called where was fairly easy, if complex. Coy Toys, Tia realized, liked reaching out and touching others around the world.
The interoffice phone rang. Mac crossed to his desk and answered it. “Yes?”
Tia watched his expression darken, then fill with alarm. “I’ll be right there.”
He hung up and started for the door at a clip. “That was Gwen. She says there’s a problem in the lab.”
Tia’s stomach grabbed. “Sabotage?”
“No, she says it’s minor. I hope to God she’s right. If I can’t correct it straight away, it will slow down production.”
“Mac, wait!” An awful thought struck her. “Why would Gwen call Grant to fix something in the lab?”
Mac stopped, his hand on the doorknob, confusion tweaking his eyebrows. “What?”
Just the thought of that woman—no, any woman—touching Mac, kissing Mac, sent acid burning through her belly. She grappled with her jealousy, reminding herself Mac was not hers. His romantic encounters, solicited or not, were none of her business. But she couldn’t allow his fear for the launch to trip them up. To give them away. “Gwen wouldn’t call Grant for an emergency in the lab. He was a detective, not an electronic whiz. It’s more likely she wants to see ‘you’ alone.”
He laughed at the irony, slapping his forehead. “Oh, damn. You’re right. And I almost went bursting down there intent on repairing the ‘problem.’”
The realization of what actually faced him in the lab sent dread flashing through his eyes. But it was nothing as sharp as the alarm of a moment ago. He rubbed his jaw and glanced at the phone as though reconsidering Gwen’s end of the conversation. This time without the panic he’d felt the first time.
He straightened his tie, his cuffs, then his jacket. He squared his shoulders and gave Tia a small grin. At the moment he looked exactly like Grant. “If I’m not back in an hour, send help.”
“Good luck.” Tia forced her own smile. Gwen could do a lot of sensual convincing in an hour. The images in her head fed the jealousy she’d tried denying. “I’ll keep at these while you’re gone.”
Making herself concentrate on the work at hand, Tia started with January, methodically scanning each month’s billing. In July she found the first call to Taiwan. She frowned. Was this Lei Industries’ number? Or did it belong to another company in Taiwan? For all she knew, Mac used lots of “made in Taiwan” parts for his toys. But then, wouldn’t the Taiwan numbers have shown up earlier in the year? There was one way to find out. She reached for the phone and dialed. A couple of minutes later her suspicion was confirmed.
She replaced the receiver with a trembling hand and boiling ire. What nerve using Mac’s own phone to sell him out! She’d known their nemesis had guts, but this struck her as rubbing Mac’s nose in it. Why? Was the betrayal personal? Was someone getting even while getting rich?
She jotted the number on her notepad, and continued going through the phone records, noting the dates and length of the calls each time she found the same number. There were several more, right up to this month’s billi
ng.
Tia leaned back in her chair. Unless she was mistaken, they all seemed to have been made from the same extension. The one in Bijou Novak’-s office. She tapped her pencil on the pad. The calls to Taiwan weren’t all she found interesting. There were also a lack of calls to Mexico and a slew of calls from Suzanne’s line to one area of Seattle. What the hell was going on?
She needed to hash this out with Mac. She glanced at her watch. He’d been gone twenty minutes. What was taking so long? Was there a real problem, something that could shut down or slow down production? If so, Bud Gibson would have some mighty big explaining to do.
More likely, though, Gwen was plying her case with “Grant.” Unwanted images filled Tia’s head. Gwen’s hands on Mac, her body pressed to his, his body reacting as it had to her, Tia. The urge to rush down there and burst in on them grabbed her. She began pacing, her gaze flying about the room as she walked.
All the glittery decorations seemed to mock her, remind her of a childhood she could not overcome. She spotted Holly Beary on the shelf. She crossed to the toy and reached for it. The plush fur felt silken against her fingertips. She touched the heart-shaped chip, awed by the magic knowledge it possessed, the technology Mac had discovered from his desire to make the lives of lonely children less so.
She caressed the holly berries at the toy’s neck. She would have loved having a teddy bear like this when she was little. A friend to pour her heart out to, to hug and hold on those scary nights when it seemed no one wanted her. When her heart ached with such emptiness, she would often throw up.
The ugly memories swelled inside her mind like a dark cloud, a living, breathing entity that could and would possess her, that knew the truth about her, that knew just how unworthy she was. Her palms dampened. She didn’t deserve a toy as fine as this. She pushed the bear away and stumbled back.
She circled the worktable once more. The room seemed to be closing in on her. Where was Mac? Another half hour had passed. She didn’t dare go to the lab, but she couldn’t stay here a minute longer. She decided to talk to Bijou.
She rode the elevator to the second floor. As she stepped into the hall, she faced the lab. The door was closed, the blinds drawn. For privacy? For a tryst? Her mouth went dry and Tia stamped down the unwelcome images springing into her mind. She would not burst in on them and embarrass Mac.
A nerve ticked against her temple. She moved past the lab and down the hall. The sales department was the last office on the left. Voices filtered from the room in between. She hadn’t noticed yesterday, but now realized this was the employee lunchroom. There were no blinds on these windows. Several people sat at a round table enjoying their morning break. Bijou was among them, her back to Tia.
Tia stopped, uncertain whether or not to enter the lunchroom. But no one glanced at her. Just as well, she decided. She’d wait for Bijou in her office. Best speak to her in private.
But as she approached the sales office, Tia noticed the door stood ajar. Someone was inside speaking. She nudged the door open and peered in. Suzanne sat at Bijou’s desk, the phone to her ear. She glanced sharply up at Tia. Her dark eyes widened. She mumbled into the phone and hung up. She stood, smoothed her sleek cap of short black hair and walked toward Tia. “Bijou is next door. Did you need something?”
Guilt telescoped from her.
Tia shut the door with her heel and leaned against it. “I wouldn’t mind having a minute of your time if you could spare it, Ms. Chang?”
“Of course.” She twisted her hands together. “And please, call me Suzanne.”
Tia nodded. She had the feeling she was holding a tiger at bay with nothing to protect herself but the air that separated them. The sensation was crazy. She had six inches and ten pounds on Suzanne. “Grant and I were just going over the telephone records and I found the most curious thing.”
“Really?” Suzanne’s brows lifted slightly.
“Yes.” Tia deliberately kept her voice soft. “Did you know there wasn’t one phone call to Mexico? Not one in the whole year.”
Twin dots of color sprang to Suzanne’s cheeks, and Tia could almost hear her brain scrambling. But she said nothing.
Tia prodded, “If no calls were made to Mexico, how can you be in touch with the factory?”
Tia clenched her fists, waiting for the head of product marketing to speak. Someone was making the teddy bears. But who? Someone in Taiwan? Her breath hitched at the possibility. Was Suzanne behind all this? Had she lied about the plant in Mexico? Killed Grant when he found out? Broken into Grant’s office and then his condo?
Could this tiny woman have hit her with the silver star?
She reassessed her judgment of Suzanne’s size and strengths. Being tiny wouldn’t have deterred the person who’d betrayed Mac. Who’d murdered Grant. Was Suzanne that person? Did she have a motive, a need for instant riches Mac knew nothing about? “Is there even a factory in Mexico?”
“Are you addled?” Suzanne made a face as though she thought Tia had lost her mind. “Of course there’s a factory. It’s in Juarez. Across from El Paso. We…we converse via e-mail. That is a local call, for your information.”
Tia tensed. Did that explain the slew of local calls? She didn’t own a computer. Knew zip about getting or sending e-mail. But even if Suzanne’s explanation was the truth, surely there would be one or two longdistance phone calls. Or faxes. She couldn’t believe e-mail was the only way they conversed.
“I really need to get back to work.” Suzanne’s tone was impatient, and Tia realized she was still guarding the door.
She stepped aside and Suzanne darted out. Tia stared after her, unconvinced that she’d learned the whole truth. Suzanne was too nervous. But what she believed and what she could prove were not one and the same. Grant would have known the right questions to ask Suzanne. But she, Tia, wasn’t Grant—any more than Mac was. She mulled over what she’d been told. Were the local calls to the one area in Seattle made to access the Internet?
Tia strode across the room to the window. The morning was as gloomy as her thoughts, both decidedly in sharp contrast with this office decor. Like most of the others, Bijou had given in to the holiday spirit, but here all the decorations were handmade. By a child. She leaned against the wall, studying the adornments on the tree more carefully. Curiosity wound through her. What child had made these paper bells and stars? What little hand had pasted on the sparkles? Bijou’s own child?
The thought roused a wealth of conflicting feelings in Tia. Could a mother who loved a child this much be a murderer?
The office door opened. Tia tensed, frozen in place. The person entering didn’t see her, but headed straight for Bijou’s desk, dropped into her chair and grabbed the phone.
Like yesterday he was dressed for work in the warehouse. He began punching numbers on the phone, enough for Tia to realize he was not making a local call. She stepped toward him. “Who are you calling, Stewy?”
He dropped the receiver as though she’d shot it from his hand. “Holy—” His Adam’s apple bobbed, setting his dreadlocks into similar bouncing mode. “Whoa. You tryin’ to give a dude a heart attack?”
“No. I was standing next to the tree. I guess you didn’t see me.” Tia blew out a breath, her muscles easing. “I’m waiting for Bijou.”
“She’s next door.” Stewy pointed. “In the lunchroom.”
Tia nodded. “Does she know you’re using her phone?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, looking as though he’d like to ask where Tia got off questioning him about this. But he seemed to think better of being insolent. She held the same leverage over all the employees—except perhaps Gwen. They couldn’t be sure what her status in this company was yet. How it might affect their future with Coy Toys.
“I don’t know.” Stewy levered up out of the chair as though he weighed a ton. “She don’t mind, though. Everybody does it. ‘Cause, you know, it’s convenient.”
“Oh.” For the second time in the past few minutes Tia’s belief that B
ijou was a murderer rent like paper through a shredder. Any of Mac’s employees might have come into this office when Bijou was away from her desk. Any of them could have used her phone for the calls to Lei Industries. But why had she lied on her employment application? Why hadn’t she existed until Mac hired her?
Frustration tightened Tia’s nerves. Hell, maybe Bijou had made the calls. Tia glanced at the decorations again. Maybe she needed the money for the child in her life.
Fred poked his head through the doorway. “You done, Stewy?”
“Yeah. I’m coming, dude.”
“Well, shake a leg. We’re about ready to haul the morning’s load to the warehouse.” He spotted Tia and his froggy eyes lit up with a lustful glint that made her skin crawl. As usual he gnawed the butt end of a wooden matchstick. He kept staring at Tia, undressing her with his gaze. “See you at the party tonight.”
Tia shuddered inwardly.
“Seems like you’re having a party in here.” Bijou entered, toying with one of the pencils that poked from her French roll. She glanced from one to the other as though awaiting an explanation for the crowd gathered in her office.
Fred and Stewy bade her goodbye and left.
Ignoring Tia until she was settled behind her desk, Bijou seemed nervous. But when she glanced up, her aqua eyes held only curiosity. “If Mr. Coy sent you, please assure him everything is going full steam ahead on my end.”
Tia gave the room another cursory glance. “I didn’t realize you had a child.”
Bijou stiffened. “It’s not a crime, last I looked.”
Tia studied Bijou. Why would she suggest having a child was illegal? “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, of course not.” She blushed, then looked flustered. “Is there something in particular I can do for you?”
Tia wanted more information about this woman’s child, about Bijou in general, but if Bijou was the killer, asking her directly might be dangerous. She decided to hold her questions for another time. When Bijou’s guard might be down. Say, tonight at the party. Maybe after a couple of drinks Bijou would be more willing to open up to a sympathetic ear. “I…I heard you were in charge of the company party. I just wondered if there was anything you needed help with.”