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“Yeah, they do pretty well. Business is picking up because Robert recently went to some distributors’ shows throughout the Midwest and signed up several new accounts.” Jane unlocked the door and flipped on the lights, then slid several documents into one of the slots of the mailboxes mounted on the far wall. She waved toward a display of various salves, hand creams, and specialty furniture waxes with the familiar green-and-white gingham labels of Aunt Maisie Ellen’s Skin Care products on a shelf above a secretary’s desk. “Changing the packaging sure wasn’t a good move, though.”
“Aren’t those the same as always?”
“Oh, we’re back to the originals now.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Ian wanted to try something more upscale, and sales fell by fifty percent during the next quarter. I wasn’t here at the time, but I heard that even our long-term customers failed to recognize the products. The company almost went under before everything got straightened out.”
Which could explain the kind of desperation that could drive the owners into seeking alternative forms of income.
Back out in the hallway, Sara looked toward the manufacturing end of the building. “Can you imagine spending your day surrounded by all those beautiful scents? It must be wonderful,” she said wistfully.
Jane chuckled. “I don’t think you’d hear many of the guys agreeing with that. Robert says he can’t even smell it anymore.”
A pretty pink blush brightened Jane’s full cheeks whenever she spoke the manager’s name. Interesting. “Most everyone is gone... Do you think you could just give me a quick tour?”
“Well...”
Sara gave her a Girl Scout salute, then crossed her heart. “I promise I’m not after any trade secrets. Honest.”
“I don’t know—Ian and Robert are pretty adamant about strangers coming through.” Jane frowned. “Maybe the shift manager wouldn’t mind if I asked first—Phil’s a pretty laid-back guy.”
“I don’t want you to get into any trouble, Jane.”
The woman thought for a moment, her brow furrowed, then she strode into her office. “Good grief—what harm could it do?” She thumbed through a stack of papers on her desk. “I have a vacation request form to give back to him, anyway. He’ll be happy to see the boss approved it. Follow me.”
Yes!
Jane led the way to the steel doors leading into the plant. Once inside, Sara carefully scanned the cavernous area, memorizing each detail.
The doors effectively muffled a considerable amount of noise, she realized with surprise.
This area, perhaps one hundred by two hundred feet with a twenty-foot ceiling, was almost chilly despite the steaming vats running through the center of the room and the steady drone of massive packaging equipment in full operation.
At the far end, a man drove a forklift in quick, decisive swoops as he lifted filled pallets, then spun around to add them to the tall stacks along the back wall.
Conveyor belts moved bottles of amber liquid through a capper, then on through a curtained section, after which they reappeared with bright new labels—Aunt Maisie Ellen’s Original Beeswax Furniture Polish. There were maybe fifteen or twenty workers in sight, all moving with precision, all dressed in white coveralls and caps.
“I think Phil will be in his office,” Jane shouted close to Sara’s ear. “I’ll give this to him and then I’ll show you around.”
Nodding, Sara watched her friend head to the small office along the wall. Behind its glass walls she saw Jane talking to a lean, gray-haired guy who looked up abruptly to give Sara a piercing look, then shook his head.
Time here might be short. Sara casually glanced around, then edged toward the center of the floor. She’d seen late-night shipments come in—over there, on the south side. One of the workers nodded to her as he walked past with what looked like a pH test kit and a clipboard, and disappeared around the other side of the vats.
There were four doors along that south wall. One was marked EXIT, but the others were of heavy steel with padlocks. Storerooms for chemical supplies—or something more?
Jane appeared at her elbow. “I’m sorry—I can’t take you through. Phil says it’s because of liability, with all the equipment. From right here you can probably see most of what goes on, anyway. Let’s go, okay?”
Sara dutifully followed her back to the entrance, aware that Phil was watching her with narrowed eyes from behind the plate-glass walls of his office.
There would be keys in that office. Keys to those storerooms—and perhaps evidence of exactly what went on here during the wee hours of the morning.
But this wasn’t the time to raid the place. Not yet. Finding out who was involved was more important. Already, Allen and some of the other agents were following up on the license plates she’d seen arriving at odd hours.
“You can see how clean it is in there,” Jane explained once they were outside the production area. “Besides concern over a visitor being hurt, they don’t want to risk contamination.”
There was concern about risk, all right, but Sara doubted it was just over a few stray germs.
* * * *
JOSH GRINNED at Harold and gave the leash an extra wrap around his wrist. He’d gone on lots of walks with Sara and her dog, and she’d even let Josh hold the leash.
