Miss Frost Chills the Cheater Page 8

  “Fortunately, we only need two. Three and sixty-seven.”

  Sin’s gaze narrowed. “Terrance’s is sixty-seven, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. How did you guess that?”

  “Stanley’s been around longer. I’d assumed that means he’d have a lower number. One of the earlier ones assigned.”

  “You’re right. And we have a little walking to do.” I pointed down the hall as we moved forward. “Interestingly, the spaces can be passed down from one tinker to another in a family so long as that tinker is a registered master. Stanley’s mother gave him his.”

  Sin made a little noise of appreciation. “Are there a lot of women tinkers?”

  “A good number.”

  “Do tinkers ever share spaces?”

  “Sometimes. Again, that really only happens in families.” I gestured to the door ahead of us. “Sixty-seven. Terrance’s space.”

  I slid my badge through the reader, and the lock clicked open.

  Sin put his hand on the knob to open the door, then hesitated. “You’re sure this is all right?”

  “Yes. We’re looking for evidence to clear your name and figure out how this coincidence happened. Or if it even is a coincidence. I don’t see what other choice we have with no new info from the tinkers.”

  “I know. You’re right. It just seems like, I don’t know, we ought to have the constable here.”

  I hesitated. “We could reach out to her. But I’m not sure if she’d even respond to us today. And if we wait too long, any evidence that’s in here could get disposed of.”

  “Good point. Let’s do this.” He pushed the door open, and in we went.

  Terrance’s space was clean and well organized. Drawers and cabinets were labeled, tools were hung on a peg board and outlined so that there was no question as to what went where. Bins filled with parts and materials were spaced evenly on the shelves. Even the project on the large worktable, a truck of some kind, was laid out in a tidy manner. The trash bin was empty, and a white smock hung on a peg next to the door.

  Sin looked around. “He likes things a certain way.”

  “I’d say. But a lot of tinkers are like that.” I went for the large wall cabinet. “Let’s see what’s in here.”

  “I’ll check out some of these journals, since he mentioned them.”

  “Sounds good.” I opened the doors. The top half of the cabinet was shelves. The bottom half had three filing drawers side by side by side. The labels on the drawers were Current Projects, Completed Projects, and Future Ideas.

  I went for Completed Projects, hoping to find a history on his Mega Chick. Didn’t take long. It was in the first file, but I only figured out it was for Mega Chick when I thumbed through the papers inside. The file was named Eggcellent Idea. “Cute.”

  “What’s that?” Sin asked. He looked up from a notebook on the worktable, keeping his finger on the spot he’d been reading.

  “Terrance called Mega Chick an Eggcellent Idea on the file. I didn’t peg him as the punny type.” I held it up for Sin to see. “But the plans are all here. And dated back to…” I shuffled through the paperwork. “April seems to be the first time the chicken was really a chicken. Before then, I think it was more of an actual robot.”

  “Like C-3PO?”

  “Is that the tall gold one from Star Wars?”

  “Yes.” Sin snorted. “Have you really not watched Star Wars?”

  “Eh. Space shmace. I like romcoms better. And no, not a robot like that. More like the laundry hamper on wheels one.” I turned the file around so he could see the drawing.

  Sin rolled his eyes and chuckled. “That would be R2-D2.” He walked over to inspect the sketch. “Why the change from this basic design to the chicken? All because of that dream?”

  “If we believe him, then yes.”

  “But it’s not provable. The dream, I mean.”

  “What are you thinking? That it’s just an excuse to cover his change in ideas? Sure is convenient, isn’t it?”

  Sin nodded. “Very.”

  “April would also be about the same time Stanley said he went from a rabbit to a chicken.”

  “Which only makes Terrance’s change seem more suspect. To me, anyway.”

  “No, I agree. The timing is so close. We need to look at Stanley’s work space. Make sure there’s something to back up his claims as well. But first…” I reached for my phone, then remembered I didn’t have it on me. Not much point in carrying one in the NP, so I generally didn’t. “Snowballs.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have my phone and I want to take some pics of these notes. Do you have yours?”

  “I do.” He produced it from his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. “I know I can’t make calls up here, but it’s a habit.”

  “I’m glad. I should start carrying mine. Especially if Ingvar gets the web working up here. Anyway, I should still keep it on me. Never know when you might want to document something. Although, technically, no photos are allowed on this floor. But this is a special case, so I think we’re good.” I snapped a bunch of pictures of the files, then gave the phone back and returned the file to the drawer. “All right. Let’s see what Stanley’s been up to.”

  We locked up and went to Stanley’s lab.

  The difference between his space and Terrance’s was as easy to see as the stack of papers threatening to topple off the workbench.

  Almost every inch of the space was covered. Sketches tacked up, tools scattered about, materials heaped in bins and piled in corners, papers stuffed in every nook and cranny… It was a chaotic, but energetic mess. There were also jars of candy here and there. Many jars. This was my kind of work space.

  “Now this looks like the shop of an inventor,” Sin said. He ran his finger over one shelf and came away with a little smudge of dust. “You said the cleaning crew doesn’t have access, so I imagine tinkers are responsible for their own housekeeping?”

  “Yes. But keep in mind that Stanley and his family have occupied this particular work space for over a century. There’s bound to be a little buildup here and there.”

  Sin wiped his hands off. “You really don’t want Stanley to be guilty, do you?”

  “I don’t want either of them to be guilty.” I sighed. “I don’t want to be biased toward either of them either, but that’s not working so well, is it?”

  “The way you feel is understandable.”

  “But not fair. You have to keep me fair. Keep this investigation fair.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks.” I tipped my chin toward the shelves of bound journals. None of which were labeled. Nothing was labeled in here. Well, not much. A couple of the glass jars of candy were labeled Candy, which seemed unnecessary to me since they were glass jars. “You want to skim through those journals while I poke around in the cabinets over here?”

  “Will do. I’ll start with the ones that look the newest.”

  “Cool.”

  We dug in. And I do mean dug in. If Stanley had a method for organizing his stuff, it wasn’t evident. The filing system seemed to operate in such a way that the newest stuff was up front. That was about all I could figure so far.

  “This might be something.”

  I turned. Sin had one of the journals open on the worktable. It was propped on a box of Pocket Pets and a leather pouch of tools. He pointed at the page in front of him. “Robo Rabbit. Right there. But nothing else that shows the bunny becoming a chicken.”

  I came over to look at the page, then turned to see what was on the next one. More drawings of the rabbit, and a few for a carrot that doubled as a remote control. “I really like this rabbit. I think it’s cuter than the chicken. And seems to be more fully thought out.”

  “If he really changed midstream to accommodate his granddaughter, then this all makes sense.”

  “Except we haven’t found anything chicken related yet.”

  Sin looked around. “I’m sure it’s i
n here. But finding it might take some doing. There is stuff everywhere. Guess we’d better get back to it.”

  “Yep.” I pushed my sleeves up. Cashmere seemed like a bad choice now, especially since we hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to Terrance or Stanley.

  Ten minutes later and I hadn’t found anything else in the filing cabinets that was remotely related to the rabbit or the chicken.

  “Hey,” Sin said. “Is this anything? Or just a fancy cigar box?”

  I looked over my shoulder. He was holding up a red velvet box with a brass lock on the front. The fabric was a little worn on the corners, and the lock showed tarnish in the crevices. I might not have access to this floor as a rule, but I knew what that was. “That’s the tinker version of an interoffice memo.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Tinkers use those boxes to send things back and forth to each other.”

  He shook the box. “Can’t tell if there’s anything in here. Should we open it? What if Stanley and Terrance were using this as a way of talking to each other?”

  “Could be. We should open it.” I glanced around. “Finding the key in this mess is highly unlikely.”

  “I could break it open. Probably.”

  “No need.” I smiled. “I have some lock-picking skills.”

  His brows lifted. “Do you now?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Princesses need to know all kinds of things.”

  “Apparently.” He handed the box over as he came to stand beside me. “And when exactly did you decide you needed to learn to pick locks?”

  “Around fifth grade. Which was when the cooks locked the candy pantry to keep me from raiding it.”

  “The palace has a candy pantry? Never mind, that seems absolutely reasonable. Just like the fact that candy is the reason you learned to pick locks.” He grinned. “I could not love you more.”

  “You’d better.” I laughed and gave him an affectionate hip bump. “And listen, when we leave here, I really need something to eat.”

  “Deal. I’m pretty hungry too.”

  I balanced the box on the stuff on the worktable, then pushed my sleeves a little higher. “Here goes.”

  I pulled up my magic and twisted two narrow slivers of ice from my fingertips. I downshifted my body temp to near freezing so the ice would keep its form longer. Now, standard ice—the kind you’d find in nature—would snap if you tried to use it to pick a lock, but this was winter elf magic. This ice was as strong as steel. Until it started to melt. Which meant even with my body temp lowered, I had to work at a good pace.

  “Very impressive,” Sin said.

  “Thanks.” My breath curled out in little puffs of icy vapor. I slipped the picks into the brass lock and manipulated the insides until I finally heard the click I was waiting for. “There you go.”

  I brought my body temp back up and dropped the picks into the trash bin. They’d melt and leave no trace, other than some dampness, but that was unlikely to be noticed in the midst of this disorder.

  Sin didn’t move. “You should open it.”

  “I just thought because you found it…” I shrugged. “Okay.” I lifted the lid. “Nothing.”

  Sin looked inside, tipping the box toward him. “Hang on.” He reached in and pulled out a strand of white fiber.

  I peered at it. “What is that?”

  “I have a guess, but let’s see if I’m right.” He twirled it between his fingers, and suddenly, the strand fluffed out. “I’m right. It’s a piece of a feather.”

  “That’s pretty interesting. Could it be a chicken feather?”

  “That I don’t know. But there’s got to be a way to figure that out.” He put the fragment back in the box, closed it, then turned it in his hands. “How can we find out who sent this to Stanley?”

  “We can’t. There’s no tracking on the boxes.”

  “How do they get delivered?”

  “Tinkers just slip them through the mail slots on the front of the doors.”

  He glanced at the door. On this side of it, a wire basket sat under the mail slot to catch anything that might get pushed through. “So this isn’t much good to us. Except that someone might have sent Stanley a feather, or something with feathers.”

  “Right.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I feel like that should mean something, I just don’t know what.”

  “Me either. I was hoping we’d get further today.”

  “Me too.” The disappointment in his voice was obvious.

  And honestly, I felt it as well. I’d thought we’d come here and uncover some clues that would lead us to an answer. I wasn’t ready to give up yet, though. “Let’s go see Stanley. Talk to him about the feather in the box. Maybe he’ll tell us what it’s all about. And who sent it.”

  Sin nodded. “I’m in if your uncle will let us.”

  “He will, especially once we tell him about this. Grab the box, and let’s hit the elevator.”

  Sin tucked the box under his arm. “Got it.”

  I locked up and we walked toward the elevator. My stomach growled as we approached.

  Sin tapped the down button, looking amused. “I heard that. You want to eat first?”

  “Yes, but no. This is more important. First Stanley, then we’ll grab something. We can even eat here if you like.”

  The doors opened, and we got on. I pressed the Mezzanine button.

  “Here?” Sin asked.

  “The cafeteria. Food is awesome. And the desserts are amazing. Sugar being the fuel that keeps us going and all.”

  “I can imagine. You think…I’d be welcome there?”

  My heart hurt that he’d even be motivated to ask that question. I smiled brightly. “Of course.”

  But the truth was, I couldn’t be sure.

  “What can you tell us about this box?” Sin and I sat across from Stanley in the focus group room. As I’d suspected he would, Uncle Kris had turned things over to us once I’d told him about the memo box and what we’d found inside it.

  Now he and Mamie sat in the observation room just like Sin and I had. Only, Mamie was taking notes.

  Stanley took hold of the box like it was an old friend. “This is what tinkers use to send messages back and forth to each other on the lab floor.”

  I nodded gently. “I know that. But what can you tell us about this box specifically? We found it in your work space.”

  He looked at me then, eyes filled with concern for one long moment. Then he sighed and sort of collapsed in on himself as he let the box drop to the table. “I shouldn’t be surprised you were in there. I knew you would be.”

  “We didn’t disturb anything. We were just looking for…”

  “Proof?” He smiled, a little weakly but sincerely all the same. “I know. It’s all right. You’re just doing what you need to do.”

  His gaze went back to the box. His fingers brushed the lock and tested the lid. It lifted slightly, as we hadn’t locked it. “You opened it.”

  Sin glanced at me as if to say, Here it comes.

  I answered Stanley. “Yes. It was empty except for the small fragment of a white feather. What can you tell us about that?”

  Stanley’s mouth firmed into a thin line. “Truth is, I was wavering. On changing the rabbit to a chicken. I knew Lyla wanted the chicken, but I had done so much work on the rabbit already. It was close to being ready. And it was good. Cute. Cuddly. Magical. The kind of toy kids respond to.”

  He looked at us with a confidence that surprised me a little. “I have enough years of experience to know when a toy is good. When a toy has all the right components to make it a hit.” He pointed into the air. “The rabbit had that.”

  He went back to staring at the box. “But Lyla was obsessed with the chicken. The farm even sent her a stuffed chicken in the mail. I guess she’d won it as a prize when she was there. That only made her more determined in her efforts to convince me to make her a robotic one that laid eggs.”

  He stopped talking like he w
as lost in his thoughts.

  “But something happened,” Sin prodded gently. “You made the change.”

  Stanley nodded. “The memo box showed up. And it was filled with the most beautiful soft, white feathers. They were snowy and fluffy and so perfect that I took the arrival of them as a sign that I was indeed supposed to turn my rabbit into Lyla’s chicken.”

  Sin and I looked at each other. The coincidences were piling up around us like snowflakes in a heavy blizzard. Although this gift of feathers felt more like a blatant manipulation.

  I asked the question I knew had to be on Sin’s mind too. “Who sent the feathers?”

  Stanley shrugged. “I have no idea. The box didn’t come with a note.”

  Sin frowned. “Kind of odd, isn’t it?”

  “For tinkers?” Stanley shook his head. “Not that odd. See, we send things to each other all the time. Sharing a new tool. Encouraging with a thoughtful note. Or a favorite kind of sweet. Gifting a bit of inspiring material. That’s all I thought this was. Someone with spectacular timing. But I didn’t think it was odd. After all, I’m known for my Pocket Pets. Animal toys have kind of become my area. And I’d talked about doing something larger for a while.”

  He hadn’t really explained the issue of not knowing the sender. “But to get a box of feathers without a note?”

  “A couple months before the feathers, I’d gotten another box with two yards of the best fake fur you can imagine. Also no note. That fur was top quality. I’d already patterned it out for the rabbit, in fact.” He leaned back and put a hand on his stomach. “And six months before that, I got a pound of your aunt’s eggnog fudge. One of my great weaknesses.”

  “All anonymous?” Sin asked.

  Stanley nodded, smiling a bit. “After I won the tinker competition last year, I got quite a few boxes. Most had notes, I’ll give you that, but not all. We tinkers can be a forgetful group. Too focused on our toys. So sometimes, notes get left on workbenches. Or not written at all. It’s not a big thing.”

  It felt like a big thing to me.

  Stanley pushed the box away and folded his hands on the table. “I’m sorry for the mess this has caused. I wish I could help you more.”