The Doll Brokers Read online

  His voice went sharp. “How many did they give you?”

  Jonathan listened to her jump the question. “Kmart is in for one-fifty.”

  “Damn it, Ann, I’m not them, either. I have some constraints.”

  “Such as?”

  A new silence beat into the room. It made Jonathan curious.

  “I need a bigger discount,” McGuire said finally. “One up front.”

  Jonathan’s antennae tweaked, but he wasn’t sure why.

  “Gerry,” Ann said flatly, “our policy hasn’t changed. You get ten percent on Moonlight and everything else we do. Why should Baby Talk N Glow be any different?”

  “She’s more high profile.”

  “You said she was too expensive.”

  “Ah, Ann. Come on. That’s an old buyer’s ploy. Emphasize the negative. You’ve been around long enough.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “I need an extra discount. Say … three.”

  “Three,” she repeated.

  “If it’s now, on the early end, I’ll settle for three. I’d just want to structure it so I’m not looking at it a year down the road.”

  She frowned, looked at Jonathan, then shrugged.

  “Okay,” she said finally.

  Jonathan brought his hands down fast. What the hell? She gave a little shake of her head to keep him from interrupting.

  “Okay?” McGuire sounded equally surprised.

  “Brown’s has been in business—what? Two years now?” she asked, seeming to change the subject.

  “About that,” McGuire said cautiously.

  “In that time, they’ve instituted a series of fines that’s unprecedented in the toy industry. For God’s sake, Gerry, you charged me a hundred dollars for sending one invoice through the mail instead of electronically!”

  “Damn it, Ann, that’s company policy. I can’t—”

  “Listen to me, Gerry. You got me for five hundred dollars for using the incorrect freight forwarder. You hit me for a thousand for shipping three days early. And when I was a day late, you nailed me for another five hundred.”

  “Walmart does it.”

  “Their volume is much higher than yours. They have cause to be demanding. And they’re still not as bad as you.”

  “What’s your point?”

  The guy sounded like he was whining. Jonathan thought.

  “I’ll give you three percent up front, paid to your company,” Ann continued. “But I want something in return.”

  Jonathan sat up straight.

  “I want you to reverse all those fines I just mentioned,” she said, “and a guarantee that there won’t be anything similar for the next two years.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Then no deal. I’ve got to run, Gerry. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. The three percent has to come from somewhere.”

  “Wait! Just wait.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Take it or leave it.”

  The pause didn’t last long. “All right! I’ll fix the fines and go for seventy-five thousand pieces.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Jonathan watched Ann go limp in her chair after she disconnected.

  “Now I have Brown’s, Kmart, and Toys ‘R’ Us,” she gloated. “The extra three percent will be negated somewhat by those fines. It’ll come out in the wash.”

  Jonathan thought about it. “That was good.”

  “That,” she answered, standing, “was a girl from Newark.”

  She was halfway to the door before Jonathan thought to stand as well. Newark? He’d known her for seventeen years and never figured out where she’d come from. Felicia had never told them, if she even knew herself.

  Ann had just gambled and won. And she hadn’t batted an eye while doing it. Tough streets there, he thought, in Newark.

  “Where you going?” he asked.

  “To brunch. Bring your credit card. I just worked up an appetite.”

  By the time he got to the hallway, she was well ahead of him, knocking on Patrick’s door. He watched her turn the knob. Jonathan stepped up behind and peered over her shoulder.

  Patrick’s secretary was sitting at his desk. Jonathan remembered her as a knockout—he’d met her at last year’s company Christmas party. At the moment, however, she was wan and seemed out of sorts.

  “Where’s Patrick?” Ann asked.

  “Um … oh, Ann. He’s—uh—at a meeting.”

  “Here? In the building?”

  “No. Somewhere else.”

  Jonathan felt renewed tension coming off Ann like something palpable.

  “Look, Verna, when he gets in touch, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

  “Will do,” the girl promised.

  Ann turned to face Jonathan. He was too close. She couldn’t back up because the door was against her spine.

  “You’ve made the girl nervous,” he said. “Is this the Newark thing again?”

  “She was nervous before I walked in.” He was leaning close. What was he doing? Ann tried to ease around him. “Are you going to feed me, or what? There isn’t a restaurant behind this door you’re trying to push me through.”

  “You’re nervous yourself, Ann. Why is that?”

  She was dying. She wanted him, and she was dying over it. “Back off.”

  “It’s never wise to bite the hand that intends to feed you, so stop snarling.”

  He finally moved. He was five steps ahead before Ann got sufficient balance back to follow. Her pride wouldn’t let her hurry to catch up.

  CHAPTER 26

  Verna waited a long time in the same position, afraid that Ann would return.

  Then the shakes began to course through her body, making her flesh tingle and causing something unpleasant to catch in her throat. That had been close, too close for comfort.

  That bastard, that …Vincent, or whoever the hell he was. From a chance meeting in a bar to this, whatever this is. She didn’t know; didn’t want to know.

  She was in love with Patrick. She would never hurt him. But she had run out of options at midnight last night, when Vincent had showed up, pounding on her apartment door. Still fuzzy with sleep, she had peered out into the darkness at his hulking presence, recognizing him immediately, no matter how brief their encounter in the bar had been. It was his scar and a menace in him that was not easily forgotten.

  Suddenly, he was inside and she was lying flat on her back, with Vincent on top, straddling her, pinning her down. She yelled for him to get off of her, to get out, that she would call the police. But he had laughed in her face.

  When he rose to his feet and ordered her up, she obeyed, wrapping the housecoat she had hastily put on before answering the door more tightly around her. He moved to the small table against the scarred kitchen wall and took a seat, motioning her to join him. Nervously, she pulled back one of the hardback wood chairs and sat down. Without uttering a word, he removed some eight-by-ten photographs from his briefcase and placed them on the table in front of her.

  Verna hardly made a sound, but her eyes sped to the table top. He pushed the photographs closer. Her gaze dropped. They were photographs of her mother, the only person whose safety and wellbeing meant more to her than anything in the world. Her mother, who had carried on penniless after her father’s sudden death in a car accident; after her brother’s trouble with a series of drug arrests; and after Verna’s own missteps through the years. Her dear mother, who had never failed to be there for her. Verna could not, would not, allow her to be harmed in any way. She stood abruptly, a stricken look on her face, and sent her chair flying to the floor with a thud.

  “Relax,” Vincent said. “Nothing’s going to happen to her. You just have to listen to me. And do as I say…”

  Verna remained standing, trying to envision an escape route from her apartment.

  “Sit down,” he demanded.

  When she failed to respond, he jumped to his feet, gripped her shoulders tightly, and turned her towards t
he table, forcing her back into the chair. Then the tears came. As the minutes passed, she made no move to dry her eyes.

  Vincent began to speak. Although she was only half listening, she heard his message loud and clear. She was to take the envelope and pouch he was about to give her and place them in Patrick’s briefcase. Then she would be contacted with further instructions. Once it was done, she would never hear from him again. “I assure you this will be over in a matter of a day or two,” Vincent said as he stood and made his way to the door. Then he turned back and issued his final warning. “But if you go to the police, or anyone else for help, don’t count on seeing your mother again.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

  Seated alone in Patrick’s office now, the memory of Vincent’s threat caused Verna’s shaking to intensify yet again. Too numb to contemplate the contents of the envelope and pouch, she forced herself into action, opening Patrick’s briefcase and dropping them both inside.

  Verna was about to leave the office, when her cell phone rang. Suspecting who it would be, she reluctantly placed the phone to her ear.

  “I want you to get Patrick to take you home at the end of the day,” Vincent said without a greeting.

  “What do you mean?” she responded. “He has an appointment this afternoon at the warehouse.”

  “Then you’ll get him to take you with him.”

  “To the warehouse?”

  “To a bar,” Vincent said. “Get him drunk. As drunk as he’s ever been in his life.”

  Verna listened without saying a word.

  “Then send him on his way. Once he drives off, call the cops and report him, give them the license plate and description of Patrick’s car, then tell them that unless they do something he won’t make it home in one piece.”

  She cocked her head to the side and realized all too clearly that when the police pulled Patrick over, they would find what she had put in the briefcase. “I can’t,” she muttered. “I can’t do this to him.”

  “Fine,” came the bloodless voice over the phone, “then call your mother and say goodbye.”

  CHAPTER 27

  By twenty past seven, Ann was feeling good enough to toe her shoes off and put her feet up on the desk. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the chair.

  “Ah.” Her voice hummed. With relief and yes, she thought, with pride. An acceptable reaction when you went to war with all your guns blazing—and won. But she was too drained to appreciate the full scope of the emotion when there was still one more thing she had to do.

  She leaned forward to press the speed dial on the phone.

  “Are you now ready to tell me the whole truth?” Felicia asked when she picked up the phone and heard Ann’s voice.

  Ann winced. So much for keeping her in the dark. “Of course.”

  “Good. Then how are my boys doing?”

  Ann blinked in confusion. She’d thought Felicia was asking about Baby Talk N Glow. “They’re fine, to the best of my knowledge. But we all know that my knowledge is limited where they’re concerned.”

  “Pat?” Felicia persisted.

  “He was in meetings all day. I didn’t see him.”

  “Jonathan?”

  Ann opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “Are you still there, dear?” Felicia asked.

  “I’m here. The last time I saw him he was pretty absorbed in the welfare of his favorite sweater.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. I called to give you an update on Baby Talk N Glow. Kmart is in for a hundred and fifty thousand, and Brown’s gave us seventy-five.”

  Ann got off the subject of Jonathan fast. Everything was changing with him and she didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t know what she wanted to do about it. Every instinct she possessed told her that he wasn’t going to go away long enough for her to figure it out.

  “That’s high for Jerry McGuire,” Felicia said, bringing her back.

  “He was motivated.”

  “Ah, Ann.” There was amusement in Felicia’s voice as she read between the lines.

  “I got him to eradicate those fines.”

  There was a pause, then Felicia laughed. “There’s my girl. What about the other chains?”

  “I’m still waiting to hear from Target, but they should come in for a hundred and fifty, if management doesn’t interfere.”

  “And Walmart? No change there?” Ann had finally had to tell her the truth.

  “You know how they are. If we were Mattel, we’d have an order in our hands for two hundred and fifty thousand pieces.”

  “But we’re not Mattel,” Felicia said.

  “So we’ll have to wait. But they’ll come around.”

  “Toys ‘R’ Us?”

  “Hedging their bets, but they’re in. By the time I wrap up Meijer and some of the other regional chains, we ought to have at least another couple hundred thousand.”

  “Our breakeven point is just over six hundred thousand pieces.”

  Ann rubbed her stomach. Anything less, and they’d show a loss. Felicia was sick, but she was still sharp as a tack. “I know. The numbers dance through my dreams.”

  “One would think we’d have buyers falling over themselves to get their commitments in,” Felicia fretted.

  “You know how it is. Most of them just don’t care anymore. One product is the same as any other. The buyers who are experienced and old enough to know better are being shipped out.” It was the only way she could justify how spectacularly bad their trip to the American retailers had been. Nothing else made sense. Their doll was just too special.

  “Well, Ann,” Felicia said, “I have one more question before I let you go.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you seeing Jonathan?”

  “Am I what?” Ann’s feet hit the floor hard.

  “I’m just wondering about all these trips the two of you have been taking.”

  “That’s business.”

  “Of course it is, dear. And it’s explained perfectly by his avid interest in toys.” She disconnected.

  Ann stared at the telephone. Wiley old coot. She’d been gearing up for that question through their entire conversation.

  A knock came at her office door. It was late and the sound made her jump. She padded barefoot to answer it. Could it possibly be Jonathan, twice in one day? Who knew with him? He was the most contrary, unpredictable individual she’d ever gotten tangled up with. She flung the door open expecting to see his face.

  “What now?” she demanded. “You’ve fed me, harassed me—oh.”

  It wasn’t Jonathan. Her senior accountant all but leaped back from the threshold.

  Everly Bingham was holding a computer print-out in his hands. He dropped it when she startled him. Pages fluttered to the floor. He dove to get them, the overhead lights gleaming on his bald pate between spare strands of pale, blond-gray hair.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lesage. I saw the light on under the door and I thought, well, if you were still here, maybe you’d have a moment.”

  “Of course.” Ann stepped back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be someone else.”

  “No problem.” He had his papers together now and he skittered inside. He had always reminded her of one of those little shore birds, the kind that darted in and out of the white-fringed scallops of surf.

  Ann went back to her desk. “You’re looking for me? Not Mr. Morhardt?” Bingham’s job technically fell under Patrick’s domain.

  “I met with him earlier today.”

  Ann felt her stomach shift uneasily. “And?”

  “He told me not to worry, but I … well, I’m simply not comfortable with that.”

  His narrow face heated. Small wonder, Ann thought. He was going over his boss’ head. “Not to worry about what?” she asked.

  “We seem to be missing money.”

  “We?”

  “The company.”

  Her heart dove. “How much?”
/>   “A hundred thousand dollars.”

  Compared to the five million she’d committed in advertising dollars for the doll, it was spare change. But the fact that it was—what had he said? Missing—was boggling. “Where did it go?” she asked stupidly.

  “That’s precisely the problem, Ms. Lesage. I don’t know.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” she repeated.

  “I could show you.”

  “Please do.”

  He came to her desk and spread the pages out. Ann stood to look down at them. He took a pen from behind his ear and began explaining. Drawing lines. Showing transfers. Fifty thousand dollars jumping around and ultimately disappearing. It had happened weeks ago.

  “I am terribly sorry to have to bring this to your attention, Ms. Lesage, but in my estimation, someone … well, took it.”

  She felt lightheaded. Ann sat and dug her fingers into her temples. She pressed hard. Bingham’s calculations had been stellar for eleven years now. She didn’t doubt him, but… “You said a hundred thousand. That was fifty.”

  “Yes, well, we’re looking at two separate incidents. I noticed the first one some time ago. I … well, it occurred to me…” He trailed off, his gaze jumping around the room.

  “You thought it was your mistake,” Ann finished for him.

  Breath gusted out of him. “Yes. Nothing like this has ever happened before, not while I’ve had control of the books.”

  She nodded. It didn’t seem to comfort him, so she added, “I know that.”

  “I became more diligent. Checking our balances online daily. I believe that’s what enabled me to notice this second discrepancy right away. It’s not my error. Someone would have covered this up as well if I hadn’t immediately become aware of the transaction. It happened today.”

  Ann grabbed a page and looked at it. The first transfer had taken place on the same day Jonathan had been trailing her around Toronto. What was she thinking? That his sudden interest in the business coincided with the leapfrogging activity of fifty thousand dollars? He’d been here today, too, she thought, when the other fifty thousand had vanished.

  Her stomach rolled sickeningly, then it steadied.

  No. She might have believed it a month ago, but she knew him better now. Or so she thought. At least she knew that he didn’t need a hundred thousand dollars. And if he was pressed for that kind of cash, Felicia had ample to loan him. He was irritating, frustrating, often outrageous, but he was also brutally honest.