“That doesn’t sound like Henrietta.”
Margo sighed, her shoulders slumping and her posture withering slightly. “I know, but I can’t get a hold of her.”
“I hope nothing is wrong,” she whispered, turning toward the register and logging in with her own employee number. Henrietta, despite being about fifty—the same age as Margo—was one of Sandra’s best friends. She’d worked at the shop as a shift manager for the past ten years and been influential in Sandra’s high school days.
Holding out her hands, Margo could only shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now, hon. I’m sure everything is fine.”
The sideways tweak of Sandra’s mouth said otherwise.
“Can I check out here?” a customer with her arms stacked full of gift boxes asked, approaching the counter.
“Of course,” Sandra replied, putting on a big smile that hid any hint of worry.
“I’m gonna head to the factory and check on things if you’ve got it covered here,” Margo told her daughter.
“I’ve got it,” she gave a firm nod.
“Good.”
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Pat and I will be a little later getting to the cabin tonight. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep an eye out for you two,” she confirmed as she started toward the wooden staircase that led to the upper floor of the hot sauce factory just behind the shop. “If I hear from Henrietta, I’ll let you know,” she called back.
“Thanks,” she replied as she finished scanning the woman’s items. “I just hope nothing bad has happened.”
CHAPTER 2
* * *
The second floor of the Spicy Senora factory was made up of a balcony that went all the way around the outer edge of the building’s wall and looked down on the process of whipping up the best line of hot sauces in Culver’s Hood, Nebraska. Before Margo had purchased the large brick building in the Old Market district of town, it had stood empty for several years. Prior to that, it had been a creamery.
Coming to the top of the steps that led up from the front shop, Margo slipped into her office and sat down in her chair for a few seconds of rest. The whole morning had been trying, and there was still so much to do before she finally left for the family cabin—and her Christmas holiday—that evening.
They still had to finish getting the last few batches of hot sauce done, they needed to pack up the last-minute packages that patrons had ordered online, and there was the factory Christmas party at the end of the day. Already, the factory was decked out in festive attire. Lights and garland ran along the balconies and a large cardboard cutout of Santa Claus in his sleigh hung from the skylight. Margo had sprung for some food and drinks for the men and women who worked tirelessly under her employment. In particular, she had ordered a few pies from a new shop in town called Pies and Pages. Supposedly, they had the best pies in the city.
She was supposed to pick them up at two-thirty, and the party began at three.
Checking her watch, she saw that it was already one in the afternoon. She’d spent the entire morning fending for herself in the shop, but she still had a little time to catch up on paperwork before she had to leave.
Moving the mouse to bring the computer out of sleep mode, she didn’t even get a chance to log in before she was interrupted by shouting below.
Pushing out from the desk, she darted out the door and onto the balcony. Peering over the railing, she spotted two men at the end of the line, who oversaw the final stage of the bottling process.
“What’s gotten into you, today? You’re doing it wrong again,” Tate Hellman yelled. His work mask and goggles, which protected against the potent sting of the peppers they used in the process of making hot sauce, were both pulled aside.
Thomas Drake, the second man who was still wearing his work mask and goggles, only threw up his arms in a shrug of self-defense. He had a ball cap pulled tight over his hair to keep it from falling out and potentially contaminating any of the product.
“Are you drunk or something? That’s the fifth bottle you’ve messed up today. Are you trying to screw up?”
Thomas violently shook his head.
“Well, you’re slowing the whole line down. We have to get these done before the end of the day, dang it. Do you want to be stuck working on this when we should be having our Christmas party?”
Margo wasn’t going to stand around another second while things were falling apart in her factory below. Dashing for the stairway, she ran down onto the scene. By the time she got there, however, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
“This fool has been fumbling all day. He’s ruined at least five bottles.”
“Mr. Hellman, name calling is hardly a proper response to the situation,” she reprimanded him, feeling like a school teacher with a misbehaving young boy.
“My apologies, Ma’am, but I refuse to be held up here any longer today than I need to be. I intend to be home and celebrating the holidays with my wife by six.”
“And I assure you, Mr. Hellman, you will be. However, why didn’t you inform Mr. Krimer about this?”
“He hasn’t been around at all today.”
“Excuse me?” she gasped. Had her factory foreman also neglected to come into work today? Was there some debilitating sickness going around that prevented people from calling in?
“I’m telling you, Mrs. Hanratty, I haven’t seen a sign of him all day.”
“What the devil is going on down here? Why has the line stopped?” a deep booming voice echoed from the top of the stairway.
Margo turned to see Mr. Krimer standing there. “You haven’t seen him all day, huh?” she asked with a curious raise of an eyebrow.
“I swear, this is the first I’ve seen him,” the line worker stumbled over himself.
Krimer approached them with a determined swing in his step. His shirt was taut over his barrel chest which was tucked into his jeans. “What’s happening down here?”
“Diego, Mr. Hellman claims you haven’t been in the factory all day?”
“No, I’ve been here,” he reassured her.
“Then why weren’t you taking care of that lazy good-for-nothing Thomas Drake?” the worker talked back.
Diego narrowed his eyes in a way that only he could, with a commanding fury that would scare even the bravest of men. “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say, I’ve been here, but not the entire time. Our delivery driver called in sick, so I’ve been playing catch up and doing some of the delivery runs in his place. That’s why I haven’t been here on the floor every second.”
At least he had the decency to call in, Margo thought. “Thank you, Diego, for doing extra work that isn’t yours. However, it seems we have some issue with one of the line workers.”
“W-Well, Thomas has ruined at least five bottles today,” he reiterated.
Diego looked at the worker with a less than amused glance. “I’ll talk to him about it, but just remember, he’s new here. You’re supposed to be the one training him and making sure things are running.”
The line worker opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t manage to get any sound out.
“Get back to work. I’ll go find Drake.”
“He headed that way,” Margo motioned toward the side door, leading the way. While she knew Diego could come down like a hammer in situations like these—which was exactly why she’d hired him—she also knew that sometimes there were other life circumstances that could affect an employee’s performance. She wanted to be there and make sure Thomas Drake was heard.
Just as they reached the building’s side door, it swung open.
There stood Thomas, his goggles atop his hat and his mask to the side.
Diego folded his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging. “Mr. Drake, what is this I hear about you slacking here at work today?”
Glancing down at his feet, he let out a sigh. “S-sorry, Mr. Krimer.”
“Why di
d you run off when I came down onto the floor, Thomas?” Margo asked in an even tone. Thomas, while new, had seemed like a fairly confident man. His current behavior was surprising, and Margo assumed there must be something going on in his personal life.
“I just got scared, is all,” he admitted. “Guess I’ve been a little jittery.”
“Is there some reason you’ve slowed down the line today?” Diego jumped in.
His eyes remained on his boots, focused there with an undeniable force.
“Mr. Drake? Is there something wrong?” Margo pressed firmly, but calmly.
“Sorry. Holiday blues, I guess,” he gave a little half shrug. “It’s no excuse, really.”
“You are correct. It isn’t,” Diego stated forcefully. “I don’t want to see any more broken bottles today. You understand?”
“There won’t be, I assure you, sir.”
“Good. Now, get this batch finished up so we can have our Christmas party.”
He gave a firm nod, a smile tugging at his lips, and headed to his station.
Margo looked at the handsome, young foreman and sighed. She loved her factory, and her business, but at that moment she couldn’t wait to get up to her cabin and relax the rest of Christmas season away.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
At two-forty-five, Margo arrived back at the factory with the stack of pie boxes. It was growing colder, and the red scarf and wool cowgirl hat did little to keep away the chill. Snow seemed like an inevitable surety at that point. Still, the heat of the freshly baked pies, right out of the oven, was welcoming. She had to admit, they smelled divine. She’d simply gotten the staples—Pumpkin, Pecan, and Apple—and hoped the men enjoyed them.
Heading into the break room, she set the pies on the long serving table. She’d spent the evening before decorating the room with red and green lights strung along the ceiling, a long red and white runner on the table, and a full-blown Christmas tree in the corner. There was even a pile of presents beneath the tree, all a part of the company’s secret Santa exchange.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Christmas party without some cooking of her own. The night before, she’d already pre-prepared a pot of her famous green, white bean chili. It utilized one of her favorite hot sauces, and the first one she’d ever made, jalapeno. It was a green sauce and worked perfectly with the stewed chilies, chicken, bacon, and beans that went into the dish. It had a little kick, but just enough to make it enjoyable.
She set out all the pies at the end of the table and opened the boxes to display the delicious treats. At the head of the table, she had the oversized crock pot with the bubbling hot chili in it. There were multiple bags of thin and crispy tortilla chips, the kind with a hint of lime, for dipping into the chili. Red and green bowls, plates, and other party-ware were all at the ready for the men to come in and enjoy themselves.
Last, but certainly not least, were the gift baskets she’d made herself to tell them all thank you for their hard work that year. The baskets contained each individual employee’s favorite hot sauce in a large size, along with Christmas chocolates, a bottle of Christmas peppers, and gift card for a movie rental and popcorn (for that perfect snowy night spent inside).
They had all received a Christmas bonus as well with their checks that month.
Margo only hoped they were all happy with their jobs there at Spicy Senora, and that they didn’t mind working under an older woman.
So far, there’d not been any issues.
“Mrs. Hanratty?” a voice echoed from the door on the opposite side of the room that led behind the counter in the shop.
“Oh, Shelton, how are you? Have you come to join in on the festivities?”
The older gentleman, with a nearly bald head, smiled. “I wouldn’t pass up a chance to eat your chili, but that wasn’t why I came down.”
“What is it then? Don’t tell me it’s more work? Everyone in the factory is nearly done for the day.”
“Unfortunately, yes. I need you to come up to the office and look at something with me.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Is this going to take long?” She knew she should be more professional, but she was literally in the final moments of the year’s work before enjoying the Christmas party. She figured, if there was something wrong with the books, it could wait until the holidays were over.
“This is important,” he reiterated and disappeared back into the shop.
Shaking her head, she followed him into the shop and up the steps to her office.
The accountant sat at her desk with the spreadsheet of the year’s budget and profits pulled up.
“Is there an issue with this year’s increase?” she asked, sure that wasn’t the answer. She was a very careful businesswoman and made sure to never outspend her means. Last time she looked, this had been their best year for sales yet.
“Not necessarily.” He pointed at the sheet. “However, there seems to be some holes here and there.”
“Holes?”
He nodded pursing his lips as he looked over the file. “Like this, for instance.”
Bending over to get a better look, she examined the numbers.
“This section here just isn’t adding up. It’s almost like some of our product just disappeared off the line.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, I am, and this isn’t the only spot I’ve seen it.”
She folded her arms. “What could it mean?”
He shook his head and looked up at her. “I hate to say it, but it looks like someone is stealing product.”
“How is that possible? I have a security guard posted here at night, and a well-equipped alarm system.”
Sighing, the accountant clasped his hands. “I’m aware of all that. It seems to me like there is only one answer here.”
Margo’s jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed, a hint of fire appearing there. “You can’t mean—”
“I do. I think someone who works here is making the thefts, possibly reselling the product for a profit.”
“Well, what do we do about it?” she asked, finally taking a seat in the chair next to him.
“I suggest we report the theft to the insurance as well as to the police. An investigation will get underway and hopefully get to the bottom of this.”
“Are we in the red because of these thefts?”
He shook his head. “No, thankfully. It seems our thief is being very careful, only stealing a little at a time so no one would notice right away.”
“I see.”
“I’ll call the police and make a report if you call the insurance company,” he offered.
Margo held her chin for a moment while she considered her options. “No, not yet.”
“Not yet? We need someone on this now.”
“Not until after Christmas,” she insisted.
“The longer we wait, the more we chance the thief running off for good.”
“I know that,” she retorted. “However, I don’t think it’ll happen. The thief probably thinks they’re safe at the moment. Also, if we call up an investigation now, our employees might end up being detained throughout the holiday. It would be unfair to the rest of the workers.”
“But, Margo.”
“My answer is final. I want everyone to enjoy their Christmas, including you. I promise, first thing on January second, you and I will call this in and get an investigation started. Until then, lock these files and forget about it.”
“I don’t know,” he hesitated, looking over the numbers one more time.
Margo stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, just try to enjoy your Christmas, okay? I know I’ll be enjoying mine.”
CHAPTER 4
* * *
As the last refrain of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” rang out from the factory worker’s voices, there was applause all around. It was only a few minutes until five and the party was coming to a close. As was the tradition, after everyone had finished eati
ng and exchanging secret Santa gifts, Margo pulled out her electric keyboard and played Christmas carols while everyone sang along.
It wasn’t pretty, or even really on key—especially with some of the men belting as loud as they could—but it was a happy time together.
As the party members began to thin out, accepting the Christmas baskets as they headed out the door, the room took on a comforting silence. Laying back in one of the chairs, Margo drew in a deep breath. While it had been a fun time, she was glad to be officially done with work until after the new year.
Her mind wandered, thinking of the cozy cabin in the foothills outside Culver’s Hood. In her mind, she could see herself, her daughter, and her daughter’s fiancé all cuddled around the roaring fireplace as they ate Christmas popcorn (seasoned with sugar and peppermint), drank hot chocolate, and played card games.
A noise from the doorway broke her daydream and she opened her eyes. “I’m leaving, Mom,” Sandra announced as she slipped on her black leather gloves.
“Okay, hon. You going to meet up with Patrick?”
“Yeah, we’re having dinner with his parents at six.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re going to be late,” she mused.
“Pat is sacrificing a lot to spend the holidays with us at our cabin. We decided it was best to at least have a nice dinner with his parents before we took off.”
Margo smiled. “It’s a good plan.”
Sandra pulled her knit hat snugly over her head, covering her ears. “Just so you know, it’s already snowing out there.”
Margo sat upright. “I knew it would hit us, eventually.”
“It’s really coming down, so I’d suggest you head out as soon as possible. You know how those rural roads can get in the winter.”
“What about you, hon?”
“Pat’s truck has four-wheel drive and he’s putting on the chains now.”
“What a boy scout,” Margo teased.
“Be prepared,” Sandra giggled, giving the scout’s salute.
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