The Best Kept Secret Dave Tilbor, VP Marketing Services at Galoob Toys in San Francisco; Sharon Anderson, Director of Human Resources at Irwin Toy Limited in Toronto; and Judy Strege, great writer and friend; and always, Anne Martin, Kelly McKillip, Susan Skaggs and Gayle Webster.
Chapter One The man on the sofa stared at the television, his chest heaving with grief.
"Today in a bizarre accident," the newscaster said, 'local toy manufacturer Mac Coy died when a virtual reality simulator he was testing shorted out, electrocuting him."
The anchorwoman wore a Christmas-green suit with a silver Santa on her lapel. The set around her sported pine boughs sprinkled with tiny white lights and tied with plaid ribbons. The decor conveyed the warmth of the holiday, while the anchorwoman's words, spoken in a flat and emotionless tone, sliced the man's heart like a jagged edge of a shattered tree ornament.
Maybe it was the tree across the room, the decorations all around him, that made him feel connected to her, but he could swear she stared directly at him, speaking to him alone, as though they were captured in some lost Yuletide episode of
"The Twilight Zone." "No one is quite sure how this happened."
The man was dead certain how it had happened. Murder. Murder made to appear accidental. That VRS had been rigged. He tossed back a shot of Cuervo Gold.
The newscaster continued,
"A spokesman for Coy Toys said that Mr. Coy's death is even sadder coming as it has at this time of year with the company's impending release of a revolutionary breakthrough in the industry."
The man laughed, a bitter, pained, mirthless burst of noise that echoed off the living-room walls. Holly Beary's Heart, a breakthrough meant for the good of the world. For the joy of children everywhere. Instead, it had fostered industrial espionage. And now murder. His insides ached with cold, as though he'd swallowed a block of ice.
The newscaster shuffled the pages on her desk.
"Mac Coy's brother, CEO of Quell Inc." Grant Coy, could not be reached for comment."
The man glanced at the phone, unplugged from the wall, and winced. His brother was dead. His twin. The other half of him. The better half. What the hell did the press expect him to say? That he was bereft? And angry enough, for the first time in his life, to commit a violent crime? To rip the murderer limb from limb?
If he had the faintest idea how to go about finding the murderer. He clicked off the television set. The screen crackled in protest, then faded to black. The sudden silence emphasized his grief. His guilt. Gripping his glass tightly, he tossed the remote control aside and lurched to his feet.
His head swam. The room spun. The miniature lights on the six-foot tree, the only illumination in the room, blurred.
He shook his head. Tequila splashed from his glass
Page 2
Create PDF with GO2PDF for free, if you wish to remove this line, click here to buy Virtual PDF Printer
The Best Kept Secret down the front of him. He cursed, shrugged out of the T-shirt and wiped himself off with it.
He dropped back to the sofa and tossed down the rest of the drink. His third. No, fifth. No. Hell, he'd lost count. He didn't usually drink anything stronger than coffee. Didn't like dulling his wits. Now he no longer cared. He needed desperately to blunt his heartache. To blot out all thought.
Except revenge.
His gaze slid to the presents beneath the tree. To one gift in particular.
The one to his brother from him--a silly joke gift, something his brother would never open. A laugh they would never share.
