A young man with a black faux-hawk and a guarded expression was waiting for us. He said, “I’m Davo. Donna just got out of her meeting. Stick with me.”
Conklin and I followed Davo, who opened a locked door and led us down a yellow-carpeted corridor to Donna Timko’s sanctum, as spacious and as open as the entrance on the ground floor.
Timko stood and came forward to greet us.
She was a very large woman, obese, actually. She wore a flowing blue dress to just below her knees, an enviable diamond bracelet, and a radiant smile. She looked as kind as she’d looked when we’d seen her on the video screen at the executive meeting.
She said, “It’s good to meet you in person. I am so glad you could come.”
I don’t know what Donna Timko saw in my face, but here’s what was in my mind: I didn’t want to be there at all.
CHAPTER 52
I DID MY level best to wrench my thoughts away from my friends on the FinStar as Timko shook my hand and asked, “Would you like to see the facility? I’m in love with this place and have very few opportunities to show it off. You could even say that I have none.”
Oh, no. Not a tour.
Timko told her assistant we’d be back in fifteen minutes, and Conklin and I joined Timko on her rounds. She started us off with the executive offices, introduced us to staff, and showed us the plans for the introduction of Baby Cakes, a new product that would be rolling out within the next six weeks.
Next stop was the sparkling stainless-steel test kitchens, fragrant with sugar and spice.
“We’re very focused on Baby Cakes right now,” Timko told us. “The promotion for this product is going to be huge, and none of our competitors have anything like it.”
Baby Cakes were the size of big-button mushrooms, each one a single mouthful of a premium flavor combination of cake and frosting to be packaged in six-cake variety packs with a price point of $1.99.
Conklin was like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. He taste-tested mocha cakes frosted with marshmallow and a bunch of tutti-frutti ones topped with shredded coconut and I don’t know what else.
He was being affable with a purpose.
Making friends inside.
Almost unnoticed, I took up a position between a mixing station and a huge fridge and watched the cheerful elf chefs with confectioner’s sugar on their gloves and noses. I wondered if one of them could be salting cake batter with micro-encapsulated belly bombs.
We returned to Timko’s office and assembled in her sunny seating area, banked with potted greenery under a skylight.
“So now that I’ve had my fun, what can I do to help you?” the product-development chief asked us.
“We need your informed opinion on what’s behind the bombs, Donna,” Conklin said. “Why do you think Chuck’s is being targeted?”
“I’ve thought of nothing else since the get-go,” said Timko. She reached into her handbag for an e-cig and puffed until the end of it turned blue. She seemed to be considering how to say what was on her mind.
Finally she said, “I don’t know if this is worth a dime, but last month, there was an offer to buy Chuck’s. Space Dogs. You know of them?”
Sure I did. Space Dogs was a hot dog chain based in the Northeast somewhere, Philadelphia maybe, or Scranton.
“Space Dogs wants to get into hamburgers?”
“More like they wanted to take over our real estate—our stores and our plants—and also to cherry-pick our personnel. They’d be expanding the Space Dogs franchise into the West Coast in one very big move,” said Timko.
“And did Chuck’s management want to sell?”
“Stan Weaver, our chairman, was all for it. He had golden parachutes ready for key executives ready to go in exchange for supporting the sale.”
“How did Michael Jansing feel about selling out?” Conklin asked.
“He’s as loyal to Chuck’s brand and culture as I am, but there was a lot of money involved. In the end, Jansing voted in favor of the buyout. But listen. Whether the company is sold or not, I want to help you catch the maniac who is killing our customers. That’s just so wrong.”
I said, “There isn’t much time. If the bomber isn’t arrested in the next day or so, the governor is going to have to close Chuck’s down, maybe permanently.”
Timko’s eyes watered, and then, after a moment, she said, “I don’t know anyone who would want to sabotage this company. Most of us just feel damned grateful to work here.”
Conklin and I left Timko to her job and went out to the car, talking about this corporate buyout wrinkle as we walked.
If Chuck’s was associated with food-related fatalities, the value of the company would tank, making it a cheaper buy for Space Dogs. On the other hand, there had to be plenty of Chuck’s employees who wouldn’t profit from a buyout.