Lipstick and Lies (17 page)

The angle had potential. I was back to stalling. “Hmm…”

Mrs. K’s thumbs began to twiddle. “Such visibility would help distinguish my girls from the other women employed here.”

So that was it. Willow Run offered plenty of opportunities for women, but competition was stiff. A factory stage-mother of sorts, Mrs. K wanted to give her girls a leg up.

“Willow Run is a big place, but we’re family. I’ve known Otto since the day he arrived in Detroit.”

The stakes for molding her daughters’ futures had doubled. Her will to convince me of the good rapport she had with her boss doubled with them. The history of their relationship spilled out in a rush.

It turned out Mrs. K and her daughters lived next door to the Renners. Clara’s father had passed away some time ago and to help make ends meet, her mother began taking in boarders. Otto Renner had moved in two years ago, when he took the job at Willow Run, intending to stay only temporarily. But then romance began to blossom between him and Clara. They married and, sadly, Clara’s mother died unexpectedly shortly afterwards.

“Oh, my goodness, look at the time!” Mrs. K exclaimed, springing from her seat. “Otto will be here soon. I need to type his report. We don’t want him in a bad mood when we present your request, now do we?”

“Bad mood?” I observed, teasing. “Judging from your description, Mr. Renner will be canonized one day.”

Mrs. K smiled, but something in her expression wasn’t right. She began fingering the chunky string of amber beads resting on her ample breasts. “Otto has not been himself lately.” She was very solemn.

I thought of the stress he must be under, spying. “Too much pressure from the job?”

“Something with his stomach, he says.”

“Ulcers?”

She frowned. “He won’t say. And that’s what worries me.” She strode to the threshold of Renner’s office, hesitating before going in. “Perhaps you’d like to sit over there while I get the dictation tape.” She nodded in the general vicinity of where she expected me to go.

I didn’t need to turn around to know there was a waiting area with two chairs and a small table, holding a fan of magazines, behind me. The chairs were strategically positioned so their occupants could not peer into Renner’s office. I’d noted the arrangement, and its shortcoming, when I’d arrived. “I’m comfortable where I am, thank you.”

Mrs. K raised her pencil-thin eyebrows and I shifted deeper into my seat. I removed my compact from the zippered pouch and, opening it, lifted the case to my face. My nose was shiny, I noted, studying its mirror. I lifted the velvety pad and swabbed on some powder. In the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs. K still immobilized by indecision. I knew what would get her moving.

A fine line of sweat had gathered above my upper lip. “Need to look my best,” I said, tackling it with a few quick pats. “Especially if I expect to convince Mr. Renner to let me do
two
interviews.”

Mrs. K let go of whatever it was she had been wrestling with. She sashayed into Renner’s office, and I thought I heard her humming. Keeping the open compact in front of my face, I watched her pause in front of the plant blueprint on the wall across from me.

She looked over her shoulder. I had removed the cap from my lipstick tube and was holding the stick to my mouth. I began coating the imitation cherry-red gloss over my lips. The greasy product was revolting. Really! With all their expertise couldn’t the lab boys come up with something better for our spy kits? But then why would they? They didn’t have to wear it, I thought, fighting to keep the slick stick from skidding from my lips. Or maybe, I speculated more generously, the skimping left extra funds for inventing sophisticated weaponry and gadgets. Like the twist-off lower portion of the tube, for instance. Inside was a tiny ampule of “Who Me?” the potent smelly substance introduced in F school training for emergencies. Then there was the miniature camera-compact I held in the palm of my hand…

My concentration shifted from applying cosmetics to peeping through the compact’s mirrored lid. The camera’s zoom lens, built into the lid of the thin powder case, was so powerful that it brought everything on the far side of Renner’s office close up. Dante and Connelly had been skeptical when I’d suggested bringing a secret camera along. I persisted, only to learn the FBI, having no women agents, had no female-friendly devices. At my suggestion, we contacted OSS and requisitioned a specially tailored kit from them.

Mrs. K, her back to me, appeared to be studying the schematic drawing. Keeping the mirror close to my face, I stared through the tiny lens at its center, my heart pounding in my ears as she slipped her fingers under the drawing. The blueprint was tacked onto cork board and had been cut vertically. She pulled and the floor plan parted, the two halves coming away from the wall like cupboard doors. I held my breath and pushed one of the microscopic buttons along the edge of the compact’s lid. The lens zoomed, bringing the large dial, formerly hidden by the blueprint, into closer view.

The dial was set into a corrugated metal door. Mrs. K spun it a few times then stopped. My finger found another tiny button. I pushed. There was no click, but I heard the hushed whir of the shutter inside. Even looking through the lens, the arrow and numbers were not perfectly distinct and I could not be sure I had captured the number where the dial’s arrow had been pointed. The film would need to be developed and the image blown up back at FBI headquarters before we would know for certain what, if anything, I had recorded.

Mrs. K spun the dial quickly two more times. With each pause, I fired the camera’s button. Her hand left the dial and my finger left the button. I pulled the compact away from my face. I sensed her furtive backwards glance as I continued primping and staring, now from a normal distance, into the mirror.

Presumably convinced that I was totally narcissistic, she turned back to the wall. Gripping a handle, she yanked upwards and the section of corrugated metal, operating like a dumbwaiter door, pleated as it vanished into the wall. A safe with a fireproof metal door had been installed into the drywall behind the covering. Beneath it were two broad, shallow drawers, set in a metal facing. The drawers were Renner’s private flat files, used for storing blueprints and drawings, I surmised, snapping a couple of quick shots.

My nose remained buried in my compact as she gripped the safe’s sturdy handle. Poised to capture what was hidden behind the door, I held my breath.

“Mrs. Kovacizki, what are you doing?” a strong male voice barked behind me.

Adrenaline coursed through me and I felt its hot path. Otto Renner!

Mrs. K whipped around and I clamped the compact shut, nearly taking off the tip of my nose and sending a tiny cloud of powder floating through the air.

My visit to Willow Run had been set to coincide with a time when Renner would be outside the office at a meeting. Yet here he was. And I’d been so preoccupied with keeping Mrs. K focused in the camera’s lens, I hadn’t heard him enter. Had he seen what was in my hand? Could he guess what I’d been doing? Without turning to look at him I palmed the thin powder case, slowly lowering it to my lap. I slipped it into my pouch, aware that my hand was trembling.

Renner’s question had been polite, but the anger in his voice was obvious. In his office, on the other side of the window, his secretary appeared unruffled. “Otto,” she said, her folded hands held demurely over her tummy. “You’re early.”

This time Renner spoke in a stern tone, like a parent addressing a truant child. “I repeat, Mrs. Kovacizki. What are you doing?”

I’d been watching him out of the corner of my eye. He continued to ignore me and my breathing came a little easier. I turned slightly to get a better look.

I half-expected an aging engineer, one who’d spent his entire career working in a factory, to have gray hair and a doughy physique. Perhaps even a paunch. But Renner’s hair was completely brown and he was thin, in fact quite slender. He wore a dark suit and dark tie. The suit fit loosely and his white shirt gaped at the neckline in back. For a moment I thought maybe Mrs. K was right to worry, that he had suffered a sudden weight loss. Then I noticed the suit’s fabric. It had a slight shine and looked cheap. His stance was sturdy, his pallor normal, and ultimately I concluded the coat’s slouchy fit had more to do with what he paid for it than any problems with his health.

Again, Mrs. K ignored her boss’ interest in her activities. She lifted her eyebrows and gestured toward me. “We have company. Did you notice?”

“The raised blinds suggest
you
are the one who did not notice,” he retorted.

Acknowledging me with a slight nod, he breezed into his office. He moved so quickly there wasn’t time to detect any sign of a leg brace. I barely noticed a limp. On the other side of the window he tugged at a cord and the horizontal slats clattered noisily, diving to the sill.

My mission was technically over. Anxious to leave and deliver the film in my compact to the lab, I considered calling out an excuse and bolting. But an abrupt departure might raise Renner’s suspicions. Besides, I needed an escort.

The office door was partially open and I could hear the duo speaking behind the drawn blinds.

“You know better than to expose the safe to a stranger’s eyes,” Renner said, his voice low and tight.

Mrs. K was uncowed. “It could not be avoided.” A sudden silence was followed by an unaccountable change in her deportment. Her voice choked, then shook, as though she were on the verge of tears. “I am only one person. One secretary juggling too many balls. You won’t allow me to have an assistant. I do it
all
on my own.” She sniffled, then her nose honked loudly.

“Forget it, Edith,” Renner said, his voice gentle now. “We’ll take this up again later.”

“But the dictation recording is still inside the safe.”

“Leave it. The transcription is not critical at the moment.”

There was a soft rustling sound from a far corner of the office. I thought it might be Renner, shuffling paperwork on his desk.

“Good. I see you have typed up the engineering briefs,” he added. “I need them for the conference. You may go now, Edith. I should like to review them beforehand.”

For the first time, the starch in his diction registered. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I also detected a slight accent. Or was it affectation?

I slid to the edge of my seat, expecting the wondrous manipulator to emerge. She didn’t.

“Otto…”

A cushion squeaked and I pictured Renner collapsing into the chair behind his desk. “Yes?”

“The young lady waiting at my desk is here to see you about the Women in War Work interview. I read the sample…”

Her voice dropped to a near whisper and it was impossible to catch what she said next. But it wasn’t necessary. I knew whatever she was telling him was favorable.

“No, no,” Renner said, vehemently, the sudden harsh words careening through the semi-open door, causing me to flinch. “I am too busy now.”

She began snuffling again. There was a significant pause.

“All right, all right,” he snapped at last. “But tell her we need to make it quick.”

Mrs. K, eyes glistening, poked her head around the door. “Come in, Miss Lewis. Mr. Renner will see you now.”

On wobbly knees, I rose from my chair. “Thanks,” I said, brushing past her.

Renner sat behind a desk composed of dark wood and simple lines. He had been carrying a leather attaché case when he arrived. Propped open on the desk, it rested between neat paper piles, arranged with military precision. He was studying a document as I entered. “Miss Lewis,” he said, looking up.

The man was evil to the core and I should have been frightened. Instead I found myself staring back, fascinated. There was a worried look in his deep-set eyes, but then, a German spy operating out of a U.S. war plant would have plenty of concerns—even without Blount’s murder.

Renner launched out of his high-backed chair. We shook hands and he motioned to a chair facing him.

Across the desk, he studied me inquiringly. The probing stare was exaggerated by the jaw muscle he reflexively knotted and unknotted. Neither Renner, nor Mrs. K, had bothered turning on the overhead fixture. We sat in natural light created by sun streaming through the partially covered windows. His thin, straight hair shone in the light and my stomach curdled as I registered the color of his eyes. They were green, like mine. Caught in the golden glow, they telegraphed a keen mind. A quick hello-good-bye was my objective, but a token attempt at securing the interviews would be required first.

“I understand Mrs. Sands is your secretary’s daughter, and that her sister works here also, as an inspector. From what Mrs. K has told me, a story about the sisters seems a good fit for my series. It has that human interest hook that my readers, my
many
readers, love.”

Renner had been drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. He stopped. “I am sorry, but it will not be possible. As you have gathered by now, Mrs. Kovacizki is not only a loyal, excellent secretary, she is also a friend. I should like to make her, as well as her daughters, happy. This, however, is a particularly difficult time for me, er,
us
. The department is under a great deal of pressure. We, that is, Wanda, cannot spare the time.”

Mrs. K had left the office door open upon returning to her desk and, in truth, I’d only heard a few typing pecks since I’d sat down. Now I would have sworn I heard the soft rattle of amber beads.

“You’ll have some disappointed ladies on your hands,” I warned, trying to sound ominous.

“If I am not permitted to get back to the business at hand, they shall have to face something more devastating than not having their success stories featured in a newspaper.”

“What do you mean?”

Renner’s thick lips spread into an uneven smile. The look was either smarmy or remorseful, it was impossible to tell which. “What do I mean? I mean that an interview with Mrs. Sands is out of the question. My department’s work is more important to the war effort than your story. Perhaps another time. I am sorry.”