Chapter 33
COOPER
Debbie burned the pancakes this morning.
She’s never burned pancakes in the entire time I’ve been married to her. She’s not a gourmet cook, but she never burns things. And the pancakes weren’t just a little on the brown side—they were black on the bottom with an acrid odor. The entire kitchen reeked.
It seemed like a particularly ominous sign.
When I get to the office, Mrs. McCauley is sitting primly at her desk. She gets to her feet when she sees me. “Mr. Mullen, can I have a word?”
I don’t really feel like having a conversation with Mrs. McCauley, but I obediently approach her desk. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Bryant has decided to take a spur-of-the-moment fishing trip,” she says. “He informed me via email this morning that he would be absent for the rest of the week.”
Fantastic. That means I don’t have to see him.
“Of course,” she adds, “that doesn’t give you a license to spend the next two days having a vacation of your own. I promised him that I would keep an eye on you and the rest of the staff.”
I don’t doubt that she will. However, Mrs. McCauley always leaves at four thirty on the dot, which means that I’ll be cutting out at four thirty five. I’ll head to the gym and blow off some of my nervous energy.
After disentangling myself from Mrs. McCauley, I head to the small break room to get a cup of coffee. Jesse is already there, sipping from his own mug. “Hey, Coop,” he says.
“Hey, man.”
We have one of those coffee pod machines in the break room, but Ken refuses to provide the pods, so Jesse and I split a box of them. We keep them in the cabinet over the sink, so I grab one to make my own coffee.
“Must be nice to be the boss and get to take a spur-of-the-moment fishing trip in the middle of the damn week,” Jesse muses.
“I’m glad he’s gone.”
Jesse is silent for a moment, sipping his coffee. Despite the fact that Mrs. McCauley is watching us, he doesn’t seem particularly eager to get to work. He’s good at his job, but he has a more relaxed attitude, which is something I envy about him.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says to me, “but you look like shit, Cooper.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for the coffee to fill my cup. I need some caffeine like nobody’s business. “Yeah, I feel like shit.”
“Everything okay, buddy?”
I shoot him a look. “Is that a serious question?”
He flinches. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass.”
“No,” I grunt. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a weird couple of days. And Debbie… I don’t think she’s taking the whole thing well.”
“That Debbie.” He shakes his head. “She’s kind of…intense, isn’t she?”
I know what he means. I’ve always known Debbie was different from everyone else, but now it’s gotten to the point where friends seem to be noticing. “What gives you that idea?”
“Well…” He takes a thoughtful sip from his coffee mug. It has a cartoon dog on it. “Remember when the four of us went to dinner together at that little Italian place?”
“Yeah…”
“Do you remember how the waitress was flirting with you?” When I look at him blankly, he elaborates. “She was giggling at everything you said, and then at one point, she put her hand on your shoulder.”
“I don’t think I noticed.”
“Well, Debbie sure did.” He lowers his mug onto the counter.
“She was super cold after that. I swear, she deliberately spilled her drink so the waitress would have to clean it up. And she didn’t leave any tip on your half when we split the bill.
I actually kicked in extra so the waitress wouldn’t get stiffed. ”
I remember that part now. I remember Debbie tossing in her own credit card when we were splitting the bill, which surprised me because I am the one who usually pays for meals.
Technically it was the same joint credit card, but we fall into the typical gender roles, and I’m the one who pays.
This time, it was Debbie who used her credit card though.
And apparently, she had a good reason.
“Debbie has serious jealousy issues,” Jesse observes.
“You really think so?”
“For sure.” He slugs my shoulder playfully. “I get the feeling Debbie has a fiery side.”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
Jesse grins. “You giving her something to worry about, Coop?”
A cold sensation runs down my spine. The coffee finishes pouring into the cup, and I snatch it from the machine. “I better get to work. Mrs. McCauley is probably writing down everything we do.”
“I’ll bet.” He snickers. “She’s probably going to provide Ken with minute-by-minute updates. Although I get to leave for an hour to water Ken’s plants. He texted me to assign me that dubious honor.”
That makes me feel even worse. The last time Ken took a fishing trip, I was the one he asked to water his plants.
I can understand after our conversation yesterday, though, why he wouldn’t want me wandering around his empty home.
Not that I’d take a piss in his plants or anything like that, but, well, I’d be tempted.
As I trudge back to my office with my cup of coffee, I can’t seem to shake a sensation in the back of my head that something isn’t entirely right here.
Ken goes fishing all the time, but he usually gives us a few weeks’ notice.
And there’s something strange about the fact that the people he told were contacted electronically rather than with a phone call.
Impulsively, I grab my phone and find Ken’s number under my favorite contacts. The last thing I want to do is chitchat with my boss after our conversation yesterday, but my Spidey sense won’t stop tingling. Something is wrong.
I grip the phone as it rings in my ear. Again and again until it goes to his terse voicemail:
This is Ken Bryant. Leave a message.
If he went on a fishing trip, it makes sense he wouldn’t have phone service. Or else he left his phone behind while he’s sitting in the middle of a lake, just him and his fishing rod. That’s the most logical explanation.
So why can’t I turn off this buzzing in the back of my head? Maybe it’s because in all the years I’ve known Ken, he has never once taken a spontaneous vacation. Every time he’s taken so much as an afternoon off, he’s given us several weeks’ notice. This is very strange behavior.
Maybe I should go check on him.
But that might not be a great idea. If he is home, Ken wouldn’t appreciate it if I showed up at his front door. And if he’s not home, that sort of thing might be looked at as trespassing by a disgruntled employee.
I’m sure he’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be back on Monday.