Chapter Twelve—Dalen
AT ELEVEN-FORTY MONDAY morning, I order lunch for Meg because leaving my wife alone gives me too much time to think about everyone I’m failing.
Julie hasn’t answered my text from this morning, but I didn’t expect her to.
I told her she didn’t need to, and for once in my life, I’m trying to mean exactly what I say instead of deciding the outcome I want and calling it help.
Meg is different. She’s been caught between us for two weeks, and some of that is my fault.
I let her become the person I asked questions I should’ve asked my wife.
Then Julie found out, and Meg took the hit with me.
Yesterday, she told me to give Julie room.
I’m trying. Lunch is the only useful thing I can think to do that doesn’t involve Julie.
I pull up the website for the deli near Meg’s office.
She’s complained about eating at her desk often enough that I know what she orders.
Turkey on sourdough, no tomato, extra pickles, and kettle chips.
She likes the lemon cookies too, though she’ll claim she doesn’t need one before eating it.
The delivery page rejects the company address when I enter it, so I try again with the same result.
Calla looks up from the chair across from my desk. She’s waiting for me to sign off on a revised proposal and has been watching me fight with my phone for at least thirty seconds. “Problem?”
“The deli won’t take Meg’s work address.”
She reaches for the proposal. “A tragedy.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“I’m here for you.” Calla returns her attention to the proposal while I call the deli instead.
A man answers on the fourth ring. I give him the order and Meg’s company name.
“Yeah, we deliver there.”
“Your website doesn’t recognize the address.”
“Website barely recognizes us.” Paper rustles on his end. “Who am I putting this under?”
“Meg Nirris.”
Calla’s pen stops above her notebook as the man asks me to repeat the name. I do.
“Don’t think I know her.”
“Office manager. Second floor.”
“Hang on.” He puts me down beside a keyboard, judging from the clatter that replaces his voice.
I lean back in my chair and look at the proposal Calla brought me. She raises one eyebrow, so I point at the document. “I’m reading.”
“You’re listening to a deli.”
“I’m capable of both.”
Calla glances pointedly at the unsigned page. “That hasn’t been demonstrated.”
The man comes back before I can defend myself. “Sorry. They said she doesn’t work there.”
I stop looking at Calla. “What?”
“Meg Nirris. Lady at the desk says she hasn’t worked there for a while.”
I sit forward. “Put the order through anyway.”
“Who am I delivering it to?”
“Nobody. Keep it.” He laughs because he thinks I’m joking, but I tell him to charge the card and end the call before he can argue.
Calla watches me set down my phone. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t know yet. “Give me ten minutes.”
She gathers the proposal without asking another question. At the door, she reminds me that my twelve-thirty is downstairs.
“I know.”
“You have twenty minutes.”
“Cancel it.” Something in my face keeps Calla from arguing. She nods and closes the door behind her.
I call Meg.
She answers quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I make myself keep my voice ordinary. “What are you doing?”
“Working. What are you doing?”
My hand closes around the phone. There are a dozen ways to explain what the man at the deli said.
He could’ve spoken to somebody new. Meg could be working from another office.
She could’ve changed jobs and not mentioned it, though that makes no sense after Sunday dinners full of stories about the same boss and the same office.
She talked about work with Julie yesterday.
Thursday night, when she called Julie, she knew I was in Chicago. Friday morning, she knew Julie wasn’t home.
I stop myself there. I have one lie. That’s enough to ask about. “Are you at the office?”
“Unfortunately.” Meg gives a tired laugh. “Why?”
“I was going to send you lunch.”
She sounds surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” I look through the glass wall of my office at people moving through Dorsey Capital. “What’s the address again?”
“Dalen, seriously. Don’t send lunch.”
“I already tried.”
Meg doesn’t answer for several seconds. I get out of my chair while I wait.
“What do you mean?” she finally asks.
“The deli said you don’t work there.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “They must’ve talked to someone who doesn’t know me.”
“What’s your office address?”
“You have it.”
“I want you to tell me.”
Her voice hardens. “Why are you interrogating me?”
“I’m asking where you work.” I try to keep my tone light. “I want to do something nice for you.”
“I told you there’s no need.” Her patience has disappeared. “I have to go.”
“Meg...”
“I have somebody standing at my desk. I’ll call you later.” She ends the call before I can answer.
I stare at my phone, then call the company.
The receptionist answers with the business name. I give her mine and ask for Meg. There’s a brief hesitation before she repeats Meg’s name.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dorsey. She isn’t employed here anymore.”
I grip the edge of my desk. “When did she leave?”
“I’d need to transfer you to Mr. Landry.”
“Please.”
Hold music replaces her voice. I walk to the windows and stare down at the street while I wait.
A man’s voice replaces the music. “Mr. Dorsey? This is Gerald Landry. I understand you’re asking about Meg.”
“I am. She told me five minutes ago she’s at work. Your receptionist says she doesn’t work there.” He doesn’t respond, and I give him several seconds before asking when she was fired.
“I’d rather not discuss a former employee’s personnel matters.”
“I’m not asking for her personnel file. I’m asking when she stopped working for you.”
He hesitates. “I understand that.”
“Then answer me.”
He doesn’t.
Ordering people around usually works. That’s part of the problem. I force my hand away from the desk and try again. “Gerald, Julie helped Meg get that job. If something happened and you’ve been protecting Meg because of my wife, I need to know.”
His voice changes when he asks, “Is Julie all right?”
The question chills me. “Why are you asking?”
“Meg was let go a little over four months ago.”
Four months ago, Julie was sleeping beside me every night. Meg still came to Sunday dinner and complained about her boss. Nothing in my house frightened my wife. I stare through the glass. “What happened?”
“There were discrepancies in petty cash and some company purchases.” Landry pauses. “Small amounts at first. We reviewed several months and found enough that I couldn’t ignore it.”
“How much?”
He hesitates again. “It wasn’t substantial by your standards.”
I bite back the urge to snap at him. “I’m not asking by my standards.”
“A few thousand we could document.”
I walk back to my desk. “Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Julie recommended Meg when we hired her,” Landry says after another hesitation. “She’s done work for my wife and me for years. Meg was going through a divorce. She repaid part of what was missing, and I decided termination was sufficient.”
I drop into my chair. “You did that for Julie?”
“I did it because I didn’t want to drag a good client’s family through a criminal case over an amount the company could absorb.”
Julie doesn’t know. I’m certain before I ask, but I ask anyway. Landry confirms he never told her. Meg asked him not to because Julie had already done enough for her.
Meg lost her job four months ago. She’s been showing up at our house wearing an employee badge from a job she no longer has.
“Mr. Dorsey?” Landry waits until I respond, then asks if there’s something he should know.
“Yes.” I look at the phone in my hand. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”
I thank him and end the call. My first instinct is to call Julie. My second is worse. I want to know where she is before I call her because if I tell her this and she’s alone somewhere I can’t reach, I won’t be able to do a damn thing.
I stop myself before I start trying to find her. Julie left because I kept deciding what she needed. She asked me for time, so I call her instead. It rings until voicemail.
“Julie, call me when you get this. Please.”
I end the call and immediately want to call again.
Instead, I think about the last conversation I had with Meg.
She told me to give Julie space. Julie needed time without me trying to solve anything.
At the time, it sounded reasonable. Today, knowing she’s been lying to us for four months, I hear it differently.
I open my text thread with Julie and type that I need to talk to her. I erase it. She asked for time, and I have a fired sister-in-law who lied about being at work. I don’t have an explanation for anything that happened to Julie.
Then I remember the phone call.
Eleven-twenty-one Sunday night. Three minutes.
Meg showed me the screenshot. Julie told me she didn’t remember calling her. I looked at the supposed proof and let it outweigh my wife’s certainty.
I deleted the copy Meg sent because I kept looking at it, but the image isn’t what bothers me now.
Meg supplied the evidence. Meg was the one who told me Julie sounded confused.
She was the one who brought up their mother and sleep deprivation.
Every time something happened that I couldn’t explain, Meg had another reason I should look at Julie instead.
I call Meg again.
She declines the call.
I send one message.
Call me.
My phone rings less than a minute later, and I grab it expecting Meg. Landry’s name appears instead. “I’ve been thinking about your call,” he says when I answer. “I want to make sure I’m not creating a problem by staying quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Meg asked me not to tell Julie why she was terminated. I agreed because I thought it was a family matter.” He pauses. “If Julie is having some kind of trouble, I don’t want my decision making it worse.”
I get out of my chair. “Did Meg ever say why she didn’t want Julie to know?”