Comfort Me

by Debbie Viguié

  “This is where you’ll be working,” Mr. Cartwright said.

  “It looks like someone is already sitting here,” Cindy said.

  If anything Mr. Cartwright’s scowl just deepened. “Not anymore. When we hire a permanent employee they’ll take over this spot from you. Now, I’ll see you in my office in half an hour. I have a letter I want you to send out.”

  He turned and strode away. Cindy sat down in the chair and it spun slowly.

  Well, that could have gone better, she thought. At least half of it is my fault. I should just suck it up and try to get along.

  She didn’t want to. She hated the building. She hated the look and feel of it. She hated that she was sitting at a desk filled with someone else’s trinkets. She was pretty sure if given half a chance she’d hate her new boss, too.

  God, give me strength, she prayed.

  She had been surprised to discover just how much she missed working at the church. With all its craziness and the potential for drama at any moment there had still been something special about knowing she was part of something like that. She had felt like she was serving God. It was funny, she’d initially taken the job there out of necessity and because it seemed like the least odious of the job positions she’d interviewed for. Now she found she was actually attached to it.

  It wasn’t just the people, many of whom she still interacted with. It wasn’t just the building, heaven knew it was nice not to have to worry about whether all the sinks and toilets were in working order come Monday morning.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  She snapped out of her reverie and turned to see Leo standing up and looking down at her over the partition.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, forcing another smile.

  “Good.”

  He sat back down and she turned her focus to her nightmarishly messy desk. It was a stark contrast with the neatness of her boss’s desk. She opened a drawer of the desk, planning to shove her purse in. The drawer was stuffed with papers and all sorts of odds-and-ends so it seemed. She tried the next two drawers with similar results. Finally she put her purse under her desk.

  If she was really going to be working here for a few weeks then she needed to get things cleaned up so she’d be able to work. She glanced at a picture frame sitting next to the computer monitor. It held a picture of a beautiful young woman who was wearing a rose in her hair and smiling at the camera. She had her arm around an older woman who could easily have been her grandmother.

  Cindy frowned. The frame was nice and the picture was very intimate. She wondered why its owner had left it behind. She glanced slowly around the desk and noticed all the other things that had been left behind.

  There was a red stapler that had the name Rose written on it in rhinestones. Cindy smiled. That was one way to make sure your coworkers didn’t constantly make off with your stapler, especially if you worked with a lot of men.

  A brightly decorated stained glass votive holder was the home for several pens with bright, fake flowers attached to their ends. Sitting altogether they looked like a pretty little bouquet. It was a bit of cheer in an otherwise drab building.

  There was a little stuffed unicorn with a heart on its flank. A gold rose pendant necklace was draped over the edge of the computer monitor. There was more. Whoever had sat here before her had worked to make this cubicle her own.

  She should get a box to put all these things in. Surely their former owner, Rose she was guessing, would want them. Why she hadn’t taken them already was beyond Cindy. When she’d quit she’d taken all her personal items from her desk at the church.

  She’d find one after her meeting with the boss. She had a few minutes so she began to stack papers. She started to look at them but realized it was going to take quite a while to figure out what she needed to do with each of them. She found an inbox, half buried under some paper and a sweater that was perched on top. She barely managed to stuff the sweater in one of the overflowing drawers. Then she was able to start stacking all the paper in the inbox to be gone over later.

  When half an hour was up and it was time to go to the meeting she was still feeling overwhelmed by the amount of clutter and work that it represented, but at least she had carved out a couple of bare spots of desk to work on until she could get everything more organized.

  She grabbed a notepad she’d found. She thought of taking one of the flower pens but ultimately settled on a black pen with gold lettering that she found hiding amongst the others. She headed back to Mr. Cartwright’s office. The door was closed and she knocked.

  “Enter,” she clearly heard him say.

  She walked in and moved to take the seat across the desk from him.

  “Shut the door,” he said without looking up from a paper he was perusing.

  Cindy hesitated. She wasn’t comfortable being in a closed room with a man she didn’t know. She was about to voice her objection when she realized he probably wouldn’t care how it looked or how she felt.

  She got up and went back over to the door. She closed it most of the way, leaving it slightly ajar. That way if she needed help it should be easy for someone to hear her screaming.

  You’re so paranoid! she lectured herself as she returned to her seat. He’s not a criminal, he’s your boss. Honestly what’s wrong with you?

  Her inner critic was having a field day making her feel like an idiot. She got as comfortable as she could in the chair and waited expectantly. He’d said he needed to send a letter. That seemed like a simple thing unless he needed to have it sent registered mail or something like that.

  “To all personnel,” he said, beginning to speak without looking up. “It has come to my attention that the time clock in the south entrance broke on or around March second and nobody bothered to give management proper notice.”

  Cindy scrambled to start writing on her notepad as she realized that he was dictating a letter to her. Why on earth he didn’t just type it up himself she had no idea, but a moment later was too busy writing to think about it anymore.

  “As a result, all employees who clocked in at the south entrance will have their records checked, and if appropriate, their pay docked for any time the company was shorted.”

  He kept going, droning on as she struggled to keep up. She’d never taken dictation before and it was challenging. She abbreviated wherever she could. When at last he had finished he finally looked up at her.

  “Now, Cindy, I need you to go type that up and bring it back to me to read over. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, you may go.”

  Cindy rose and hurried toward the door. She threw it open and breathed a small sigh of relief. Before leaving, though, she turned.

  “The girl who was sitting at my desk before, I think her name was Rose, left a lot of personal items behind. If you like I could box them up and mail them to her if you have her address.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Bring them to me. I’ll take care of mailing them.”

  “Are you sure? Because-”

  “I said, ‘bring them to me’,” he reiterated, his voice tight.

  “Okay,” she said.

  She left and went back to her desk. His response seemed odd to her, but Rose and her things would have to wait until after she finished typing up a letter. She turned on the computer monitor and was immediately prompted for a password.

  “Dang it,” she muttered under her breath.

  ~

  Jeremiah passed a hand over his face. “Exactly what did Liam do to upset you this much?” he asked Mark.

  “You mean what didn’t he do,” Mark said.

  “Okay, what didn’t he do?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I’ll tell you what he didn’t do. He didn’t pick me up this morning for work,” Mark burst out, clearly agitated.

  Jeremiah stared at him, sure there had to be a lot more to it than that. He wasn’t sure what was wrong or exactly what had tipped Mark o
ver the edge, but it was starting to upset him a little. That was never a good thing.

  “Maybe you should start from the beginning,” he suggested.

  Mark nodded doggedly. “You remember a few weeks ago, that juror who got killed, his jury summons stolen?”

  “It’s a bit hard to forget.”

  “The woman who witnessed it is Rebecca Thyme. She owns the Tea Thyme shop.”

  “Okay.”

  “Liam went moony eyed over her straight off. I told him he couldn’t date a suspect and you know what he said?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Jeremiah said.

  Mark snorted. “He said there was no harm in him dating a witness.”

  “So, Liam is dating Rebecca?” Jeremiah asked, struggling to see how this had anything to do with anything.

  “Yes, although he doesn’t like to admit it. I don’t know why, but he’s dating her all the same. I know.”

  “Well, you are a detective.”

  “That’s right.”

  If Jeremiah didn’t know better he’d swear Mark was intoxicated. The more he observed him, though, the more convinced he was that the other man was suffering from sleep deprivation. Twin infants in the house could do that to anyone, he supposed.

  “So, he’s dating Rebecca,” Jeremiah prompted.

  “Yeah, she gained a boyfriend and I lost a partner,” Mark said despondently. “He keeps forgetting things, leaves me to deal with messes so that he can go spend more time with her. I’ve done more paperwork in the last four weeks, mine and his. We were at a crime scene last week and he nearly contaminated it by forgetting to put on his gloves before going to pick up a piece of evidence. He’s losing it. The only thing he can focus on is her. His work’s suffering. Our work’s suffering. I can’t even get him to focus long enough to discuss cases with him. He just drifts off, all obsessed with her. And now, today, the ultimate insult. He didn’t pick me up for work.”

  “Don’t you usually drive your car?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Not today. It’s in the shop. I told him that five times yesterday, reminded him that he needed to pick me up for work. So, I waited and waited this morning. I called him and called him and he didn’t even have the courtesy to pick up the phone. He’s probably taking her flowers or bringing her coffee. He likes to do that in the mornings. Then he gets sucked in, though. Two minutes become two hours. He’s completely irresponsible!”

  “Sounds like he’s in love,” Jeremiah said softly.

  Mark snorted. “That’s no excuse.”

  “Don’t you remember what it was like when you and Traci started dating? I’m sure you became just as...crazy trying to spend every second with her.”

  “That was different. When I met Traci I wasn’t a detective. I didn’t have the responsibilities he does,” Mark ranted.

  “It seems to me that you need to just relax and cut him a little bit of slack. It’s still new for him. Give it a while and I’m sure you’ll get your caring, supportive partner back,” Jeremiah said, putting special emphasis on the last part. He was sure that if Mark weren’t so exhausted he would see the sense of that rather than fly off the handle like he did.

  “I doubt it,” Mark grumbled. “Trust me, though, one way or another I’m making him pay for today.”

  Jeremiah frowned. “How did you get here without your car?”

  “I took Traci’s,” Mark said, indignity heavy in his voice.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Traci’s car,” Jeremiah said with a frown.

  “For good reason. I keep it locked in the garage,” Mark said with a groan.

  “Well, at least you have transportation, even if your car is in the shop. So, don’t you think your reaction to Liam not showing up this morning was a little bit extreme?”

  Mark rocketed to his feet, nearly knocking Jeremiah over. “Extreme? Extreme? You come with me right now,” he said, heading for the door.

  Jeremiah stood up and followed Mark, closing his door behind them. Marie looked up as Mark stormed past her desk and raised an eyebrow. Jeremiah just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

  They made it to the parking lot and Mark stopped and extended his arm dramatically.

  There in the parking lot was a pink car with cavorting horses of unnatural colors all over it. He stared at one pink horse with curly mane and tail that was a slightly different shade than the car itself.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “She calls it the Ponymobile,” Mark fumed. “She had the whole thing wrapped with My Little Pony. She was showing it to the kids and she became obsessed with it.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Yeah. Can you imagine? You know how cops are. When I show up in this-”

  “You will never, ever stop being teased about it,” Jeremiah finished.

  “Exactly!”

  “Why didn’t you just take a taxi?”

  “Couldn’t. I’ve got a crime scene I’m supposed to be on my way to right now.”

  “Then why on earth are you here?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Because someone had to know why before I find Liam and wring his neck. He’s a dead man.”

  Jeremiah nodded slowly, not sure what else to say. Deep down he wanted so badly to laugh, but was afraid that would just send Mark over the edge he was already teetering on.

  He knew it had been hard for Mark to regain the respect of his fellow police officers the past couple of years after having tortured a prisoner for information. This, though, he would never come back from. He’d be the pony guy for the rest of his life and then some.

  Jeremiah was on the verge of telling Mark he could borrow his car when the detective’s phone rang.

  Mark yanked the phone out of his pocket. “What?” he demanded unceremoniously.

  Jeremiah watched as Mark’s already pale skin turned even paler. The man’s hand started shaking as it held the phone.

  “When?” Mark whispered.

  “Is he...”

  Mark ended the call and stood, staring, his hands still trembling. Finally he buried his head in them.

  “What is it, Mark?”

  “They found...they found him...he’d been attacked,” Mark stammered.

  “Who?”

  “Liam.”

  3

  “Mark, what did you do?” Jeremiah asked sharply.

  Mark shook his head fiercely. “Not me.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The hospital. A nurse at the front desk called. He’s...he might not...”

  “Come on, let’s get there,” Jeremiah said, heading toward his car. He reached it and turned back to Mark. “Move it, Detective!” he shouted.

  Mark shook himself and lurched forward. He practically threw himself into the passenger seat as Jeremiah put the car in reverse.

  Liam has been attacked. It doesn’t look good.

  The words he’d heard on the phone played and replayed in his head. They had been enough to knife through his haze of anger and exhaustion. He had been saying something horrible about Liam right before then, hadn’t he?

  He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember why he’d been at the synagogue. All he could think about was his partner who had needed him.

  I wasn’t there for him.

  He mentally screamed at himself to stop it. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t even know where Liam had been, what he’d been doing, or who had attacked him and why.

  “Rabbi, I’d appreciate it if you’d pray,” Mark said.

  Seconds later he realized just how upset Jeremiah was, too, as the man started speaking rapidly in Hebrew. Mark wished he knew what the words meant. He focused on the sounds, the rise and fall, the inflection.

  He should call Traci and tell her what was happening.

  And...there was something else...someone else.

  Rebecca. He should call Rebecca and tell her.

  He started to reach for his phone and then stopped
. He didn’t know what to tell either of them. They’d want, need the answers as badly as he did. He would find out what he could and then call them.

  ~

  Cindy clicked on the field for username and it auto filled the name rosemeyer. She held her breath, hoping, as she clicked on the password field, but it remained blank.

  She stood up. “Excuse me,” she said.

  Leo looked up at her.

  “I’m trying to get into the computer. You wouldn’t by any chance know her password would you?” Cindy asked.

  It was a long-shot, but if he didn’t then she’d ask him who to call for computer help.

  “No, sorry. They make us change our password every two weeks,” Leo said. “They say it’s for security purposes.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Cindy said.

  That actually might be helpful. If it was always the same password Rose would have had it memorized. If she had to keep changing it, though, she might not have.

  On a hunch Cindy opened the drawer that contained all the paperclips, post-its, and other odds and ends. She pulled it all the way out. There, in the back was a tiny folded post-it note. She unfolded it and saw written on it: 2KC1222!

  She turned and entered that in the password box. The screen blinked and then the computer pulled up the desktop. The screen was littered with icons for various files and programs. It was dizzying just looking at it.

  As much of a jumbled mess as the drawers.

  Fortunately the icon for Word was on the bottom toolbar. She clicked on it and a moment later it pulled up a partial file that said it was recovered from an unexpected shutdown. She stared at it, but quickly realized that it looked like a personal letter.

  She was about to close it without saving, but out of habit saved the letter at the last second. She noted that the document title was KC. She opened a blank document and got busy typing up the letter for her boss. As she did so she couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t type up his own letter. It would take less time than dictating it to her and having her do it. He was young enough that he should be extremely comfortable with computers. Maybe it just made him feel important to give the grunt work to someone else.