The Unprintable Big Clock Chronicle

by Unknown

  The flip-side of that argument, of course, was that this was a party—and festive yuletide abandon only came around once a year.

  As Bing Crosby's “Jingle Bells” rang out from the speakers, Kendall Wallingham was unfazed by the fall. She was singing loudly over the music, “Jingle Bells! Batman Smells! Robin laid an Eeeggg!”

  I cringed. For her sake, I hoped she would stop soon.

  “All right, Kendall, let me help you up,” Dede said. Bill and I had edged closer to the scene, while John Black assisted Dede in bringing Kendall to her feet.

  Up close I got a better look at Kendall. I could see that she was young, definitely in her twenties; her face was plain and her curly orange hair looked crispy to the touch. “Jingle Bells!” she was still shouting, or “singing.”

  Just then Bill's phone buzzed. I glanced over to see Bill pull the phone out of his pocket, then sigh with annoyance when he saw who was calling. I recalled that something similar had happened yesterday.

  At first, I thought he might ignore whomever was trying to get in touch with him, as he had done last night. But instead, he paused, then told me, “Um...I've got to take this... excuse me.” With that he turned and walked away, out of earshot.

  Feeling awkward without Bill validating my presence at this function, I decided to quit while I was ahead. “Well, thanks for including me everyone,” I announced. “I really should get going though...”

  Dede smiled and waved. “Okay. Well, Merry Christmas to you.”

  “Bye...” John Black murmured. He seemed to be shyly avoiding eye contact.

  “You're going already?” James called out, sounding disappointed.

  Then Dede said, “By the way, Caitlyn? Do you live around here?”

  “Uh, why?” I said hesitantly. I didn't mean to be all guarded about where I lived, but sometimes the New Jersey in me just came out.

  “Because I don't think James or Kendall should drive tonight,” Dede explained. She winced apologetically. “They could use a lift home. I mean, if it's on your way.”

  “Oh...well...”

  “I don't feel so gooood....” Kendall moaned and slumped her head on a cubicle wall.

  “I would drive them myself,” Dede added, “but I live about forty minutes away. Do you live right here in town?”

  “Yes,” I admitted begrudgingly. Wishing I'd known to lie ahead of time. If I fibbed now, it would be too obvious. I glanced over. Kendall was glassy-eyed and possibly close to puking (not sweetening the pot), while James was still in the giddy phase. And he was over at the photocopier. A drunk and a copy machine were never a good mix.

  “Okay, let's go everyone,” I said, managing to put on a pleasant smile. At that moment, I spotted Maria rounding the corner. As she approached the kitchen, I noticed that she had my bucket in her hand. “Hi! Um, I didn't exactly finish everything tonight, because I ran into someone I know here. They're having their Christmas party...”

  “I know, I saw you talking to them. So I just took care of everything.” She didn't even sound mad. God bless doughnuts and coffee! “Except for the kitchen,” she added. Then Maria shrugged. “But we're leaving now, so let's go.”

  “What about the kitchen?” I said.

  “We're here from seven to eight; if people use the kitchen when we're here, that's not our problem. Who knows how long they'll stay? We can't wait all night for them to leave.”

  “That's great!” I said—a little too enthusiastically, based on Maria's side-eyed glance. “You can go on ahead,” I added, and explained about my designated-driver duty. “Thank you so much for everything, Maria.”

  She managed a smile. “Goodnight, Caitlyn.”

  As James, Kendall, and I made our way toward the glass doors, I heard Diana Dupont's voice in the background. “If they can't hold their liquor and have self control, that's their problem. They need to be accountable.”

  “Yes, I know,” Dede said. “But it's Christmas. Where's your Christmas spirit?”

  Admittedly, she had a point and I was not without a heart myself. Who among us has never had too much to drink, made fools of ourselves and deeply regretted it? Besides, Big Clock was such a small town that dropping off James and Kendall probably wouldn't take me more than ten minutes out of my way.

  I just prayed Kendall did not puke in my car. Luckily I had left some newspapers in the passenger seat; I would just spread them out on her seat. She was too drunk to notice the demoralizing significance of sitting on newspapers.

  As James and Kendall hopped in the elevator, I realized that I needed my jacket. The doors were closing, as I called to them, “I'll meet you in the lobby in a minute!” I crossed to the coat closet and labored into my bulky parka. Just then I heard a ding and the slide of the elevator door. When I glanced over my shoulder, I nearly froze.

  Luckily, the man who'd stepped off the elevator was so caught up in his phone call that he didn't seem to hear my gasp, or to notice me yet. Without being able to think it through, I did an about-face and pulled my hood over my head. Then I angled the open closet door to conceal me more. If need be, I'd pretend I was on a call, too, and maybe he wouldn't approach me.

  For those few seconds, I held my breath and waited. I couldn't figure out what the man was doing here. I had only met him a few times, but I recognized that doughy face, pointy nose, and thick chestnut wig instantly. What I couldn't figure out was: Why would Mr. Fredriksen, the owner of the Chronicle—a.k.a. my boss—be at Metropolax?

  Either way, I knew that I couldn't let him see me. I had no good explanation for being here. I hadn't mastered my duplicity skills yet—and I certainly couldn't tell him the truth. On top of that, if the Metropolax staff found out that I worked for the local newspaper, they might figure out that the whole cleaning crew thing had been a pretense. I'd never get an ounce of information out of them again.

  After I heard the hinges' deflated squeak, I knew that Fredriksen had gone through the door. I sighed, relieved. Only later did it dawn on me to question how he'd unlocked it.

  Ten minutes later, I was warming up my frosty car, with Kendall sitting on some newspapers in the back and James having “called shot gun” in the front beside me. Lucky me. I'd hoped that Bill would reappear at some point so he could share the designated-driver duty with me, but after he took that phone call, he seemed to be nowhere in sight.

  “So where to?” I said, backing my car out.

  “Park Street,” James said. “Kendall? Where do you live?”

  “Oak Street,” she mumbled from the back. I eyed her through the rear view mirror and thankfully she didn't look as sick as she had earlier. Just glum. The depressive effects of a depressant always kind of snuck up on you and made you wonder how you'd just been having fun a few moments ago.

  “How are you feeling back there?” I said.

  After a pause, Kendall seemed finally to become more alert; her eyes met mine in the rear view mirror. “I'm okay,” she replied, then tilted her head. “Who are you?”

  “She's with Bill,” James said. “Your name's Caitlyn, right?”

  “Right, but Bill's just an old friend of mine.” I decided not to waste time, but to dive right into the heart of the matter. “Speaking of Bill, he mentioned that you guys were robbed recently? Someone broke into your supply room?”

  “Oh yeah, some big mystery,” Kendall grumbled. “We all know who did it.”

  “We don't know for a fact,” James pointed out. “Caitlyn, you got any gum? Or mints or anything?”

  “No, sorry.” Suddenly I wondered if James lived with someone and was trying to mask the smell of alcohol.

  “Why, who do you guys think did it?” I prodded. “That girl Jennifer?”

  “Yeah, did Bill tell you? It was totally Jennifer,” Kendall asserted. “Probably she and some of her loser friends were all in on it. Or a guy—Jennifer's a major 'ho.”

  James snorted a laugh. “How do you know?”

  “Fine, I don't know, but she was dating a married man
. What do you call that?”

  “How do you know she was dating a married man?” I asked curiously. Bill had mentioned it, too—though it wasn't exactly something I would brag about if I were her.

  “She pretty much told us,” Kendall said. “Well, she claimed he was 'separated' and we all know what that means. A big crock of crap. She never said his name though. Which was weird. James, didn't you think that was odd?”

  “What?” he said, partially tuned out.

  “That Jennifer never mentioned the name of her”—Kendall stopped to make derisive quotation marks with her fingers—“boyfriend?”

  James shrugged noncommittally. He was pretty quiet for someone who couldn't stop running his mouth inappropriately before.

  Still convinced that there was a link between Jennifer's and Suzie's exodus from the company last week, I hoped Kendall or James could make some connections for me. “Bill told me that another employee left at the same time that Jennifer did. Suzie Diamanti?” (Alcohol seemed to have dimmed their senses enough that neither questioned why I was so interested.)

  “Uchh, I'm glad Suzie quit,” Kendall muttered. “She was a horrible accountant.”

  “You just hated her because of Stu,” James remarked.

  “Stu?” I asked.

  “No way!” Kendall protested fervently. She sat up straighter. Much to my chagrin, I heard the crinkling of the newspapers as she moved and then she said, “Hey—what am I sitting on?”

  “Uh, so Suzie was bad at her job, huh?” I said quickly to change her focus.

  “Yeah—her numbers didn't even add up half the time. And James, I do not like Stu. Why does everyone think that? Just because I talk to him sometimes? It's called being nice. But I was never interested in him!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I happen to find Stu extremely ugly,” Kendall continued gratuitously. “He has a weak chin. And his teeth are yellow. Plus, he's bald with coffee breath and a weird looking head—have you ever noticed how bumpy his skull is?”

  “No,” James admitted.

  “Well, I have and it's very off-putting,” Kendall insisted, adding, “It's like—um, the circus called—they want their mutant back.”

  “Gee, someone's bitter...”

  “How am I bitter?” Kendall snapped at James.

  “So which house is yours, Kendall?” I asked, pulling onto Oak Street and bringing the litany of Stu's deformities officially to an end.

  “Keep going, it's all the way up.” After a moment or two of quiet, Kendall said, “Hey, James, did you notice that Fritz didn't show up tonight?”

  “Yes, he did,” James said.

  “Your boss was there?” I interrupted, curious.

  “Down in the lobby, after we left the party. Oh, that's right, Kendall, you stopped in the bathroom when I went out for a smoke, remember? Fritz was just coming in then.”

  I tried to make sense of the timing.

  “You can pull up to that white mailbox right there,” Kendall told me.

  “Okay, have a good night,” I said, as she stood up and wrestled with the newspaper that was stuck in the back flap of her coat. Irritably, she shook and finally tore it free and threw the torn scrap on the ground.

  Once we were on our way to Park Street, I gave James a grin. “So is there anyone you actually like at your company?”

  At that, James seemed surprised. “What do you mean? I like everyone fine.”

  I didn't know where to go with that one, so I moved on. “Well, I'm not sure who Kendall dislikes more, Stu or Suzie. Unless it's all reverse psychology, and she actually thinks they're both awesome and good-looking.” James laughed at that.

  “No—Kendall's just jealous.”

  “Why, were Suzie and Stu dating or something?”

  James shook his head. “No, but he liked her. Don't listen to Kendall; she's got a huge, obvious crush on Stu. But it's not just that,” he went on. “She never clicked with Suzie. I mean, look at them—they were in totally different leagues.”

  “How so?” I prodded casually.

  He shrugged as if the point were self-evident. “Well, on the one hand, you've got Suzie—a hot blond with a hot car. She was confident, fun, had this sexy little tattoo on her ankle...” His voice drifted off for a moment. Then he glanced at me. Shrugged again. “Then you've got Kendall, who is...well, Kendall.” I had to extrapolate the meaning: that Kendall was average-looking with an average to below-average car.

  Suddenly something struck me. “Was?” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “You said Suzie 'was.' You're speaking about her in the past tense. Did something happen to her?”

  “No, no...I don't know. I just meant, 'was' because she's not at Metropolax anymore. That's my building up there. Thanks.”

  The effects of the alcohol must have worn off, I though—as I watched James hop up the winding staircase to his apartment building with perfect coordination.

  Chapter 12

  When I arrived at work the next morning, Ian reminded me that Fredriksen was scheduled to stop in for a meeting with the staff. I pretended that I hadn't forgotten.

  Meanwhile, the meeting gave a certain sensible context to my seeing him at Metropolax last night. Upon reflection, it wasn't so unusual. Clearly, Fredriksen was in town on business; he was likely friends with someone at the Metropolax Company, who had invited him to the Christmas party. In fact, hadn't Ian speculated the other day that the reason Fredriksen hadn't wanted to run the Metropolax robbery story was because he was friendly with the president over there?

  As I waited for Fredriksen to arrive, I read a few news sites. I was already caught up with my morning work, so I was filling my time with mostly depressing global and local updates. Now I keyed over to the Wells-Web forum called: MIDWEST HEADLINES TODAY. My eyes scrolled down the index of articles.

  I had just clicked on a link that read: Unidentified body found in river, Police have no records and no idea, when the bell over the door jingled. Even all the way in my corner I felt the cold air as it burst into the room. When I saw who had entered, I barely held back a sigh. It was pretty sad that I'd rather read about a corpse than talk to Bud the mailman. “Hello all!” Bud enthused. “Cold enough for ya?”

  “Hi...” I said, staying focused on my monitor.

  “Hey, Bud. How's it going?” Gary said, slouched low in his desk chair.

  “Wow, Gary, it's only 9:45—what are you doing here?” Bud “joked.” I stole a glance over my shoulder. If Gary was at all put off by the comment, I couldn't tell because he was swiveled away from me. Just then his cell phone rang. It snapped up into his hand like a yoyo. “Gary Netland,” he said. “Bob! How're you doing, brother? Talk to me...”

  Gary leaned back and put his feet up on his battered wooden desk. He made loose gesticulations with his hand as he tried to sell a page 2 color ad.

  “I see Caitlyn's hard at work over there,” Bud announced loudly.

  “Yeah...” I managed with a fake chuckle. “I try...” I went to grab something off the printer, figuring that if I continued to avoid eye contact, he might get discouraged. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bud's megawatt grin, as his head followed me.

  “That's a nice sweater you're wearing,” he said. “Did you get it at the Discount Shop on Main Street?”

  “No...” I gave a quick glance down at my black sweater that had a few thin gray stripes running across it. “I bought this at the Saks Outlet off 5th,” I told him.

  Though Bud's frozen grin didn't waver, the skeptical tilting of his head indicated that he didn't believe me. “No,” he corrected, “I'm sure I saw that exact sweater at the Discount Shop. On a rack in the front of the store.”

  “Well, it's a pretty basic style,” I said.

  “The Discount Shop has its own line of clothing, you know. In fact, I believe my wife tried on that sweater the last time she was there.”

  “Maybe we could ask the police to dust the sweater for prints,” I said
sarcastically. “Then you could finally stop wondering.”

  “You don't have to get defensive now!” he said. His smile was downright blissful. “I can't understand people who shop at the Discount Shop, but feel they have to deny it. It's just silly in my mind. Life's too short,” he added pompously.

  When I spoke, I tried my best not to sound inexorably irritated by his very existence. “Look, I don't think there's anything wrong with shopping at the Discount Shop. If I'd gotten the sweater there, I would admit it to you. But it just happens that I bought this one at the Outlet off 5th. Oh, Ian! Wait up—I need to talk to you about the line-edits for this piece,” I added hastily as soon as I saw my boss step out of his office. I gave Bud a brief wave. “See you later, Walter.”

  Ian pivoted and followed me back into his office. I pushed the door closed with a sigh of relief. Meanwhile Ian was glancing over at the piece of paper in my hand. “You need to talk about line-edits for an online coupon you printed?” he said.

  “Oh well...”

  “Let me guess: you were just trying to get away from Bud—or Walter, as you insist on calling him?”

  “Why is that so wrong? Walter is his name,” I protested. “It's not like I'm going around calling him 'Dipshit.' Oh, sorry,” I added quickly. Oh my God, I couldn't believe I'd just cursed in front of my boss! This was all Bud's fault.

  With a somewhat amused grin, Ian said, “You really can't stand that guy, can you?”

  “How did you know? I thought I was being subtle.”

  “Grimaces usually are subtle,” Ian said sarcastically. Then he peered through the blinds for me. “He's gone.”

  “Thanks,” I said. As I turned the knob, I added, “Let's just hope that he really left and isn't hiding behind the copy machine.”

  By the way my boss was looking at me now, I knew I'd said too much. “Is this paranoia of yours a New Jersey thing?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied. “But honestly, what do we really know about the guy?”

  Ian narrowed his eyes, doubtfully. “What do you normally know about your mailman?”