The House in the Cerulean Sea(5)

“Yes, ma’am.”

She stared at him.

His stomach twisted sharply.

“You’ve been requested,” she said slowly, “to attend a meeting tomorrow morning with Extremely Upper Management.”

He hadn’t expected that. Not in the slightest. In fact, of all the things Bedelia Jenkins could have said at this exact moment, that had been the least likely option.

He blinked. “Come again?”

She stood upright, crossing her arms underneath her breasts, gripping her elbows. “I’ve read your reports. They’re marginally adequate, at best. So imagine my surprise when I received a memo that Linus Baker was being summoned.”

Linus felt cold. He’d never been asked to meet with Extremely Upper Management in his entire career. The only time he’d actually seen Extremely Upper Management was during the holidays when the luncheon occurred, and Extremely Upper Management stood in a row at the front of the room, dishing out dried-up ham and lumpy potatoes from foil trays, grinning at each of their underlings, telling them they’d earned this fine meal for all their hard work. Of course, they had to eat it at their desks because their fifteen-minute lunch break had been used up by standing in line, but still.

It was September. The holidays were still months away.

Now, according to Ms. Jenkins, they wanted him personally. He’d never heard of that happening before. It couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

Ms. Jenkins looked as if she were waiting for a response. He didn’t know what to say, so he said, “Maybe there’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Ms. Jenkins repeated. “A mistake.”

“Ye-es?”

“Extremely Upper Management doesn’t make mistakes,” Gunther simpered.

There was that, yes. “Then I don’t know.”

Ms. Jenkins wasn’t pleased by his answer. It struck Linus then that she didn’t know any more than she was telling him, and for reasons he didn’t want to explore, the very idea gave him a nasty little thrill. Granted, it was tinged with unimaginable terror, but it was there nonetheless. He didn’t know what kind of person that made him.

“Oh, Linus,” his mother had told him once. “It’s never polite to revel in the suffering of others. What a terrible thing to do.”

He never allowed himself to revel.

“You don’t know,” Ms. Jenkins said, sounding as if she were gearing up to strike. “Perhaps you lodged a complaint of some kind? Perhaps you don’t appreciate my supervisory technique and thought you could go above my head? Is that it, Mr. Baker?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you like my supervisory technique?”

Absolutely not. “Yes.”

Gunther scratched his pencil along his clipboard.

“What exactly do you like about my supervisory technique?” Ms. Jenkins asked.

Conundrum. Linus didn’t like to lie about anything. Even little white lies caused his head to ache. And once one started lying, it became easier to do it again and again until one had to keep track of hundreds of lies. It was easier to be honest.

But then there came times of great need, such as this one. And it wasn’t like he had to lie, not completely. A truth could be twisted and still resemble the truth. “It’s very authoritative.”

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

She lifted a hand and snapped her fingers. Gunther shuffled through some of the papers on his clipboard before handing a cream-colored page over to her. She held it between two fingers as if the thought of it touching any other part of her could cause a blistering infection. “Nine o’clock sharp tomorrow, Mr. Baker. God help you if you’re late. You will, of course, make up the time you missed after. On the weekend, if necessary. You aren’t scheduled to be in the field for at least another week.”

“Of course,” Linus agreed quickly.

She leaned forward again, dropping her voice until it was barely a whisper. “And if I find out you’ve complained about me, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me, Mr. Baker?”

He did. “Yes, ma’am.”

She dropped the paper on his desk. It fluttered to a corner, almost falling to the floor. He didn’t dare reach out and grab it, not while she still stood above him.

Then she was spinning on her heels, shouting that everyone had better be working if they knew what was good for them.

Immediately, the sound of clacking keyboards resumed.

Gunther still stood near his desk, staring at him strangely.

Linus fidgeted in his chair.

“I don’t know why they would ask for you,” Gunther finally said, that terrible smile returning. “Surely there are more … suitable people. Oh, and Mr. Baker?”

“Yes?”

“You have a stain on your shirt. That’s unacceptable. One demerit. See that it doesn’t happen again.” Then he turned and followed Ms. Jenkins down the rows.

Linus held his breath until they reached Row B before he exhaled explosively. He would need to wash his shirt as soon as he got home if he had any hopes of getting the sweat stains out. He scrubbed a hand over his face, uncertain of how he was feeling. Vexed, to be sure. And most likely frightened.

At the desk next to him, Mr. Tremblay wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he was craning his neck to see what was written on the page left by Ms. Jenkins. Linus snatched it away, careful not to crumple the edges.