Dead End Job

by Ingrid Reinke

  When everyone was settled in, Mr. Curtis walked up to the front of the room and stood at the podium. He waved his arm purposefully and another small group of people entered from the back of the room, as if on cue. I saw that this group included Detective Wang and the Latina detective whom I had not yet met. Even through the drugged haze, my heart jumped for a minute. I scanned the back of the room for Rocky, but he was absent. The detectives walked to the front of the room and Mr. Curtis shook their hands. He stepped off of the podium and Detective Wang stepped up, pulling the microphone down to address the group of employees.

  “Good morning,” she started. “For those of you who I did not meet yesterday, my name is Detective Wang. This is Detective Lopez. We are heading up the investigation surrounding the wrongful death of Mrs. Sarah Lieber, which occurred on these premises on Tuesday evening. At this point in the investigation, we have determined the death to be a homicide.”

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Even though I knew that Sarah had probably been killed, judging from the reaction, my guess was that the other employees hadn’t been informed. It wasn’t like all of them had experienced the horror of running into her dead body. That special moment had been reserved just for me. I hadn’t heard the office gossip, but it seemed that the general hope and consensus was that a tragic accident had befallen Sarah Lieber. It seemed to me that Detective Wang had come here today with the intention of quickly and efficiently bursting that bubble.

  She paused for a moment, taking in the crowd. She and Detective Lopez surveyed the room, left to right, back to front, looking at each face. It was the first time Detective Lopez had even acknowledged the people sitting in front of her. I could see her taking mental notes as she observed certain people, judging their reactions. This must have been a tough assignment, because from what I could see, every employee was also looking around the room, also trying to gauge other people’s reactions. Some were in tears, some were shaken into silence. Because I was in the back, I didn’t have to look behind me to see what other people were doing. Face after face in the crowd turned and looked at me. A few people whispered to each other as they stared in my direction. My eyes darted back and forth, looking for an escape, and finally settled on staring down into my lap.

  “The Seattle Police Department is going to dedicate every possible resource in finding the perpetrator of this crime,” Detective Wang continued. “Therefore, you are going to notice a police presence at Merit in the coming days and possibly weeks. Please cooperate fully with the officers and do not hesitate to impart any information, even the smallest detail that you might have, in order to assist us in solving this crime. Thank you for your time.”

  With that, she delicately stepped off the podium and she and Detective Lopez marched straight down the center aisle of the room and exited.

  The swift exit of the Seattle PD caused a nervous murmuring in the crowd, so no one was really paying attention when Mr. Curtis immediately took the podium and Martin got up and awkwardly pulled down the white projection screen. I saw Martin take one of the conference room’s many remote controls and aim it towards the back of the room to dim the lights. Immediately, the screen flashed bright blue, then showed a large evergreen tree outline circled in black, the logo of NorCom.

  A couple of seconds later, the screen changed again, this time focused in on an elegant older woman with grey hair cut flatteringly short around her face. She was wearing scant eye makeup under thin purple wire-framed glasses, dark red lipstick that was perfect for her mocha skin tone, and a sharp, black suit jacket, accessorized with an expensive-looking pale yellow scarf. She was sitting in a small conference room in front of a huge NorCom PR mural, which featured more evergreen trees, amongst which were scattered iconic images from around the globe, including the Eiffel tower and the Taj Mahal.

  Mr. Curtis spoke into the microphone. “I wanted to share with you a quick word from Carla Stanton, CEO of NorCom PR. Carla?”

  The woman on the screen blinked, then began in typical corporate-speak fashion:

  “Thank you, employees of Merit, for taking the time to meet with me today. We at NorCom are devastated over the recent tragic losses of both your fellow employee, Sarah Lieber, and our employee, Leila Carson. We send our deepest condolences. However, we also want you to know that NorCom PR is 100% committed to the upcoming merger with Merit. We are now just days away from the joining of our two companies, and we know that together we are going to be a global force in public relations consulting. Our combined resources will enable us to deliver an outstanding product to our clients, as yet unseen in the current marketplace. The board of directors here at NorCom, as well as the management team at Merit, is determined that despite this tragedy, we will not be deterred, and our merger will go through successfully. Please do not hesitate to contact your management team with any issues or concerns that you might have. In addition, I have provided my own personal contact information.”

  She finished, then the screen abruptly flashed away from her to a screenshot of her address, phone number and email, then back to the NorCom logo, and lastly back to the blue screen. Martin stood up again and aimed the remote to the back of the room and the lights flashed back on.

  Emily from HR got up with an attractive man in a light grey suit who she introduced as Dr. Michael Castro, a professional grief counselor who would be camped out on our floor in an empty conference room. He would be available at the office through the end of next week as a resource for any employee who wanted to talk about what had happened. I looked up at him long enough to swear he was glaring directly at me. I made a mental note to avoid that conference room. With that, the meeting ended.

  I saw the detectives and Mr. Curtis huddling together in the front of the room, but Martin ran to catch up with me as I was following the line of employees to the elevator on the way back to our desks.

  “Hey, do you want me to pick you up tomorrow for Sarah’s service? We can carpool.”

  “Oh, sure, thanks,” I mumbled, distracted. Something else was bothering me.

  “OK, I’ll be there in the morning. I have to go to a lunch with Mr. Curtis then into a meeting now with all of the board head honchos, so I won’t be around for the rest of the day.”

  ‘”Hey, wait, Martin!” I called out. He paused and turned around. I waved him over and spoke softly, not drawing unwarranted attention from the huddle of suits walking nearby. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Leila from Portland had an ‘accident’ at almost the same time that Sarah was killed? I mean, doesn’t that seem really bizarre to you?”

  Martin tilted his head and looked at me sympathetically. “Oh Louisa, I know you’re upset about Sarah, but you have to remember that Leila Carson was a drunk. There was so much alcohol in her system when she died, she could’ve drowned a horse. It might seem weird, but there’s no way they are related. You know that Sarah never drank.” He patted me on the shoulder a couple of times, then without waiting for me to reply, he hurried away against the flow of the employees, back into the conference room.

  “I guess,” I mumbled to no one. Martin had a point, but I still couldn’t brush off the feeling that Leila and Sarah’s deaths were somehow related—and somehow related to the merger. When I got back down to my desk I was still obsessing. I reached into my purse and fingered Detective Wang’s business card, debating for a second whether I should call her and share my thoughts. I almost picked up my phone and dialed the number when my rational mind took over. Don’t be such a stupid-ass, Louisa, I told myself. These people are professionals, if there was any relation, they would find it—they didn’t need an over-excitable admin trying to jump into the investigation. I thought about talking to Elaine, before almost laughing out loud at myself when realized what a joke that would be. Finally, I made a mental note that when the drugs wore off I would go talk to Ari about my concerns. I can’t be the only person who put two and two together on these deaths. Plus, Ari always seemed to have good advice, and even if ther
e was nothing I could do, he would say the right thing and make me feel better.

  Chapter 8: Put a Steak on It

  The next morning was the day of Sarah’s funeral, and to my surprise Martin knocked on my door uncharacteristically early. Equally uncharacteristically, he was holding two double lattes and a brown paper bag filled with scones and muffins. I was not thrilled to see him half an hour early, but I was more than happy to see the coffee and breakfast.

  “Oh, thankie thankie, my lovely!” I said, with real enthusiasm and muffin crumbs dribbling down my face onto my boobs. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes, why don’t you come upstairs, park it on my bed and watch some Real Housewife reruns.”

  “No problem. Hey there big buddy! ” He said to Winston, when we got up to my room. The dog completely ignored him, but nonetheless Martin leaned down and gave him an absent-minded pat on the head, then sighed and sank down onto my bed, pulling the covers up over his belly and nestling down into my pillows. “Your room is cute, Bitch.” he said, taking in the black and white damask rug, my vanity table and the large black-and-white framed pictures of friends, family and experiences that I had smattered across my grey-blue painted walls. I went back to the bathroom, where I finished drying my hair and putting on my makeup, then slipped the dress over my head and walked back in to show him the final result.

  “How do I look?” I asked as I did a little spin.

  “I freaking love that outfit” He said, completely on cue. “You look totally hot.”

  I was ashamed of myself for being so petty and ridiculous, but I had spent the evening before obsessing over what I was going to wear to this damn funeral. I knew there was a great possibility of running into Rocky, so the funeral outfit needed to be perfect: somber but sexy, practical but appealing. After much thought I had decided to recycle the black H&M dress that I had worn to my disaster date with Jonah, and paired it with delicate black floral hose and jade green round toe pumps with a four-inch heel, topping the outfit off with a long strand of faux pearls with matching earrings. I was probably more than a little bit delusional, but to me the look kind of read “size ten Jackie O., in mourning for JFK.” Very chic.

  “Do you have a coat?” Martin asked. “It’s a little cold outside.”

  “None that would match this dress. You don’t think the funeral will be held outside, do you?”

  “I know you want to be a symbol of funeral haute couture and all, but I think you should bring a coat anyways.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll be fine, I’m sure it’s inside, right?” I assured myself. I really didn’t want to put an ugly coat over my cute dress.

  When we arrived at the funeral a large group of mourners were standing outside in the cemetery. We cruised around the parking lot for a spot, and I looked around in vain for the warm, cozy synagogue where I was sure the ceremony would take place. There was no synagogue in sight, just a sweeping lawn with a large white tent about a quarter of a mile away on top of a grassy, muddy hill. This was going to be an outdoor event; plus, I didn’t see Rocky’s police car in the lot. Fail and fail. I swore under my breath as we parked.

  “Are you sure we have to go to this?” I whined at Martin.

  “Um, yes bitch. You worked with the woman,” Martin scolded me. I knew he was right, but I was still feeling numb about the whole thing. I had liked Sarah well enough…yes she was annoying, and I hated her Pollyanna attitude about everything “Merit,” but overall she was a very nice person. I wasn’t sure why her murder hadn’t really impacted me emotionally yet. I hadn’t known anyone who’d been killed before Sarah, but even so—usually when tragedy struck I wasn’t such a cold bitch. In my everyday life, I was a big time crier. For Christ’s sake, I sobbed my ass off during Lifetime movies. I’d cried, yes, but I had to admit, it was much more to do with my own traumatic experience at the police station then sadness about Sarah’s untimely demise. My lack of emotional response to Sarah’s passing was downright weird. The only conclusion that I could make was that I was still probably a little bit in denial and a lot bit in shock.

  I was freezing my ass off, but Martin looked both warm and smug in his oversized black raincoat and red scarf. We got out of the car and started trudging over to the group, who were quietly convening in the lawn, close to the white tent under which was the rabbi, Sarah’s husband Ben and her two kids were all standing. There were a few rows of folding chairs under the tent in which sat an older couple who I guessed was Sarah’s family from Colorado, and some other middle aged men and women, probably Sarah’s siblings and other family members. The rest of the group, largely composed of Merit employees (Sarah didn’t have much of a life outside of work), was left standing out in the rain. I didn’t blame Sarah’s family for the lack of accommodation: I assumed many of the funeral-goers were not really there to mourn Sarah’s passing, but rather to show their faces to the top tiers of Merit management and further their corporate ambitions or simply to gawk at the spectacle and gather gossip for the weekly water cooler session on Monday morning.

  In addition to foregoing a coat, which I now greatly regretted, I had also skipped putting on my glasses, so in conjunction with the disadvantage of height due to my pointy heels sinking into the soft grass with each step, I couldn’t exactly distinguish the faces of anyone more than fifteen feet in front of me. Although I was sure that I was getting soaked and my perfectly blown out hair was frizzing with each minute, I would have been just fine to stand in the very back of the crowd and slip away as soon as the ceremony was over. Unfortunately for me, that was not fine with Martin.

  “Oh, no, no, no! This is some serious bullshit,” he huffed, as we arrived at the back edge of the group. He grabbed my hand and pushed and prodded his way right up to the front of the crowd, dragging me along with him, until we were standing at the foot of the tent, directly facing Sarah’s family and the rabbi. When we came to a stop, I practically ran into Elaine, who was standing right up front with Mr. Curtis and several of the other business leaders and executives, whom I vaguely recognized from my office wanderings. Elaine spotted me and pounced, immediately grabbing my two hands in hers.

  “Ahhh Louisa! Isn’t it horrible!” she wailed, except her accent made it sound more like “Isn’t et hahhhrible!”

  It was quite cynical of me, but I couldn’t help thinking that the performance was complete nonsense. I knew and she knew that she was putting on a show. Even though Sarah was her direct employee for many years, Elaine had not expressed any sentiment of sadness at the office to anyone, and here she was crying and carrying on in front of all of her peers. I tried to hold back a snort of disgust, and it came out more of a cough. Elaine must have taken this as a sign of my agreement, because she dropped my hands and started to make a big show of patting me on the shoulder. I noticed that Martin had disappeared and so had my easy out, so I nodded and let her pat me awkwardly.

  After a few minutes of this I decided that I would try to scoot away and quietly get out of there before the ceremony began. Right at the very moment I was about to make my escape, the rabbi began the ceremony. I looked behind me to try to see an exit row, but Ari and a few of the other employees in our group had spotted Elaine and me and were standing directly in my way.

  The rabbi started reading several prayers, some in English and some in Hebrew. I faked it pretty adequately and was even able to spit out the appropriate “amen” when the rest of the crowd did. After fifteen minutes of or so of wild emotional swings between boredom and anxiety, desperately wanting to leave, and completely freezing my ass off, Sarah’s casket was lowered into the ground by several Jewish men in yarmulkes.

  When it reached the bottom of the grave with a loud unceremonious “thump,” I turned around to leave, but realized that the service wasn’t over as Sarah’s husband and sons got up slowly and approached a large pile of loose dirt on the ground. Lovingly, each person took a handful and tossed it on top of the casket. They then walked around to the back of the grave and the rest of the mourners in
the seats got up and slowly, in a line, approached the dirt and performed the same ritual of throwing a handful on the coffin.

  Although I found the idea of personally covering someone’s casket with dirt to be particularly morbid, I had to admit that there was something strikingly beautiful about the tradition. For just a moment I was taken from the prison of my own anxiety and able to feel a powerful rush of genuine sadness and empathy for Sarah and her friends and family. I felt my eyes brim up with hot tears as I watched her husband lovingly whisper a message or prayer as he said his final goodbyes to his wife. I completely forgotten myself, and choked back real sobs as each person from Sarah’s family was taking a their own small moment, most in tears themselves, as they approached the casket and sprinkled Sarah’s coffin with dirt, but these precious seconds of relief ended all too soon.

  After the seated mourners finished, the rest of the standing group was directed by the rabbi to form a line and participate in the tradition, which he explained to us was an important mitzvah, or commandment, something that God demands of his people. As my group slowly made our way over to the line, I suddenly saw Ari appear from behind me in the crowd. I was trying to greet him, but there were so many people instead I found myself mushed between Ari and Elaine, who were both very somber and ignoring each other and me. It wasn’t a great moment to chat.

  We slowly approached the casket, and the next thing I knew, Elaine, in front of me, was walking up to the pile of dirt. As if on cue, she began dramatically and loudly crying, wiping tears from her eyes and mumbling something to herself. The scene was so entirely ridiculous that I found myself turning away from her and looking over to the right to the group that had already done their mitzvah, hoping to find Martin so I could roll my eyes.

  In the second that it took me to shift my eyes from the front of me to the side, I heard loud yelling and a commotion from where Elaine was standing. Ben, Sarah’s husband, had apparently leapt over the grave and was charging full speed in my direction. He was screaming at the top of his voice.