Death by Cubicle

By Jay Giess

Paul Shepard and Paula Shepardson start work on the same day. And Paul often wonders if the similarity of their names might lead to love, but when he receives an e-mail message intended for her from company executive Leo Hightower, not only do the odds of romance with her go down, but his work life is changed forever. Then Leo is murdered.

Paul follows the homicide case as both a suspect and involuntary investigator but still makes time to watch the NCAA Basketball Tournament with his sports-obsessed friend, Jason Rush. Nevertheless, if he is unable to help the police find the killer, he may be spending his last few evenings ever at a sports bar.

Jay Giess comically portrays the vagaries of cubicle life, with its hovering quorums, folders filled with birthday cards, and concerns over a few square inches of work space, while deftly showing how the men and women in an office can come together as a family—or not—in response to a violent death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Giess
• Release date: Sep 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301884254

Jay Giess

Jay Giess lives with his wife and two sons in Rochester, New York. For several summers in the 1970s and 80s, he enjoyed the black flies at Camp Massawepie in the Adirondacks.

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Death by Cubicle

a novel

Jay Giess

Death by Cubicle

Jay Giess

Copyright 2012 by Jay Giess

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, businesses, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

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For Shela

Chapter 1

I got one. I’d gotten them before, but they usually weren’t difficult to interpret. This one had come from Leo Hightower directly, which is why it happened; Donna wouldn’t have made such a mistake. In addition to being the third-most attractive woman in the department according to Tom Doolin’s survey, Donna was a capable administrative assistant.

The subject line was blank. The message read, Paula, let’s meet at nine tonight at the usual spot. Evelyn’s out of town.

Paula had to be Paula Shepardson, because I’m Paul Shepard. And we often got each other’s messages.

Leo was a senior vice president, which meant he was in upper-middle upper management. The middle part bothered him. He hoped to remove that blemish by becoming an executive vice president, which would make him upper upper management.

I had several hours to decide how to take advantage of the message, as Paula and her team were curling—building morale by hurling stones down a sheet of ice, while others swept in front of the stones so as to direct them toward a red circle or at least appeared to be doing so, since only Eric Vernon had curled before.

Paulmeister, Joe time.

I turned around. It was Jason Rush. At six feet tall, he was my height but was twenty-five pounds overweight. He was wearing a white oxford shirt with JBR embroidered in blue on the sleeve and a red and white striped tie. He didn’t have to wear a tie but did so about once a week. That way they won’t know when I’ve got an interview, he’d say. And at nine fifteen every morning, give or take a few minutes, he would appear at the opening of my cubicle and beckon me to fulfill my caffeine urge. If he was out of town, I would get a headache at nine thirty.

See the game? I said. There was always a game.

Jason would have played college football if it hadn’t been for the knee injury he suffered during his junior year in high school and was an expert on all sports. Kobe sure showed up the Knicks, he said.

That move against Stoudemire, I said. Something sweet.

We prattled on about basketball until we reached the east elevators. The west elevators were closer, but one day Jason had suggested that we use the other ones to change things up. It added two minutes to our break, so we continued using them.

After I stepped out of the elevator, I nodded at Todd, the security guard. He and I had become friendly on my first day of work, when he asked me if I needed help and I said yes.

Jason and I crossed the marble lobby to the escalator that led to the cafeteria. Since the cafeteria was open to the public, building management did not allow the main elevators to stop on the second floor. Otherwise, homeless people could pretend to be heading for the cafeteria only to sneak up to the bathrooms on the twelfth floor. I never saw any homeless people in the cafeteria, and the bathrooms on the second floor were just as nice as ours. They had the added advantage of allowing you to take a shit without being concerned that you would have to listen to the bodily functions of your boss or boss’s boss. My boss’s boss was a woman, so at least I didn’t have to worry about that one.

Jason and I stood on the right side of the escalator, leaving room on the left for the young centurions who thought that saving ten seconds by walking up would do something for their careers.

We reached the coffee bar. A short, blond woman, Gloria, was filling the extreme java urn with double caffeine coffee. Almost done, she said with a smile. Jason drew the house blend into his cup, leaving ample room for cream. After Gloria slid the extreme java urn into its place, I filled my twenty-ounce cup, which was already replete with a java jacket.

I walked to the cashiers and stood behind Jason in the left line. It was longer than the right one, but Frank was friendly and often erred—always in the customer’s favor—in giving change. He’d be gone by the end of the month, but we’d enjoy the discounts while they lasted.

On the escalator ride down to the main lobby, Jason asked, You got any weekend plans?

He knew what my answer would be, since I had just broken up with Lisa. Watching basketball. It was the first weekend of the NCAA Men’s Division I Basketball Tournament.

Who you got in the pool? he asked.

North Carolina, I said.

I got them in one of mine, he said. He always had at least three entries in our department pool. But I got Kansas in the money pool at the Cock and Bull for only three hundred thirty-eight bucks. Carolina went for nine sixty.

You got any lunch plans? I said.

No, he said.

Want to go to the Toad and catch the early games? The Toad was J. Toadyworth’s Grill and Bar, which was across the street from our building.

Sure, he said.

We went up the elevator and walked along the hall that served as the main highway of our floor. I followed Jason down his side street and said good-bye to him at his cubicle, where copies of his brackets were arrayed on the beige fabric wall. Then, it being on the way to my cube, I stopped at Donna’s desk. Seeing that the big boss’s office was empty, I asked, Leo in today?

The pretty blond woman, who was about my age, looked up. Her C-cups were hidden by a baggy red sweater.

Yes, she said. He’s in the board room. All of senior management is there, but he’ll be back for the status meeting. The status meeting was scheduled for every Thursday at ten o’clock. All managers in our department were expected to attend, but Leo often missed it.

Thanks, I said.

She smiled at me. I would have chatted longer but I had to number my PowerPoint handouts 1 of 10, 2 of 10, and so on. That’s how Leo expected them. It was more important than what was presented. I made twenty copies. There were twenty-three managers in our department, but there would be some no-shows.

I had been a manager for only a year. Three newbies right out of college worked under me. I had made it through my first set of performance reviews despite the guidance from human resources. Now I had eleven months to come up with another story as to why a 3 percent raise was a sign of good work.

There were already five of us gathered outside conference room 12-C—Tom Doolin, Beverly Chang, Jerry Miller, Monica Jones, and me, a hovering quorum—so I gently opened the door and leaned in. The outside wall of the room was glass. The other walls were a brownish green. A white board was affixed to one wall but was covered by a screen pulled down from the ceiling. A large conference table—actually two tables pushed together—sat in the middle of the room with two dozen black plastic and beige fabric chairs distributed around it. The man standing in the front of the room, who was wearing jeans, a sure sign that he was from the Information Technology department, said, We’re just finishing up. I nodded and reported back to my colleagues, who now numbered eight. There was still no sign of Leo, though.

It was 10:11 before all the laptops were clicked closed, loose papers were resecured in binders, the projector was returned to its case, and the participants were out of the room. I only recognized one person from the group, Jan Kemp. She used to work in our department. I couldn’t remember where she had transferred, though. I said hello to her as she left the room. She replied hi back to me. I took the third seat from the right along the far side of the room, which is where I always sat for the management meeting. I passed by the corner seat that I occupied for the emergency preparedness sessions.

Nineteen members of management were in the room at 10:17 when Beverly started the meeting. There were three other vice presidents in the department, but Beverly always took the lead when Leo wasn’t there. She was a short Asian American woman dressed in black.

The first agenda item is Leo’s report on today’s senior management meeting, she said. We’ll skip that for later.

Paul, you’re up. I was on the agenda, as were all of the managers, every fourth week; there were six of us presenting that day.

I passed around copies of my presentation. After seeing that everyone had one, I began.

On the first page are the objectives of my team for this year. I lost the attention of most everyone at that point. After reporting on the status of achieving those objectives, I went over my plans for cross-departmental meetings, training, and off-site adventures—perhaps we’d try curling. Those paying attention nodded. Leo wasn’t there, so no one asked questions like Since my team is achieving twenty percent, why only thirteen for you? in an attempt to suck up. When Leo was there, Beverly would always ask two questions and sometimes three, but never more than that; it was as though she planned them ahead of time.

Lance, Doreen, Tom, and Chad made their presentations, and then Leo arrived. He was six foot two with graying brown hair that was a little too long and that he combed every time he was in the bathroom. Today he wore a tailored gray suit with gold cuff links on his white-collared blue shirt. His fingernails were neatly trimmed, manicured probably, as Jerry’s wife had once seen him in Galaxy Nails. He sat in his usual chair at the head of the table facing the screen, with Beverly to his right.

Sorry I’m late, he said. There’s going to be a major shake-up in our strategy, but I can’t tell you about it. He looked at the agenda that Beverly had slid in front of him. Well that’s all I can give you on the senior management front. Where are we on the presentations?

We just have Jerry left, Beverly said.

While Jerry distributed his handouts, I watched four people gather outside the window. The woman in the group opened the door and leaned in. Considering the fact that there was a senior vice president in the room, I might have waited for five people.

We have this room at eleven. Will you be done soon?

Beverly stood and said, We have the room until eleven thirty, like every Thursday.

Here’s my calendar, the woman, dressed in all purple and wearing dangly earrings, said, handing Beverly a printout of an Outlook calendar.

I’m going to check with Donna.

Beverly picked up the receiver from the phone in the corner and punched in a number. After a minute, she turned to the woman. Looks like we both have it booked; there must be a software issue.

There are only four of them, Jerry said. How about letting them use Leo’s conference room?

Leo glared at him. Beverly didn’t offer that option.

We’ve only got ten more minutes, Beverly said. Then it’s yours.

The woman in purple made a deep sigh, rolled her eyes, and left the room. Jerry began his presentation, which I ignored. It seemed the group outside was engaged in a heated discussion. Twice I saw fingers pointed in our direction. After about five minutes, they went down the hall, out of view.

And in conclusion, Jerry said. Then he started pushing a button on the remote repeatedly. Ten seconds later, a cartoon tortoise holding the Maryland flag appeared on the screen. Go Terps, he said. Jerry was an alumnus of the University of Maryland. They were a number three seed in the East region in the NCAA tournament. He always picked them to win.

Thank you, all, Leo said. I’ll try to make it to the whole meeting next week.

Everyone except Beverly and Leo left the room. I went back to my desk. It was almost eleven thirty—too late to start any work, since I was meeting Jason at noon—so I perused the ESPN website. Apparently this would be the tournament of the century, just like last year. I checked my e-mail and saw a note from my brother. He’d be in town the following week. I replied. Since we were barred from access to Internet e-mail accounts, I used my work e-mail address for both business and personal correspondence.

At ten minutes to twelve, I got up to go to the bathroom. I passed Donna’s desk. Paul, can you come here for a sec? she said.

I stopped and leaned on the counter, which, being ideally positioned for elbows, encouraged casual conversation. What’s up? I said.

Leo wants to have lunch with you today.

I felt a sting in my gut. Why today? Whenever he didn’t have a lunch appointment, Leo asked one of his staff to eat with him. He’d always wait until the last minute. There was an ongoing debate about whether one should ever refuse. Some said that saying no was a sign of strength. The consensus, though, was that unless you were going to see your dying grandmother, you should accept. But this was the first day of the tournament. I looked at the sea of beige cubicles, thinking.

Paul, Donna said, can you make it?

Sure.

I took care of my business in the men’s room quickly since I didn’t really need to go; then I stopped at Jason’s cube with the bad news.

Your loss, Jason said. Maybe you can get him to go to the Toad.

We both knew that would never happen. Lunch with Leo was always at the Hyperion Club. I left Jason’s cube, took a deep breath, plastered a smile on my face, and went to Leo’s office. He had an expansive view of the river in his fifteen-by-twenty-foot room. The brown and gold carpet was more lush than the industrial-grade gray squares on the rest of the floor. He had a large mahogany desk with a matching credenza and bookshelf directly behind him. Real art hung on the walls. A door opposite his desk led to his private conference room.

He was typing something on his computer. I knocked on the open door. He turned. Come in, Paul. I’ll be right with you. I sat in one of the leather guest chairs. Eight minutes later he stood up. Ready for lunch? he said.

That’s why I’m here, I said.

How about we go to my club?

Sounds good to me.

I’ll drive.

I followed him to the elevators. I did not mention the NCAA tournament. Leo liked to think he knew sports. His strategy was to watch ESPNews from ten thirty to eleven every night, memorize a nugget, and toss it into conversation the next day.

The average score in the championship game of the Men’s Division I NCAA Basketball Tournament is seventy-three to sixty-three, Leo said while we waited for the elevator.

That’s interesting, I said. A soft ding saved me from further discussion. We went into the open doors of the elevator. He pressed P1. I parked on P4.

At P1, we got out of the elevator and went through the door to the parking garage. We passed the Mercedes seven series belonging to Michael Banks, various Lexi, and other similar cars belonging to the executive vice presidents and then walked past about half of the vehicles belonging to other senior vice presidents. Leo clicked his key fob, unlocking the door to his black BMW X5. I climbed into the passenger seat.

Seven minutes later we turned into a driveway flanked by two simple brick pillars. There was no sign. About two hundred feet beyond the entrance, we passed the main Greek Revival building, with its four three-story columns gracing the front porch. We parked in the back lot and went into a side door adorned with a small brass plaque at eye level engraved with Member and Guest Entrance. Leo led me along a narrow hallway adorned with photographs of the club’s past presidents; as we neared the end, the photographs gave way to oil portraits.

I recognized the short, skinny man with the wispy moustache in a tuxedo who stood by the stand at the front of the dining room. Mr. Hightower, the man said. The usual table?

Please, Felix, Leo said. It took about five minutes to get to the table that overlooked the garden, because Leo greeted six or seven members along the way, while I stood behind him. He didn’t introduce me to anyone.

He ordered the pea soup and club sandwich on wheat bread, toasted. I ordered a house salad and beef on weck. He ordered an iced tea. I ordered a Coke. I felt like having a Bass Ale, but that would have to wait.

How are things going? Leo said.

Good. My team seems to be happy.

Great. Like I always say, keep the good apples happy, get rid of the bad ones. You got any bad apples?

I didn’t, but if I did, I wouldn’t have told him. All three of my staff members are in the top twenty-five percent.

Leo glared at me, his eyebrows close together and his lips tightened.

Well, at least in the top half, I said.

Statistically, that’s more like it. But don’t hesitate to get rid of any poor performers. How do you think I got where I am? I may not be the strongest technically, but I can tell about people. I’d say I’m in the top one percent in judging character. So who are the best people in the department?

I gave him the same answer I gave the last time. Beverly has a lot of drive, and Jerry is a go-to guy.

Leo pursed his lips and looked into my eyes. And who … could use some work?

I looked at the boxwood hedge outside the window and then back at Leo. Jim hasn’t been pulling his weight lately.

Jim resigned last week.

Really? I said. I knew that, of course. Jim left to work for his father’s gasket company and had given us all permission to use his departure however we saw fit.

I just built a house out in Rockton, Leo said. Rockton was the suburb of Northchester with the highest median home price. Same development as Michael. Michael—never Mike—Banks was only a couple of years older than Leo. When seventy-four-year-old David White retired, the president would either be Michael Banks or Heather Friedman; at least, that’s what everyone said. His youngest, Evan, is the same age as my Trip. Trip was Leo the third.

While we ate our main course, I listened to him talk about his three kids. Trip, age seven, Evie, age four, and the baby, Amelia.

Anyone care for dessert? our waitress said.

I’m watching my weight, Dani, Leo said, but Paul’s young. How about some of the cheesecake? Jack makes a great cheesecake. The Hyperion Club bought it from The Cake Place, as did several restaurants in town. I knew that because I had worked at that bakery one summer in high school.

Sure, I said. And some coffee.

Coffee for me too, Leo said.

The waitress returned with two white cups on saucers. Leo poured two sugars and two creams in his. I took a sip of mine black. A minute later she brought the cheesecake. I started eating it. Leo turned his chair to talk to the man sitting at the table behind him. I recognized the man as an executive at Howell Electronics but didn’t know his name. I savored each bite of my cake and looked around the ornate room, which had six-inch-wide ceiling moldings and Corinthian pilasters evenly spaced along the walls.

My coffee cup was on my lips when Leo turned back. Time to go. One thirty meeting, he said.

I put down the cup and followed Leo. The club was half full, so it only took a couple of minutes for Leo to say his hellos and good-byes.

Back in the car, Leo said, Can’t beat the food in there.

Thanks for lunch, I said.

Leo made a call on his cell phone while we drove back. I looked out the window. It was sunny and was warmer than usual for March. Leo continued the phone conversation most of the way back to his office, ending it as we approached Donna’s desk. He nodded in my direction as I went off to my cube.

I checked the scores. Indiana was losing to the College of Charleston, the thirteen seed in the West. Good, I thought; I had Indiana going down in the second round. I picked up my leather portfolio and a pen. I walked to the elevator, rode down to the first floor, went out the rotating door, crossed the street, and entered the Toad. I had blocked out my calendar until four o’clock with the generic meeting in case anyone came looking for me.

Jason was at the bar next to a large man, more in girth than in height, though he wasn’t short. It was Bill from IT. That’s how we knew him—Bill from IT. You have a problem, call Bill from IT. Anyone else on the company help line would just tell you to take an aspirin, reboot, and call back in the morning. I had worked there for a year and a half before I learned his cell phone number. It wasn’t in the directory, and he didn’t answer his landline.

"I see you came prepared