“Alright. Let’s go.”
A million thoughts flipped through my mind as Jeremy led me back to the car. At first I was elated, overjoyed at the fact that Beatrice didn’t like Asher in the least. That feeling soon faded, though. I was happy, but did I have a right to be? Asher remained—or tried to remain—loyal to Beatrice, and so it didn’t matter what exactly she did to him, but how he felt towards her. Which I assumed would change if her plans were… if they were what? I wasn’t quite sure, since I didn’t know anything about her plans in the first place.
Though it sounded like her and Solomon were doing something more, too. An affair? Definitely a possibility, but even that seemed difficult to prove.
And then it dawned on me, as sure as that. I couldn’t actually prove anything. I didn’t have a recording of anything they said, and I didn’t have any real credibility as far as anyone taking my word for it, either. If I came right out and accused Solomon and Beatrice of some kind of treachery, they could deny it. And then what? Well, if they had actual plans, they’d delay them, I imagined. Possibly doing something about me, too. I briefly imagined a mafia style murder situation, but I doubted that would actually happen.
Still, no matter what, I needed to figure out how I should approach this.
“We’re almost there,” Jeremy said.
I decided I needed to tell Jeremy, at the very least. He might know what to do, or he might think I was insane. I really hoped it was the first one.
His Absolute Impulse
*
“So, this is your apartment?” Jeremy asked me.
I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and looked around. Sure, it was nothing compared to the Landseer estate, but I liked it. The living room, kitchen, and dining area were actually all one combined room, separated by a countertop. I sectioned off the living room and my circle dining table with a couch to elude to the existence of separate rooms, but it wasn’t that great. It worked, and sometimes I had people over for dinner, but I kind of wished I had an actual dining room.
Still, the place looked nice enough. I kept it clean and my furniture was only a few years old. I never watched TV, but I had an older CRT TV in a rustic looking entertainment center against the wall for when guests came over. Granted, I didn’t have cable(since I never used it), but Redbox or my DVD collection solved most problems there.
I used to think all of this was good up until Jeremy peered around my apartment with a funny look on his face.
“What?” I asked. “Yes, this is my apartment.”
“It’s kind of small,” he said.
“I live by myself. I don’t need a big place.”
“Is there another room? Is this it?” He stepped past the “dining area” and into the “living room.”
“My bedroom, then the bathroom. I can’t… I mean, I know that Asher’s place is nicer, but it’s hard for someone like me to afford more than this. I think it’s…”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I guess… well, I only have a room of my own at Asher’s, anyways, so I don’t know what I’m going on about. It’s a nice place, though. Looks cozy. Not a ton of room to move around, but I guess that’s what going out is for, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
“So,” he said, sitting at the table. “What was that before? Why did you run me out of the bookstore? You were so excited to go in, and then…”
“Yeah…” I trailed off, remembering it. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Except I felt like I really needed to tell someone. It was definitely them, Asher’s wife, Beatrice, and his director of public relations, Solomon Royce. I’d inadvertently happened upon them at my favorite independent bookstore, which was odd enough, but after overhearing their conversation it became even stranger. I didn’t even know what to think about it. Maybe I was going crazy or something. That seemed like a more logical explanation than the truth.
“Do you want cookies?” I asked. “With milk, of course.”
“Sure,” Jeremy said. “Yeah, why not? Sounds nice.”
I poured us both a glass of milk and dug through my cupboards for a box of Russian tea cookies while thinking about what to tell him. How should I start? With the beginning, I supposed, except it sounded weird. Oh, yes, I just overheard, and…
I handed Jeremy his glass of milk, sat alongside him at the table, and put the box of cookies between us.
“These are cookies?” he asked, plucking one of the confection sugar-covered balls from the box. “Huh.”