Page 40 of Grump and Grumpier

Jansen’s copied on this one, and I wonder if he’s seen it yet. I get my answer when he barrels in through my open door, his laptop in hand. Reading my face, he asks, “You’ve seen it?” and I nod once. “I thought we were done with this bullshit.”

I scan over the message again. “It’s different from the others. It’s similar in its subject matter, but much more specific.”

“All of it lies,” he interjects.

“But specific in those lies, and in its threats.”

“They can’t threaten us with lies. They can’t expose us for things that aren’t even true.”

I give Jansen a hard look, trying to figure out if he believes that, or if he’s just being stubborn in his anger. “The thing is, they can tell the public that we don’t source our beans ethically, that we have an inferior quality product, and we don’t give away as much of our profits as we claim. Even though none of that is true, people can still believe it.”

My partner glowers at me, as if this is my fault. “So what are we supposed to do—give in to their demands?”

“They don’t even say what those demands are, but no, I’m not suggesting that. We need to do something, though, because public perception is reality, at least as far as our business is concerned, and this asshole doesn’t seem to be going away.”

Jansen pulls out his phone. “I’m going to call Charles in.”

While we wait, my mind pings directly back to what I’d been thinking about while I was clearing my inbox. “Ana’s due back today.”

Jansen pauses the pacing he’d been doing and nods.

“It felt like a long week, didn’t it?”

He nods again.

Charles knocks on my door, then enters, a mug of coffee in hand. “Morning. What’s up?”

“We need your help,” Jansen says. “Can you track an email?”

Our longtime IT man’s brows lift. “What’s going on?”

Jansen shows him the email, and we explain that it’s one of a handful we’ve received over the past several weeks, each of them coming from a different address.

“Is there a way to find out who’s sending them?” I ask. “I’m sure they’re from the same person.”

“I can get the IP address, which can indicate a location, but none of that is helpful if the sender is using a VPN or an encrypted email service.”

Jansen lets out a frustrated huff at this news.

“We’ll forward all of the messages,” I tell Charles. “Do what you can.”

CHAPTER 32

ANA

On my first day back after the holiday break, another little white box greets me when I get to work. This time, it’s been placed on my chair, but of course, there’s no note. This dolphin, the fourth I’ve received, is painted a beautiful vivid blue and accented with colorful seashells at its base.

I add it to the collection, which I’ve arranged in the window. I keep waiting for someone to give it a certain look when they’re in my office, or avoid looking at them altogether, in a way that will tip me off to the sender’s identity, but that hasn’t happened.

I feel very weird about receiving all of these figurines. They’re beautiful, but the mystery behind them is beginning to give me a bad feeling, like there’s too much buildup now that this person has sent me so many of them.

Surely, there will be an inevitable reveal at somepoint, and I’m starting to feel like I’ll owe the person something I’m not prepared to give, like agreeing to go on a date with them, for example. It will be rude to try to give the gifts back, but simply saying thank you is going to seem awkward and inadequate.

Hopefully, I’m overthinking the situation, but I wish I could find a way to make the gifts stop.

When I go to the break room to store my lunch—which, of course, I’ve clearly marked with my name—there seems to be a special buzz in the air, which at first I assume has to do with the new year, and everyone still being in a festive mood, but it turns out there’s another reason.

“Have you tried the new beans yet?” Gloria asks. She’s just one of several people crowded into the room.

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