Page 31 of The Game Is Afoot

My phone buzzes almost immediately.

“You quit your job? Mavis, what happened?”

I quickly fill him in on the DEIB courageous conversation from hell and how after years of keeping it together, my professional Mavis software short-circuited and I just couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep going and pretending everything was fine when Rose made it so clear for the billionth time last week that there was no promotion, no pay raise, on the horizon, orever. And so I said “screw it” to the sunk cost fallacy, threw away almost eight years of hard work and building my reputation, and walked out without looking back.

When I’m done unloading, it’s almost silent—the only sound is me catching my breath. And I feel a wave of worry over what must be going through Jack’s head. Does he think I was stupid? Immature? I did exactly what you’renotsupposed to do, after months and months when Icouldhave researched other positions, asked for letters of rec, given a proper notice…

Finally, he speaks. “Good.”

“Good?!”

Did he and my dad coordinate how to play this or something?

“Yes, good,” he repeats. “Now you have time and space to find something that really makes you happy. A company that appreciates all you have to offer. That treats you with the dignity and respect you know that you deserve.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to break out into ‘The Greatest Love of All’?”

He lets out a low chuckle, but his voice remains sincere. “And you can finally get some rest, like you’re always saying you want to do.”

“Yeah!”

“Which is definitely what you’re doing right now, andnotwriting out a list of suspects.”

I glance guiltily at my repurposed gratitude journal.

“Yeah?”

He sighs, but I can hear the smile behind it. “Okay, tell me what you’ve got then. Is Trisha on there?”

“…Yeah.”

He laughs, long and loud. “Trisha wasn’t eventhere, Mavis. I think we gotta let her off the hook for this one.”

“Fine,” I grumble, begrudgingly crossing her off. I quickly fill him in on what we learned from Detectives Berry and De La Rosa today, how it’s being ruled a homicide, the traces of sodiumnitratefound on the Capri-Sun pouch, and the unsettling feeling I got from Detective Berry when Ms. Joyce talked up Corey’s homegrown produce. I give him my bestChemistry for Dummiessummary of sodium nitrate and its uses with plants, and I tell him all of my thoughts on Dom Dwyer and Hank Michaelson as suspects. Their motives sound even weaker when I say them out loud, though.

“But still, it’s more thanCorey,” I insist. “There’s just no way at all he could have done that. Sourcing some obscure chemical, funneling it into a Capri-Sun pouch—and what? Resealing it? It’s laughable. Corey did even worse thanmein chemistry—he had to retake it the summer before senior year! I wonder if we could get his transcript to show the detectives?”

“Wecould. But also, regardless of his chemistry grade, there would be no reason for Corey—”

“Yeah. Yeah! There’s no motive! Corey just met Coach Cole. And they were…normal with each other. Acquaintances. What’s their theory here? That he did thisfor funsies?!”

Okay, so Idoyell that, but it’s just a minor yell. Like an ahhh-look-at-that-spider yell, not an a-car-just-ran-over-my-grandma yell. There’s no reason for the, in my opinion, very judgy throat clearing I hear on his end.

“I’m just…going to throw this out there. Don’t get annoyed with me.” Those words instantly summon all the annoyance in my being. “Do you think maybe you’re…trying to find a distraction? From how you’re feeling, and what happened at your job?”

“Of course not! This could be so dangerous for Corey if it goes the wrong way. I have to protect him. He’s—family.”

Never mind that I was just kind of an asshole to Corey over…god, I barely even remember now. I stillcareabout him and that’s themainreason I’m looking into this. If it’s a distraction, too—well, that’s just an added bonus.

“You’re right. I get that. And I’m going to help you in any way I can. I just don’t want you to lose sight of taking care of yourself, especially now that you have this time to make it a priority.” There’s a pause, and I wonder if he’s thinking about bringing up therapy again. If he does, there may be an a-car-just-ran-over-my-grandma yell in our very near future.

“You know I think you can do anything. If there’s anyone who can figure this out it’s you…but it’s also okay to let the detectives do their job, too. Take a nap, watch someBachelor—that’s on again, right?”

“The new guy has the personality of the crusty old sponge you find under the sink when you first move into a new apartment,” I say, stubbornly ignoring all the rest of Jack’s, okay, fairly good points.

“But you’re still gonna watch it.”

“Definitely.”

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