Page 37 of Dear Debbie

Garrett is momentarily thrown off by the sound of my voice. “Who is this?”

“It’s Cooper.” Because he doesn’t respond, I add, “Debbie’s husband.”

“Where’s Debbie?” he demands to know. “I need to talk to her right away!”

I struggle into a sitting position, and the pounding in my head intensifies. “Sorry, she’s in the shower.”

“Then get her out of the shower! I need to talk to her right now!”

“Uh, no?” I rub my eyes. “Whatever is wrong—”

“Whatever is wrong!” he bursts out. “There’s pornography on the newspaper’s website. That’s what’s wrong! And it’s not just pornography, it’s… Look, I know Debbie has the password for our website. Just because I fired her—”

“You fired Debbie?” I repeat, unable to keep the astonishment out of my voice.

That throws Garrett for a loop. “Oh. I thought she would’ve… Well, anyway, yes. There was an issue with a lawsuit, and… Sorry, but I didn’t have a choice. But what the hell? She needs to get it down this minute!” His voice is getting louder with each word. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She’s going to ruin me!”

“Why can’t you take it down yourself?” I ask impatiently.

“She changed the password! I’m locked out!”

As Garrett is talking, I navigate to the website for the newspaper on my own phone. No offense to Debbie, but the Hingham Household is the most boring newspaper I’ve ever seen. The website generally contains their logo and the top news story in Hingham, which is probably, I don’t know, a PTA meeting where they’re trying to decide what to watch on the middle school movie night. But instead of that, the only thing on the screen is a video that seems to be playing on a repeat loop.

It’s a video of two people having sex. And one of those people is Garrett Meers.

I don’t know who the other person is, but I met his wife, and it’s not her. The whole thing looks like it’s taking place in an office, on top of a desk. I’m guessing it’s the office at the newspaper.

Wow. He’s right. He really is screwed.

“We’ve already had half a dozen advertisers call to cancel their contracts with us.” His panicked voice has turned pleading. “And my wife… If she sees this…”

Even though it’s rude, I bark out a laugh. “You really think there’s any chance your wife isn’t going to see this?”

“Go to hell!” Garrett snaps back at me. “Debbie has gone too far this time!”

I frown at the phone, suddenly overtaken by a feeling of déjà vu. This is the exact same conversation I had with Brett yesterday morning, when he accused Debbie of messing with his fuse box.

She certainly has the technical skills to do this. And if she got fired yesterday, that’s a motive right there. She would have needed to obtain the footage of Garrett with that other woman, but she’s the one who installed the cameras outside our front door. She certainly knows how to plant a hidden camera.

And yet I still don’t believe it. I always tell Debbie to advocate for herself more, because she’s constantly letting herself get pushed around. She’s great at giving advice, but she never takes mine. I can’t envision her doing something this diabolical. It’s not her style.

“Look,” I say, “Debbie didn’t do this…”

“She did it!” he insists. “And I swear to God, she is going to pay for this. I’m going to make sure she pays.”

Okay, that’s enough. I understand he’s upset, but nobody threatens Debbie. “Watch what you say about my wife,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” Garrett seems unimpressed. “Or else what?”

“If you so much as breathe on her,” I growl into the phone in a voice that actually sounds fairly scary, “I’m going to drive over to your house and break your face.”

I can hear the sharp inhale of breath on the other line, and with that, Garrett finally goes quiet. I take the opportunity to end the call. A second later, the phone starts ringing again, but I put it on silent.

Could I actually break Garrett Meers’s face? I don’t know. I have been going to the gym a lot lately. I’ve never thrown a punch in my entire life, but if he did anything to hurt Debbie, I would definitely make him pay.

“Who was on the phone?”

I didn’t even notice that the shower had turned off, and Debbie has come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a terry-cloth bathrobe. Her hair is still wet and slicked back from her face with water. She looks so small and vulnerable. Innocent. Except…