Jim doesn't realize that he's shaking his leg enough to jostle Dwight's computer monitor until he meets Dwight's dead stare from across their two desks.


"Sorry."

Dwight just shakes his head (slowly, like he does right before he's about to lose it sometimes) and goes back to what he was doing, which could be selling paper, but could just as easily be ordering a new sniper scope for his paintball rifle for all Jim knows. Karen's pulling something off the printer and catches him watching her. She bites her lip a little when she smiles.


He tries to focus back on the computer monitor in front of him, but, truthfully, he's been distracted for the better part of the day. The better part of the week, actually (maybe even nearing two). There's something wrong with Karen.


And, no, not wrong like, she's wearing a weird color nail polish, or she's gone batshit crazy on him or anything, but wrong, like... different. He can't really put his finger on it, and it's driving him insane. Every time he goes to do something else, think about something else, it keeps coming back to Karen, and why the hell he can't figure out what's going on.

She looks like she's concentrating, like she's working hard, the way she's staring at her computer, wrapping a few strands of chocolate hair around her finger. Maybe she's just getting a lot of work done, maybe she's bored, but the point is that he just doesn't know. He should know, he should be able to tell.

When he times their breaks together she probably thinks that he's attempting to be romantic. He really just needs more time to figure this out. Women should have to wear dry-erase boards around their necks to let people (men) know what they're thinking. Maybe he could talk to Michael about that, it sounds like something he would really go for.

"Are... you okay?" He asks like a concerned boyfriend, because that's what he is, and also because concerned boyfriends should know what's going on with their equally concerned girlfriends, right?

"Fine. What's up with you?"

Three hours of sleep over the course of the past two or three nights, that's what's up.

"You look nice today."

He tells her because she does, and also because that's part of the problem he's having. She looks so... nice lately. Not that she usually wears a garbage bag to work or anything, but she's dressing nice enough to impress someone, and he's pretty sure that he isn't that someone.

"Oh, Phyllis invited me along on her sales call, we might go out to lunch afterwards. You want me to pick you up anything?"

Her smile manages to distract him for long enough that he almost kisses her before he remembers that they are at work, and that something is still weird.

"No, thank you though. Have fun, with Phyllis."

"I'm actually looking forward to it." Karen's grinning into her coffee cup. "Phyllis and I... we actually have fun. It's nice."

"Yeah, Phyllis is great," he nods, feeling kind of terrible all of the sudden for some reason. Karen really doesn't have many friends to speak of around here.

"Plus, I hear Michael's got something... weird planned for later. I'm kind of looking forward to missing out."

"Yeah, he really tends to shine on quarter-camaraderie day... can't wait."

"You'll have to fill me in when I get back." She touches his elbow lightly as she walks past him. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he really just needs to get some sleep.

She's washing her mug in the sink now and just the sound of the water is making him tired. When she goes to put the mug away she has to strain on her toes to reach the top shelf and he's about to help her, but then the jacket of her suit is riding up just enough to expose a thin strip of skin and he can make out the edge of what looks to be some kind of lacy green underwear (underwear she certainly hasn't shown him before) and he's back to thinking about what's wrong here, because something definitely definitely is.

When she and Phyllis leave he's stuck staring at her empty desk and wondering. He keeps coming back to his initial thought, the one he doesn't want to acknowledge. The one theory he has, which he has zero idea of how to prove, but also doesn't really know that he wants to try.

"Hear ye, hear ye my loyal serfs," Michael walks out of his office, raising his voice to the level one might need to use in a grand stand. "I have a special surprise for all of you this afternoon. Now, I know that we all have a case of Cabin Fever--"

"What does that mean?" Jim interrupts him out of sheer force of habit more than anything else.

"Cabin fever? That's when you feel all down because it's nice outside and you have to sit inside and work."

"You mean, like the dim light thing?" Kevin asks.

"Sort of. I mean, not really, just like… everyone's going kind of stir crazy, right?" Michael insists, looking to Ryan for support.

"Michael, it's raining outside," Pam notes with a hint of a smile.

"Right well, then you've got a case of the Rainy Day Blues. Still just as serious. Still counts," Michael says.

"What is it that we're doing tonight, Michael?" Oscar asks.

"As promised, today is our annual our quarter-camaraderie event, and we are going to play a special game," Michael says, glancing excitedly from face to face.

"A game? What does that mean?" Stanley sighs.

"We are going to be solving a mystery my friends," he says. "A murder mystery. Dwight?"

Dwight nods and flickers the light switch to create an appropriate "lightning effect."

"Ooh is this like one of those murder-theater dinner party things??" Kelly asks, bouncing on her toes a little.

"It most certainly is, Kelly," Michael points to her happily. "And in order to... play, I'm going to split you all up into teams."

"What kind of teams?" Angela asks.

"Teams of two, Angela, like the animals on Noah's Ark," he explains as though this is the only way she'll understand the concept of pairs. "And two by two they go, right?"

Angela rolls her eyes.

"So, is it like a contest?" Pam asks.

"Well, yes, sort of it is," Michael continues. "Each team is going to have to follow their set of clues and solve riddles and answer questions along the way in order to lead them to the... dead body."

"That's disgusting."

"Oh, relax, Angela. It's not really a dead body. We're just calling it that for the sake of the game."

"It's not that blow-up doll again, is it?" Pam grimaces a little and Jim can hear Kevin snickering at his desk.

"No, Pam, it's not the doll, okay? And you're going to have to just let that go," Michael sighs. "Alright, so the teams were randomly generated by my computer earlier today..."

"I set up the program," Dwight adds loudly.

"Let's take it down a notch, Dwight," Michael says, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "Okay, so first we have Miss Karen Fillipelli and Mr. Dwight Schrute as Miss Scarlett and Professor Plum... where's Karen?"

"Sales call with Phyllis," Jim explains, although Michael looks absolutely lost at this point.

"What? Didn't they... that's just terrible timing on their part. Do you think we should call them? Tell them to come back?"

"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be the best idea, since, you know, they're trying to sell paper... because that's kind of their job," Jim says, holding back a smile.

"Okay, we'll skip that first pair for now. Moving onward... Mr., uh, Oscar and Angela, you will be Colonel Mustard and Mrs. White."

"I wanted to be the Colonel," Dwight frowns.

"Now, this is random, remember? No favorites, that's not how we do business here," Michael shakes his head. "Next up: Mr. Jim Halpert and our little Miss Pam Beesly will be portraying Miss Peacock and Mr. Green..."

Something in Jim's stomach begins to twist. This is probably the last thing he needs at a time like this, but he forces himself to turn his chair a little and smile at her.

"Stanley and Meredith, you will be... well, looks like we've run of characters, so you'll be Mr. and Mrs. Howell."

"Gilligan's Island again? Really?" Jim hears himself ask. Its like an involuntary reflex sometimes.

"Creed and Kelly will be... Oh! How about Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones? That'll explain the age difference at least..."

Kelly laughs nervously and Creed cracks his knuckles, scanning the faces of the women in the room.

"Kevin, you are with Phyllis, so... you can just pair up with Dwight until the ladies get back from their little excursion, okay?"

Dwight is nodding enthusiastically, obviously thinking that having a two-man team is some kind of advantage in the following clues game.

"And that just leaves... me and Ryan."

"Wait, why are we the only male pair?" Ryan asks quickly.

"Well, that's because, we ran out of females, Ryan. Just deal with it. We'll be like… Batman and Robin, am I right?" Michael claps him on the back.

"Wait, what about Andy?" Pam asks and Jim notices Andy shuffling his feet over by accounting.

"Dammit," Michael sighs. "Forgot about... that. Andy you'll be with… Karen and Dwight. You can be that Wadsworth guy."

"Polyandry," Dwight shakes his head in disapprovingly.

"Remember, these were totally random… done by the computer," Michael clarifies yet again.

"Yeah, sure… random," Ryan mutters.

"Where's Toby?" Kelly asks.

"Ah, yes," Michael grins. "That my friends, is the mystery. Tonight I would like to welcome you all to a little game I like to call, the Mystery of the Disappearing HR Representative!"

"Toby is the dead body?" Pam asks nervously. "Michael..."

"What? Its not like I killed the guy," Michael sighs loudly. "I mean, its not like I didn't think about it... would anyone even really miss the guy? It's just -"

"Michael, permission to have a team meeting before the whistle?" Dwight's hand shoots up.

"Uh, good idea, permission granted," Michael nods. "Come on, Ryan, we'll talk in my office."

Jim can't help but laugh a little watching Ryan follow Michael reluctantly. As he walks to reception he overhears Dwight saying "Thank God I thought to bring in these Walkie Talkies today. Always be prepared. Those are words to live by."

"So... Miss Peacock, I presume?" he leans against the counter, sticking his index finger into the candy dish.

"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Green," she does a little bow and she's smiling. "So, what's our strategy, then?"

"Um, let me think..." He's busy trying to think of something witty to say when his thoughts stray back to Karen and whatever is wrong and doesn't even realize that he's frowning.

"Hey, are you okay?" Pam asks, and she actually does seem concerned.

"Yeah, oh I'm fine," he says too quickly. "I just... have some stuff, on my mind, I mean."

"Oh, right... Sorry," she nods, shrinking back a little now. It's been a while since things haven't been awkward with her and it's a little scary how he's almost gotten used to it.

"No, I'm sorry," he sighs. "I just... didn't want to bother you with it."

"Girl stuff?" she asks, and he can already tell that the look on his face has said everything. "You could tell me. Maybe I could... help?"

"Well, it's kind of not so much of a problem... I mean, it is a problem, I just... I don't know that it's a problem... I guess," he starts laughing little. "That made absolutely no sense, did it?"

"No, not really," she says, and she's starting to smile again.

"I'll start over." He puts both of his palms on the counter and it's kind of nice because the counter is cool and his hands were starting to sweat a little. "I think that Karen might be... I mean, I have no proof, just..."

Pam's leaning forward a little now, her eyes wide and waiting for him to finish a thought, or at least a sentence.

"I think she's cheating on me?" He's not sure why he phrases it like a question.

"Wow," she breathes softly. "Are you... how do you... you're sure?"

"No." His shoulders already relaxing a little now that he's at least said the words. "I don't have anything solid, just a feeling. Just... one of those feelings."

"What are you going to do?" Her forehead creases up when she's really concerned, but he probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

"I think... I'm going to find out," he says, not really knowing where the words came from exactly, but liking the sound of them.

"You're going to confront her?"

"No. I think I'm just... going to find out."

Pam's giving him a much more concerned look now, and even her nose is wrinkling up a little. "How?"

"You could help me," he says suddenly. "We could do some of our own... detective work. Instead of Michael's stupid thing."

"Oh, Jim... I don't know, maybe you should just talk to her..."

"Pam," he stops her, putting his hand on hers. He probably looks desperate and a little crazy, but that's the fatigue talking. "Please?"

She doesn't really move, just stares at his hand covering hers. When she finally does look up at him, her forehead isn't wrinkled any longer and her eyes are heavy somehow.

"What do you need me to do?"