Eggsecutive Orders

by Julie Hyzy

  I thought about my upcoming visit with Bucky. He and I would have to discuss the situation. If the Easter Egg Roll were to be permanently canceled, the press would have a field day. There would be no way to recover from such a public-relations nightmare. I thought about calling our contact at the American Egg Board, Brandy. Effervescent and eager to help, she was just the sort of person who could get things rolling.

  I started to look up her number, but stopped myself. Tom would probably consider that “meddling” in the situation. Anger rumbled up from deep in my throat. I was thwarted, no matter which way I turned.

  I dialed Tom’s cell but hit “end” when I heard my house phone ring. Geez! I hadn’t gotten this many phone calls at home in the past year. I picked up the kitchen phone because it was closest. “Hello?”

  A woman asked, “Is this… Olivia?” Familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I… that is… this is Ruth Minkus.”

  Fortunately I was right next to a chair. I sat. “Hello,” I said, and because I couldn’t come up with anything better, “How are you?”

  She sucked in a breath, but didn’t answer. “My husband’s ‘friend,’ Mr. Kapostoulos”-her emphasis on the word “friend” dripped with sarcasm-“suggested I call you.”

  My face must have conveyed my pure shock because both Mom and Nana stopped eating to stare at me. Mom pantomimed, “Who is it?”

  “He suggested you call me?” I echoed into the receiver. Then pointing into it, I mouthed back, “Ruth Minkus.”

  They exchanged looks of horror and both started mouthing questions at me. I couldn’t follow them and pay attention to Ruth at the same time, so I averted my eyes. I chose to stare at the ceiling, hoping its blankness might aid my concentration. My brain couldn’t absorb the fact that Ruth was calling me. And, based on the stammering on the other end, she didn’t quite believe it either.

  “I suppose I mean to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

  I was quick to interrupt. “There’s no reason to-”

  “Kap said I offended you.”

  “Kap’s wrong,” I said, with more than a touch of vehemence. Movement from my right caused me to look over. My mom made a face and got up to work at the stove. Nana stayed put, watching me. I returned my gaze to the ceiling.

  “I was not at all offended. I understand completely. You’re going through a lot of strain right now.”

  “I am,” she said in a tiny voice. “It’s been so much pressure. I’ve been working hard to help my son, Joel, in his bid for the senate seat and now this… I don’t think I’m handling it very well.”

  I felt for her. She had just lost her husband and was being bullied into making unnecessary apologies. Embarrassed to have been pulled into this, I said, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  I was about to make another pleasant, innocuous comment-one that would allow me to segue into an excuse to get off the phone-when she said, “Joel thinks I was wrong to accuse you, too.”

  “As I said, Mrs. Minkus, there’s no need-”

  “Were you planning to come to Carl’s wake tomorrow?”

  “Ah… no, I wasn’t.”

  She made a tsking noise. “That’s because of my outburst, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t-” I was about to say that I’d never had any intention of attending her husband’s wake, but realized how rude that might sound. Softening my response, I tried a different approach. “I know this has to be a very stressful time and I wouldn’t want to compound that tension. I’m sure my presence at the wake would be distracting.”

  “Distracting? How?”

  “Because…” I groped for a quick explanation. “My staff is still banned from the kitchen.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” she said. “I confess I’ve been trying to avoid reading the papers. It’s just too much, you know?”

  I did know. “I want to express my sympathy again, Mrs. Minkus.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would reconsider.”

  “Reconsider?”

  “It would mean a lot to me if you would come tomorrow night,” she said. “I feel just terrible about my behavior yesterday. In fact, I feel terrible about everything these days. I can’t go around burning bridges just because my life has fallen apart.”

  I heard her voice crack. I didn’t know what to say, but she continued. “I mean, I have to think about Joel. He needs me to be strong right now. And I made him ashamed yesterday. Would you please come to the wake? Even if the rest of your staff can’t make it, it would go a long way to proving to Joel that I didn’t mess things up.” She sighed deeply. “I may not always agree with Kap, but this time I think he’s right. Please come, Olivia.” Her next breath seemed to shake, and I sensed she was close to tears. “I’d better go now.” With that she hung up.

  I stared at the receiver for a long time. What in the world had that been about? Kap had forced her hand, no doubt about it. But to what end? And why would Joel care whether his mother offended the executive White House chef? I was about to tell Mom about this bizarre conversation, but realized she had left the room.

  Nana pointed to the guest bedroom, where I found my mom at the computer. “That was Ruth Minkus,” I said.

  She turned toward me, arranging her body to block the screen from my view. “What did she want?”

  “To invite me to her husband’s wake.”

  Mom twisted, quickly minimized the window, and then returned her attention to me. I’d seen a tiny bit of the page she’d been viewing. “Were you reading the Liss Is More column again?” I asked.

  Nervous laugh as she stood. “Why would I read that trash?”

  “Then what were you reading?” I felt like a parent who just caught her teenager visiting inappropriate sites.

  “Just silly stuff,” she said, trying to guide me out the door. “Nothing worth mentioning. Let’s go see what Nana’s up to.”

  “Mom-”

  Her shoulders dropped. “I wasn’t reading that crazy man, Liss,” she said. “But I found out that his articles are reprinted on the Internet and people can write in and make comments on what he wrote.”

  “And?”

  “There are some very odd people in the world,” she said. “I mean, I thought Liss was out of his mind, but people go off on the strangest tangents and say very mean, very cruel things.”

  “Let me see,” I said, moving toward the computer.

  She blocked me.

  I laughed. “Mom, you can’t keep me from reading what’s out there.”

  She suddenly looked so sad, my heart hurt.

  “Did someone mention me?” I asked.

  “Not exactly.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that people were asking about the Easter Egg Roll, and I knew how worried you were about that. I didn’t want you to see all the questions.”

  “That’s not all you didn’t want me to see, is it?”

  “Some people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  I made it around her and maximized the browser window again. I sensed her resignation both from her deep sigh, and from the hand she placed on my shoulder as I scrolled through the comments.

  There were, indeed, a lot of strange people in the world. I wondered if these were the same folks who, for kicks, sent out indecipherable spam in their spare time. I started at the top-the most recent commentary-and worked my way through several screeds that had more to do with battling the writers’ own demons than Carl Minkus’s death. Seemed to me that the earliest posts stayed on topic and the more recent ones were lame attempts to discredit earlier posters.

  “What about the Easter Egg Roll?” asked Theda R. from Virginia. “My kids have been looking forward to this all year! Can’t someone just boil a few eggs so the kids won’t be disappointed?”

  From Sal J.: “What do we care if another bureaucrat is dead? He got what he deserved, if you ask me. Minkus was screwed up and
whoever took him out deserves a medal.”

  Yikes.

  “These people have too much time on their hands,” I said, continuing to scroll. I stopped when I saw the next one. Blood rushed out to all my extremities, rendering me light-headed.

  “That girl the president hired to cook for him-that Ollivia Parras-she’s nothing but trouble since she took over the job. She can’t cook worth a nikcl and she can always try seeing how she can get in the headlines. It’s all her fault your poor kids don’t get to roll their eggs this year. I say the president should fire her butt and fast!”

  No matter that the writer of this little diatribe-R. I.-spelled so many things wrong, including my name. No matter that he, or she, was grammatically challenged. The message was clear.

  “I can so cook,” I said unnecessarily. But the accusation stung.

  “You see, this is all garbage,” Mom said. “I shouldn’t even have been reading it.”

  I wanted to shake it off, but my eyes were scanning again. There were more postings questioning whether there was any way to keep the Egg Roll on schedule, a few that talked about Minkus and who might have wanted him dead, and a couple more that called for my immediate dismissal.

  “Cheery stuff,” I said, trying to swallow a hot bubble of disappointment.

  “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  She was probably right, but the attacks were brutal. And they hurt.

  I’d been on enough Internet pages like this to know that at the bottom there should be a form available to add your own commentary. But this time, no little box appeared. Instead, in red italics were the words: Please allow several minutes for your comment to post.

  I spun. “You didn’t.”

  Mom blushed, waving a hand at the screen. “I couldn’t let them talk about you like that and not do anything.”

  I dropped my head into my hands, took a deep breath, and hit “refresh.”

  CHAPTER 12

  OF COURSE THE PAGE TOOK FOREVER TO LOAD. Of course. Sometimes my connection was blazingly fast, and times like this-when I really wanted information quickly-the computer became uncooperative and petulant, like I was still on dial-up.

  While I waited for the Liss commentary to blink back into existence, I chanced a look at my mom. “Just tell me you didn’t mention me by name.”

  She opened her mouth but no words came out.

  Just as the website popped up to tell me that it was temporarily unavailable, my cell phone rang.

  “Aargh!” I took a look at the display. Tom.

  “Did you try to call me?” he asked when I picked up.

  “I started to, but then Ruth Minkus called.”

  “She called you? Why? Did she start accusing you again?”

  “No,” I said wearily. I didn’t feel like explaining. Over the past few days all I’d done was explain. What I wanted-what I needed-right now was to be back in the White House kitchen, working on the Egg Roll. We were already three days behind schedule. “She called to apologize,” I said. “Long story.”

  He waited a beat. “So, what’s up?”

  Was it my imagination, or was there a lilt of impatience in his tone? “The White House Egg Roll,” I began.

  “We’ve been over that.”

  “No,” I said carefully. “You said you expected they would cancel it. But they can’t.”

  “They ‘can’t’?”

  “You know what I mean.” I grimaced at the pleading tone in my voice. “I think it’s a mistake to cancel the Egg Roll.”

  “Oh you do?”

  “Yes I do,” I said, getting my back up. “Who can I talk to about it?”

  “I’ll look into it for you.”

  “No, Tom,” I said, regaining a little composure. “You’re responsible for my actions, remember?” Without waiting for him to answer, I pressed on. “That means that you have a conflict of interest. You believe keeping me out of the kitchen will keep me out of trouble. Or,” I added, with a smidge of sarcasm, “your perception of trouble. I think it makes more sense for me to talk with someone else about this. Do you have Craig’s cell phone number handy?”

  “You would go over my head?”

  I wouldn’t really, but I was desperate and I didn’t want him to call my bluff. Even though we occasionally got angry with one another, we knew our limits. Calling Craig would push things and I truly didn’t want to cause irreparable damage to our relationship. Even if this was turning into my career versus his career. “Maybe Craig isn’t my best option. How about if I talk with Paul Vasquez?”

  Seconds ticked by without my being able to read his mood. Why were so many of our conversations so antagonistic lately?

  “That might be a good idea,” he finally answered and I sensed conciliation in his words. “I do understand how important this is for you.”

  “I know you do, and I also know you’re in a tough position.”

  We were both silent for a long moment.

  “I’m probably less likely to get into trouble if I’m at work,” I said.

  He made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You may be right.” Shifting gears, he asked, “Anything else new?”

  I debated telling him about Bucky having the Minkus file on his home computer, but decided to hold that back for now. No need to get Bucky into trouble unnecessarily. “I’m planning to go over every step of dinner preparations. I’ll make notes of anything that might be helpful to you.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Thanks for helping out with Suzie and Steve earlier. They’re having me over for dinner tonight to thank me for getting the news hounds off their front lawn.”

  “Nice. I do all the work, you get the reward.”

  “Want to come with?”

  “Some other time.” He made a sound-like he was sucking his bottom lip. “Until this investigation is complete, it’s a good idea if you and I aren’t seen out together.”

  That stung, too. Even more than the Internet postings had. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Try not to talk about the case with your SizzleMaster friends, okay?”

  “Pretty hard to do after reporters showed up on their front lawn.”

  He was silent again. “Just try to keep a low profile.”

  “I did just think of something.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I know we’re under suspicion, and so are Suzie and Steve. But what about the other guests at dinner that night? I mean, Carl Minkus’s second-in-command sure stands to gain now that his boss is dead. And what about Alicia Parker? Or her husband? They were there, too.”

  Tom’s long, deep breath wasn’t quite as annoyed-sounding as I’d expected it to be. “First off, people don’t just go killing one another to get job promotions. At least not usually. Sure, you’ll be able to quote some news story where that happened, but in the real world, most people just don’t operate that way.”

  “What about-”

  “Alicia Parker?” He laughed. “She’s too big for even you to touch, Ollie. Alicia Parker is a cabinet member. I’m sure there are people looking into her background, but this is one hot wire you don’t want to even get near. Trust me.”

  He was right about that. I’d only met Secretary Parker in passing once or twice, although I’d seen her interviewed on TV fairly often. She came across as strong-minded, honest, and brave. “Yeah,” I agreed. “And anyway, she strikes me as the type who-if she wanted you dead-would just come straight up and shoot you. I don’t see her sneaking poison into an eggplant entrée.”

  “Keep in mind, Ollie,” Tom said, and the warning was back in his tone, “Minkus might have died of natural causes.”

  “Natural causes could also mean a food allergy,” I said. “And if the medical examiner proves that, then I’m out of a job for sure.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, the gentleness in his tone catching me off-guard. “With this new directive from Craig, I haven’t been very supportive recently, have I?”

  “Y
ou have,” I said, remembering that he picked up my family from the airport and stood by me while I was being interrogated. “I shouldn’t be so difficult. You’re under a lot of pressure.”

  “I am. And I hope you can understand that.”

  “I do,” I said. And I did. Mostly.

  My mom cornered me when I got off the phone to let me know that Mrs. Wentworth and Stanley had invited us out to dinner. I declined because of my meeting with Bucky and dinner plans with Suzie and Steve. Mom and Nana had, however, jumped at the chance to see more of the area, and I was glad. Knowing they were in good hands with my neighbors allowed me to feel a little less guilty leaving them.

  I called Paul on the way. Although I was lucky enough to get to speak with him directly, he was running late for a meeting. When I pressed him about letting us back into the kitchen, he hedged. But that was better than saying no. Plus, they hadn’t yet canceled the Egg Roll. I took that as a positive even as I got him to promise to get back to me. But when I hung up, I realized he hadn’t said by when.

  Bucky’s Bethesda home surprised me. I’d never been inside, and except for the recent trip in the limousine when the Guzy brothers dropped him off, I’d never even known exactly where he lived. This was a cheerful little neighborhood, with lots of shiny cars outside tidy front lawns. Parallel parking on residential streets was never difficult for a native Chicagoan, and I tucked my little coupe into a tight spot between two SUVs.

  Although this was an old neighborhood, every town house on this street and the next sparkled like new. I’d heard that this section had undergone major renovations in the past decade. I could see the allure of living here. The trees were mature, the homes well-tended.

  Bucky met me at the door, wearing a wide cotton apron tied over pale legs. It gave him the appearance of not wearing any pants, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he turned around to gesture me in and I saw his blue cutoff shorts. “It’s warm in here, sorry,” he said. “I’m working on a new quiche. Just drop your jacket anywhere.”