Eggsecutive Orders
Page 18
My mom’s plight momentarily forgotten, I caught hold of what he was saying. “We’re back? We can come back?”
“Right away. The sooner the better.”
Relief washed over me, rinsing away the crustiness of fear. “Thank you so much, Paul.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “The president and First Lady moved mountains to get the medical examiner to rush his decision. It’s because they want to get to the bottom of this mess, of course.”
I sensed he wasn’t finished talking.
“But it’s not just that. There’s another tidbit Liss got right in the story,” he went on. “The first couple is plenty tired of Secret Service food. How soon can you get here?”
There wasn’t a lot of choice, really. I couldn’t stay home-not when I was needed back at the White House. As much as I didn’t want my mom heading out for parts unknown with the mysterious Kap, there was little I could do to stop her. In the end, I left Mom and Nana with a spare set of keys and strict instructions to call me if anything came up or if they had any trouble whatsoever.
“What sort of trouble do you expect, Ollie?” Mom asked with a little too much glee.
“None,” I said. “Of course. But, you know, just in case.”
Nana looked up at me, a twinkle in her deep-set eyes. “So, no wild parties while you’re gone?”
A half hour later found me ready to board the Metro for my first trip back to the White House since Minkus’s death. My head was everywhere but where it should have been-aware of my surroundings.
I entered the mostly empty train car and didn’t pay any attention to the man who followed me in until he sat in the seat next to me. He wore an old-fashioned brown felt hat pulled low, and his overcoat was turned up at the collar. Except for his leather-gloved hand atop a cane, there was nothing distinctive about him. He smelled of too much aftershave.
In one instant, I berated myself for letting my guard down, but I’d been in situations more touchy than this one, so I didn’t hesitate. “Excuse me,” I said, and got up to change seats.
“Olivia,” he said.
About to take an aisle seat kitty-corner behind him, I turned. “What?”
“Come back. Sit down. We have to talk.”
He lifted the brim of his hat just enough.
I was about to exclaim, “Liss?” but he placed a finger across his lips. “Shh,” he said, then tapped the seat next to him. “Sit down. Quickly. We don’t have much time.”
“What are you, some sort of conspiracy theorist?” I asked, not caring at all that I spoke loudly enough to be heard by other passengers. “Oh wait.” I snapped my fingers. “That’s exactly what you are!”
I turned my back and headed to an aisle seat even farther away.
He turned and glared at me. Though I could only see his eyes and nose out of the top of his collar, I could feel the heat blaze. I wished I had a paperback or something to read. Instead I turned my head to the window. Unfortunately, we were underground and there really wasn’t much of a view, so I kept eye contact with my reflection, drawing from it a little sense of empowerment.
Liss scuffled to his feet and made his way over to the seat in front of me. There were a handful of other passengers in the car and they started to take notice. Not that I cared.
“I was right about you getting back into the White House today, wasn’t I?” he asked.
I didn’t bother to answer. I stared at the window.
“I have sources,” he said.
“Let me guess. Is his name Deep Throat?”
I felt his gaze rake me up and down. “Isn’t that a little before your time?”
“Facts,” I said, biting the word out, “and history are important to me. And should be to all of us.”
I was feeling pretty good about holding my own against this despicable man. He had already hurt me-and my mother-with his vicious column. I had nothing to lose here. I almost wished he would keep at it, so I could knock him to his knees.
He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What if I told you I have facts that would rock the country’s very core?”
“I’d say you wouldn’t know a fact if it bit you on the-” Stopping myself in the nick of time, I cleared my throat. “I’d say you were bluffing.”
He raised a white eyebrow. “So you are a temperamental chef, after all.”
Placing my hand on the back of his chair to boost myself, I stood to change seats, yet again.
“Please wait,” he said, placing his hand over mine. “I apologize.”
I yanked my hand out from under his. “You will never be able to apologize enough.”
When I sat four seats forward, across from an elderly woman who gave me a worried glance before staring at the floor, I expected him to follow. He didn’t.
He stayed in his seat for the entire ride to MacPherson Square. As the train pulled into the station, I stood to disembark.
Just as the train slowed, Liss stood up. He made his way over. Seconds before the doors were to open, he leaned close to my ear.
“There was trouble in the security office,” he whispered. “It has to do with China. Minkus was about to investigate Phil Cooper, his second-in-”
I turned to him, and spoke in a clear voice. “I know exactly who Phil Cooper is. After everything you’ve written, so does the entire population of Washington, D.C. ”
Shock registered in his eyes and he looked from side to side, like a spy from a 1940s movie. “Not so loud-”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said. “And why are you bothering me with this anyway? I don’t have time to listen to your crazy conspiracies. If you believe you have some burning scoop, why not publish it in your column? Why accost me on my way to work?”
By now the entire train was paying attention.
He whispered, “Because I think you can get me information on Phil Cooper and his anti-American activities.” His teeth were clenched, his body was rigid, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “From your Secret Service boyfriend.”
How did he know about Tom? Speechless, my mouth moved, but nothing came out.
He took the opportunity to lean in again. “You want me to go public with your romantic dalliances? I’m sure that headline will sit very well with MacKenzie’s boss.”
The car’s doors opened. “Climb into that little hole of yours and dream up more of your nasty lies,” I said. “It’s what you’re good at.”
I stepped out and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER 18
MY ANGER AT LISS DIDN’T DISSOLVE, BUT MY mood lightened the moment I stepped into the White House kitchen. It was clean. One of our crews had evidently put everything back in its place after the investigators finished. And the smell was exactly right. Dash of yeast, a sprinkle of coffee, and hint of cleaning solution. Although the scents were faint-we’d been banished for four days-they were strong enough to make my heart race with possibility. I closed my eyes for just a moment to breathe it in. “Oh,” I said quietly. “It’s good to be home.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
At Cyan’s voice, my eyes opened. “As much as I’ve been enjoying my family, I really missed coming to work.”
She tied an apron around her waist and lifted her chin to say hello as Bucky entered the room. “I have so many friends who complain about going to work,” she said. “Some of them really hate their jobs. I almost feel guilty because I love this place so much.”
“We’re blessed,” I said.
“Yeah, but for how long?” Bucky wondered.
Cyan and I had the same reaction to Bucky’s question. We both stared at him with puzzled expressions.
“This isn’t over,” he said. “I heard what that medical examiner said this morning.”
“I didn’t know he was on TV today.”
Bucky’s downturned mouth let me know that whatever Dr. Michael Isham had had to say wasn’t particularly good news. “Yeah. After Paul called, I flipped on the news. The medical examiner’s office isn�
�t clearing us of anything yet. He said that results are still pending.”
“Then why are we here?”
He shrugged with exaggerated motion. “They can’t have the Easter Egg Roll without us, I guess. They can trust us to hard-boil a few thousand eggs for the kids to play with. But I wager they won’t allow us to work on the food for the event.” He held up a finger in emphasis. “I guarantee they’ll come up with a reason why we won’t be serving food on Monday.”
“We always serve food at the event. That’s part of the draw,” I said. “I’m sure now that we’re here, everything will start getting back to normal.”
Bucky shook his head, scowling. As he turned away, Cyan’s expression asked me where the pleasant fellow from yesterday had gone.
Paul greeted us from the doorway. “Welcome back.”
We spent the next few minutes exchanging greetings and comments about being glad to be at work again. I mentioned to Paul the need for the kitchen to bring on a couple of SBA chefs and expressed my preference to have Rafe, and our recent recruit, Agda, as part of the team. With our workload, we would need a few more temporary chefs, too.
“Ah,” he said. “Other than the three of you, and Marcel and his staff, we’re not bringing ‘unknowns’ into the kitchen until the entire Minkus investigation is complete.”
My mouth opened in disbelief. While we could handle the day-to-day meals with ease, we could not-by any stretch of the imagination-handle Monday’s anticipated crowd by ourselves. “How are we going to feed all the partygoers at the Egg Roll?” I asked. “Rafe and Agda have worked here before. They’re not exactly unknown. And even with them we’ll be severely shorthanded.”
Paul waved away my concerns. “I understand. Let me explain. There has been a change in plans.”
Bucky gave me a look that said “I told you so.”
Paul took a deep breath. “After much discussion, the president and First Lady have decided that it would be in the best interests of all if we limited Monday’s events. We will hold the Egg Roll as scheduled, but no White House party afterward.”
If a person could look smug and unhappy at the same time, it was Bucky.
“But…” I didn’t know what else to say. “Why?”
“Coming on the heels of Carl Minkus’s death, the aspect of a formal party that evening might be construed as unseemly. In bad taste. But no one would disagree with keeping the Egg Roll for the benefit of the children.”
Bucky’s warning made me believe there was more to it than keeping up appearances. For his part, Bucky had turned his back while Cyan and I waited for Paul to finish.
“You have to understand that the president and First Lady believe in all of you. They wanted you back here as quickly as possible. This”-he held his hands aloft-“is a testament to their belief. Don’t underestimate it.”
We nodded, but were silent. Paul patted me on the shoulder on his way out. “Things will start to get better soon. I’m sure of it.”
He left, and we set to work on dinner, eventually settling back into our comfortable rhythms. When I signed onto the kitchen computer, I found a note from the First Lady:
Welcome back, Ollie-to you and to your staff. My husband and I are very much relieved to know you’re back in charge. Thank you for your patience during these trying times.
I shared the note with Cyan and Bucky who, respectively, were cheered and unfazed. Tonight’s dinner, capitalizing on the fresh veggies from my garden on the third floor, boasted a little Italian flair. We were serving a spring greens salad, bruschetta, and pasta primavera with chicken, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, and baby squash. Marcel, I knew, was planning the big finish of warm Brie with walnuts and maple syrup, garnished with fresh berries.
After we got the bruschetta topping started, I turned to Bucky. “I haven’t spoken with the Secret Service yet about picking up the eggs.”
He raised his head in acknowledgment but didn’t respond.
“I’ll talk to them as soon as we’re settled here. But I’m sure they’re going to want specifics. Do you have a good time I can ask them to be there? Will Brandy be home?”
Bucky’s head snapped up. He made an imperative, unintelligible noise-halfway between a gasp and a “Shh!”
“What?” I asked, not understanding.
He gestured the two of us closer, his eyes wide with anger. “Do not say another word,” he said, his voice menacing. He looked about the kitchen but there was no one else around. Keeping to a whisper, he said, “You will not refer to her in any way that might bring notice to our… our…”
“Relationship?” I prompted.
His glare darkened. “It does not exist.”
“Uh…” Cyan ran her fingers over her lips. “What?”
Again the unintelligible noise. “The relationship you refer to is private. It does not exist”-he jammed a finger onto the countertop-“here. You will not refer to it, or to her, in that regard. We refuse to make ourselves a spectacle.”
Perhaps reading the expressions on our faces, he quickly added, “We want to keep things private.”
“Sure,” I said, but his words hit me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. As I went back to preparations-cleaning the asparagus and baby greens-Liss’s not-so-subtle threat to make my relationship with Tom public sent a shooting pain of fear up the back of my throat.
“What’s wrong, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You’re pale.”
To tell the truth, I felt pale. A sadness I couldn’t reach sickened me. And I knew this queasy dread wouldn’t go away until I could make things right. The question was, how? I took a deep breath. “I need some air,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
Even as I strode out of the kitchen, I was pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I made my way outside into one of the courts that flanked the North Portico. “Tom,” I said when he answered.
“What’s wrong?”
The fact that he could tell so quickly that something was wrong was not lost on me. He and I had gotten to that point where we could often anticipate what the other would say. Comfort. We’d had that. For a while, at least.
I wanted to talk. But I knew this wasn’t a conversation for the phone. “Something’s come up.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes.” Gosh, I was not handling this very well. “Everyone is fine. But Liss-Howard Liss.”
“You’re back in the White House, aren’t you? I heard you got the all-clear today. I wanted to call, but I’m in training today.”
“Oh, you’re busy?”
“We’re on a break right now. Your timing is phenomenal.”
“At least something is.”
“Talk to me, but make it quick. We’re being called back in for the next session.”
There was no way to put this in a thirty-second conversation. “Just do me a favor and call me when you get out, okay? Call me first before you do anything. Will you do that?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I cringed. That was a lie. “It will keep until you call me.” I hoped that was the truth.
“Ollie, you’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you later. But it’ll be okay.” I felt a swift stab in my heart. “I have it all figured out.”
He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news. But I do have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“As soon as you get out, right?”
“That very moment.”
I rolled my shoulders but didn’t feel any better. That queasy sensation was still there. I stared up at the sky from between the court’s side walls. Overcast today. I shivered. It was cold outside, but I just noticed it now. My sorrowful mood did not have its genesis in Liss’s threat. Liss had only exacerbated an awareness that was already there. I knew what I needed to do. But I wondered if I had the strength to do it.
The sky above held no answers, so I made my way inside to the kitchen’s warmth, where life always felt safest.
I told her I had. “I’m just disappointed that they’re cancelling the post-party. Everyone always looks forward to that.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I have to tell you, at first I thought canceling the party portion was a bad idea. But after talking with Mrs. Campbell, I understand where she’s coming from.”
“Having a party just a week after Minkus’s death wouldn’t look good?”
“That,” Marguerite agreed, “and…”
“What else? What are they not telling us?”
She placed a finger on her lips. “Don’t share this with anyone else.”
I felt my heart skip a beat. “What is it?”
For the third time today, the person I was talking with looked both directions before speaking. Anyone else might have started to develop a complex. But I understood. That’s part of the world I chose to live in.
Something else clicked in that moment. That realization that I was always in the middle of things. That’s who I was.
“You remember our last big holiday?” Marguerite asked.
“How could I forget?” The days leading up to the official White House holiday open house had been eventful, to say the least.
“Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want to take any chances this time. She wants the children to have their event, but, in her words, doesn’t want ‘to tempt fate’ by entertaining all the adults later that evening.”
“ ‘Tempt fate,’ ” I repeated.
Marguerite nodded. “At least until the Minkus investigation is completed.”
“So she believes Minkus was murdered?”
“I really can’t say.”
I watched her reaction. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
She gave a Mona Lisa smile. “I really can’t say.” Then, deflecting my question, she brought me up to date on the expected guests, and explained that there would be additional security-more than usual-on the grounds that day.