by Julie Hyzy
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said. “I’m telling you that I don’t care for loose threads. An unsolved murder would qualify as one of the loosest, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Who might have wanted my dad dead?” I asked. “I mean, among the people who worked with him here?”
He pointed upward with both index fingers. “If I believed for a moment that anyone on my payroll was guilty of such a monstrous crime, I would deal with that individual quickly and incisively.”
“Even though you believed my dad betrayed you and Pluto by selling secrets to a rival firm?”
“Yes, even though.”
“And by dealing with that individual, do you mean turning him in to the authorities?”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, tilting his head as he regarded me. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing at all,” I said. Time for damage control. “Mr. Benson, that all came out wrong. You can understand, I’m sure, my need to find out all I can about my father’s death. Like you said earlier, I’m looking for closure.”
His gaze softened. “We here at Pluto were devastated when your father was murdered. We offered a reward for information leading to the arrest of the killer. Please appreciate how hard it is for me to speak so frankly. You’re his daughter, you deserve the truth, but we’re talking about a dark time in Pluto’s history.”
“You truly believe my father was guilty?”
Benson smiled sadly. “I understand you want to believe otherwise, I truly do. I dearly wanted to as well.”
“But—”
He gritted his teeth, speaking slowly, “I wish to heaven your father had not been killed. There’s nothing that can be done about that now. It’s best you leave the past behind and continue to live your own life, looking forward.”
The look on his face, the finality in his tone told me that Benson had nothing more to share. Not willingly, at least. I stood and said, “Thank you,” because politeness came naturally to me. “We appreciate your time.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You must understand that.”
I didn’t.
Back in the car, I stared out the window as we pulled away. “Well, that was depressing,” I said.
Gav squeezed my arm.
CHAPTER 11
“FOR SOMEONE WHO’S SUPPOSED TO BE ON vacation, you sure spend a lot of time at work,” Cyan said when I showed up in the White House kitchen the next morning. She had a pile of fresh basil leaves next to her and was in the process of seeding tomatoes.
“What can I say? I miss you guys. What are you making?”
“That goat cheese and mushroom bruschetta we’ve been wanting to try. Except I’m substituting fresh basil for the dried and I’m seeding the Romas first.”
Bucky turned from his perch in front of the computer to greet me. “You missed out working on breakfast,” he said with a glance at the clock. “Lunch is under way and we’ve got it covered. Don’t tell me you’re just here for a social call?”
Leaning against the stainless steel counter in the room’s center, Virgil raised his attention from the notes he was writing to balefully follow the conversation with his eyes. “No,” he said drily. “She’s here for another session with Josh.” Directing his focus to me, he asked, “Am I right?”
“Sort of,” I said. After learning the hard way that Virgil had a tendency to blab, I didn’t think it a good idea to mention that Josh and I planned to attend the next day’s Food Expo together. “I have an appointment with Doug first,” I said.
Cyan smirked and Bucky turned back to the computer with a shake of his head. Lucky for me, Virgil didn’t notice. He kept his attention in his notes but addressed me. “I know you think that the more you get in with the Hydens the more likely you’ll get me fired, but I warn you, it won’t work.”
Virgil was a broken record where his relationship with the Hydens was concerned.
I was fed up with Virgil’s oft-repeated laments. “I’ve told you before,” I said, “we appreciate the fact that you’ve taken over the family’s daily meals. With the number of official dinners this administration hosts, we’re already stretched thin.” I leaned across the counter to look him straight in the eye. “Sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but I value the efforts of everyone in this kitchen, you included. I am not about to try to get anybody fired.”
He made a face and returned to his work.
Was it always to be this way, Virgil trying to outmaneuver me because he thought I was outmaneuvering him? This was not my idea of an ideal working relationship. “What time is your appointment with Doug?” Cyan asked, doing her best to lighten the mood.
“In about five minutes.”
“Sounds intriguing,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“What does?” Peter Everett Sargeant strode into the kitchen, for once his question coming out inquisitive rather than intrusive.
I turned. “Good morning, Peter.”
“You’re here early, I see,” he said, “good. Doug told me about your outing tomorrow with Josh.”
Virgil looked up. Cyan and Bucky turned to face us. Oblivious, Sargeant continued. “I have to admit, I was surprised when he told me you’d be donning a disguise.”
The center of attention now, I held out my hands. “I was a little surprised, too.” Turning to my team, but focusing on Virgil, I added, “This is confidential. Do you understand? No one is to know that we’re doing this.”
“You’re taking him to the Food Expo?” Virgil asked as though I hadn’t said a word.
“You hadn’t told them.” Sargeant stated the obvious, looking chagrined. He pursed his lips as he addressed me. “You always tell your staff everything. How was I to know…?”
“No worries, Peter,” I said, staving off his denial of culpability. I was loath to jeopardize our fragile truce. To Virgil, I said, “Yes, Josh and I are going to the Food Expo.” I was careful to repeat my warning, “But I expect you to keep that information confidential.” To Sargeant, I asked, “Why did Doug tell you about Josh attending the Food Expo? That doesn’t seem to fall within your purview.”
“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But the First Lady apparently requested my input. I confess to be mystified as to why, but one doesn’t argue with the First Lady.”
“True enough.”
“Additionally,” Sargeant continued in a more animated fashion than I was used to seeing from him, “it seems our interim chief usher believes you would welcome my presence.” He affected a flabbergasted air, addressing the group as though performing for an audience. He splayed his hands against his chest. “Seriously?”
“Peter,” I asked with a smile, “is that…humor?”
“Certainly not.” He clasped his hands in front of his waist and adopted a more familiar, chastising tone. “Once again, Ms. Paras, you have drawn an erroneous conclusion.”
“My mistake.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but there was no longer hostility there. “You should strive to be more careful.”
Cyan watched our banter with a look of utter disbelief. She’d been bugging me for weeks to explain what had happened to soften the lines of war between Sargeant and me. Although the encounter itself wasn’t any big secret, I’d found it hard to put into words exactly what had transpired. All I’d been able to tell her was that once two people faced death together, animosity lost its appeal.
“Doug is upstairs right now, Ms. Paras.” Sargeant tapped his watch. “Let’s not keep him waiting. He doesn’t possess the abundance of patience I do.”
This time, I laughed out loud. “Let’s go.”
We walked upstairs to the Entrance Hall and made our way to Doug’s office. The chief usher was looking harried as usual. “There you are,” he said with relief as though he’d been searching all over for us. I allowed myself a surreptitious glance at my watch. A minute before eleven. We weren’t even late.
“Good morning,” I said, gently reminding him not to forgo niceties. Pla
cing my hands up near my face, I added, “I’m ready for makeup.”
He didn’t smile.
“You okay, Doug?” I asked.
Sargeant nudged me with his elbow but I couldn’t interpret what he expected me to glean from it.
“The kids are home,” Doug said. “Both of them meet with tutors daily to keep their studies up, but Abby’s turned into a real teenager.” Doug’s derision couldn’t be missed.
“I’ve interacted with Abby quite a bit over the past few weeks,” I said. “She’s as delightful as ever.”
“Except for the fact that she doesn’t want Josh hanging around her.”
“I’m missing your point.”
Sargeant took a step back, as though to distance himself from the conversation. Oblivious, Doug’s voice rose. “All of a sudden she’s too busy for him. She has her friends over all the time. Either that or she’s out at her friends’ houses.”
“These things happen between siblings,” I said, shocked that he’d be talking about one of the First Family in this manner. “Now that it’s summer and they both have more free time, it’s natural that Abby branches out.”
“Well, guess whose problem it becomes? Every day, Josh is stuck here by himself, asking me when he can go visit his dad. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to tell one of the president’s kids that his dad is too busy? Every single day?”
I didn’t have answers for Doug. Moreover, it was obvious he didn’t want any. He wanted to vent.
Changing the subject, I asked, “Where am I meeting this consultant?”
“She’s set up in the Solarium.”
I couldn’t contain my disbelief. “The Solarium?” I’d expected to be shuttled off to a little-used office in the East Wing. The sunroom on the third floor of the family residence was, and had been, a refuge for many of the First Families who’d occupied the White House. “Are you sure?”
Doug sent me a withering glance. Standing next to me, Sargeant continued to study a painting on Doug’s office wall. “Yes, I’m sure,” Doug said. “Did you always question every directive Paul gave you like you do with me?”
I took a breath before answering. “Sorry, that was just surprise speaking.”
Doug glanced at one of the three digital clocks on his desk set to different time zones, and continued in a more controlled tone. “I didn’t know where she planned to set up until a few minutes ago myself,” he said. “You’d both better get up there, pronto. I promised you’d be in her chair by 11:15.”
I didn’t bother to ask who “she” was; I’d find out soon enough. One more question could very well send Doug over the edge.
Sargeant and I started up the stairs. When we were out of earshot, he leaned toward me and whispered, “The chief usher position does not agree with that young man.”
“You know it.”
We trekked up to the third floor, keeping an even pace. Sargeant, not one to make small talk, surprised me by asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation this week?”
“You know how it is,” I said. “When the White House calls, you come in.”
He nodded. “How is your young man?”
“I…” Speechless, I coughed, trying to figure out an appropriate response. “Agent MacKenzie and I haven’t been a couple in a very long t—”
“I’m not talking about Agent MacKenzie,” Sargeant said smoothly.
I stopped at the landing. “Then who?”
He met my gaze now, one eyebrow arched. “Don’t forget, Olivia, I am the sensitivity director,” taking me aback with the use of my first name. “With everything that happened here a few weeks ago, your affections toward”—He glanced up and down the empty stairwell to ensure we were alone—“toward a certain Special Agent in Charge were not missed.”
He started up the stairs again, but I caught him by the arm. “Wait.”
Lifting my hand with two fingers, he removed it from his sleeve. “My, my. Did I inadvertently hit a nerve?”
The look in his eyes was unreadable. Sure, we’d forged a truce, but at this point I wasn’t certain how permanent this state was. Humor and Sargeant weren’t words that usually went together and even though I’d been certain he’d been teasing in the kitchen, now I wasn’t sure how to react.
Gav and I were not ready to open our relationship to public scrutiny. Having Sargeant, of all people, in possession of such a secret was not good news. I didn’t bother denying, however. Telling him he was wrong could only buy me trouble. “Who else knows?”
He didn’t answer, but started up the stairs again. I followed. “Your secret is safe with me,” he said.
“Is it?”
He faced me, again with that unreadable expression. “Does my awareness of this relationship make you nervous?”
“Truthfully? A little.”
We reached the top floor and took a left, making our way across the central hall toward the Solarium. “I could get used to this.”
Again I grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. “To what?”
“Making you nervous for a change.”
“When have I ever made you nervous?” I asked.
“Let’s go,” he said, heading up the narrow corridor ramp into the Solarium. “They’re waiting.”
Frustrated, I frowned at his retreating back and then hurried to catch up.
“Ollie.” Josh rushed up as Sargeant and I walked in. “Isn’t this great? We get to wear real costumes. You should see all the noses we can pick.” His face lit up with nine-year-old humor. “Get it? Picking noses?”
I laughed. “Good one.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward into the aptly named rooftop room. First Lady Grace Coolidge had called it the “Sky Parlor” because of its expansive view. The Truman reconstruction had brought bigger windows, providing the sunny, spacious area for First Families to relax in.
Four people watched us as we entered and I did my best to avoid looking ill at ease. Mrs. Hyden sat on a low-slung flowered sofa, her legs crossed, back to the gorgeous southern view. Three tall director’s chairs sat empty in the room’s center, as though waiting for Dating Game contestants.
As Josh pulled me toward the small group gathered there, I said “Good morning,” to Mrs. Hyden and then turned to the others. They stood in a small cluster just behind the director’s chairs, surrounding a high-top table on which sat what looked like a fishing tackle box filled with pots, jars, pens, and brushes.
“Hi, I’m Ollie,” I said to the strangers. Two were in their mid-twenties, one female, one male. They both were dressed head to toe in black and both had dark hair and pale skin. I wondered briefly if they were brother and sister. The third of their group was a much older woman who regarded us with friendly curiosity. “This is Peter Everett Sargeant,” I continued, holding a hand out toward my companion.
“Lovely to meet you both,” the woman said.
Strikingly tall, she was in her mid-sixties wearing head-to-toe black as well. The monotony of her ensemble was broken up, however, by the flowing swoop of the oversized purple, pink, and turquoise shawl that covered most of her torso. Small-boned despite her ample height, she wore her smile lines with powerful pride. All I could think as she introduced herself was that I hoped I’d look that good when I was her age.
She came forward with a graceful economy of movement, grasping my hand with both of her warm ones. “My name is Thora.” She favored Sargeant with a delighted laugh as she greeted him. “So nice to meet you too, Peter.”
He blushed. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Thora.”
She let go of his hand and turned, her shawl picking up the movement and billowing out capelike around her. “Oh my dear, please. None of that artificial ‘Ms.’ business. I’m Thora. And these two lovely young people are my assistants, Zoe and Adam.”
Neither of them proffered a hand, but both glanced up long enough to make eye contact and nod a greeting. Josh practically danced with impatience. “They came from a real disguise company,” he said
. “We even get costumes.”
Mrs. Hyden’s amused look was unmistakable. “Remember, these aren’t superhero costumes, Josh. Our goal is to make you blend in, not stand out.”
“But—”
“Josh.” She said it firmly, gently—enough to make his shoulders slump.
Thora ran an arm around the little boy’s back. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t going to have fun, though,” she said.
Josh looked unconvinced.
Sargeant took a few steps toward the door. “I will leave you to your business,” he said. “Good day.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Thora announced, pulling away from Josh and striding toward a bewildered Sargeant. At least a foot taller than our sensitivity director, she nonetheless tucked a hand into the crook of his elbow and urged him back into the group. “Even though you’re not often recognized outside the White House, I have plans for you as well.”
Sargeant looked at me. I shrugged.
Mrs. Hyden spoke up. “I would like you to accompany Josh and Ms. Paras to the convention, Mr. Sargeant.”
The room fell silent. Sargeant stammered, “I don’t understand.”
Sargeant’s discomfort was obvious to the rest of us, but the First Lady continued as though unaware. “I’ve come to understand that I may have been mistaken about you, originally,” she said, referring oh-so-delicately to recent events. Fortunately for Sargeant, we had been able to discover another staff member’s underhanded agenda before our sensitivity director lost his job. “I would like to give you a chance to expand your horizons a bit. To increase your level of responsibility. Let’s see how this goes.”
Sargeant’s chin came up. He straightened to his full height. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Additionally,” she added, “my husband is eager to expose Josh to all levels of diplomacy. This seems like a good opportunity to have him watch you both in action.”
She didn’t add that the president’s wishes stemmed from his desire to diminish his son’s interest in cooking, but I knew that had to be what was powering this new wrinkle.
“You and Ms. Paras proved to be a formidable team on your first joint assignment,” the First Lady continued. “It would be silly not to put you both together again.”
