by Julie Hyzy
Quinn leaned back against the door, watching me. “Good job. You put that together fairly quickly.”
My brain was on overload. “But why?”
Quinn seemed far more at ease here than he ever had at the White House. “A gentleman you and I both know…the gentleman you will meet with this evening…” He waited for me to acknowledge that I knew he was talking about Yablonski. I nodded. “That man put me on special assignment to keep an eye on you at the White House.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask. I do what I’m told.”
“But today in the kitchen, we were alone,” I reminded him. “Why didn’t you say something there?”
“We can’t take chances of anything we say being overheard.”
This was too much intrigue for my tastes. I rubbed my forehead, vaguely aware that we’d turned and were heading west. Trying again, I asked, “You don’t know why I’m meeting with…this gentleman, do you?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“So where are we going?”
“Let me ask you something,” Quinn said as the bald guy took a right turn. A break in traffic allowed him to speed up, which he did with gusto. “What business do you have with our mutual friend? And what does any of that have to do with the information in that file I gave you?”
“Who says they’re related?” I shot back. “Why did you make those copies for me, anyway?”
“There’s nothing in there you couldn’t have found on your own,” he said.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“No,” he said, “I didn’t.”
We were silent for about a mile or so. “Massachusetts Avenue?” I asked when we made another left. “Are you taking me to one of the embassies?”
Again not answering me, Quinn asked, “What is your real interest in Pluto?”
“Why do you care?”
He leaned forward, speaking softly, but there was an edge to his voice I didn’t understand. “I don’t believe for a moment that it’s because your father used to work there. Everyone in the Service knows about your tendencies to get into trouble—”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “What’s going on with Pluto?”
I should have let him finish. From the way his face closed up it was clear he’d believed I knew more than I did. I felt more in the dark than ever. “I’ve got nothing against the company,” I began carefully. The last thing I wanted to do was say anything that brought my father’s service record into question. That was another matter, one completely separate from his Pluto days. I didn’t want anyone looking into that until I had gotten the information, myself. “I was interested in the company because my dad died when I was really little. Anything I can learn about him is like gold to me.”
His scornful gaze didn’t soften. “I’m not sure I buy it. Not that it matters. Our mutual friend will deal with this.”
The “mutual friend” euphemism again. “Does he know who I’m meeting?” I pointed to the driver, who seemed to be constantly checking his mirrors and blind spots. Suddenly it dawned on me why. “Does he think we’re being followed?”
The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “We aren’t being followed,” he said with disdain, “but it never hurts to be too careful. You could learn a lesson about that.”
“What is this, pick on Ollie day?”
Quinn seemed to find that funny. “Our driver is fully apprised. If you sense his ambivalence,” he leaned forward to pat the guy on the shoulder, “it’s because driving subjects around is way below his pay grade.”
I didn’t know why I was instantly irritated, but my suddenly caustic tone couldn’t be helped. “So then why aren’t we referring to our mutual friend by name?”
“One never knows who’s listening.”
“I can’t believe this is all because I’m bad for agents’ careers. Give me a break,” I said, feeling the ire rise, “I’m a chef, for crying out loud. Don’t you think this is overkill?”
“Let’s hope so,” Quinn said.
We were silent for the remainder of the ride.
OUR BALD CHAUFFEUR PULLED UP AT A BUS stop just outside the National Cathedral. “We’re here,” Quinn said. “Let’s go.”
We left the car and driver, taking a short winding walk up to the giant church. “Isn’t it closed?” I asked, with a look at my watch.
Quinn never broke his stride. “This way,” he said.
A guard at the door was waiting for us. He let us in and told Quinn where to find him when we wanted to leave.
Once inside, we made our way down the center nave. I looked up at the stained glass windows that lined either side, high up, about thirty feet from the floor. A large black net had been stretched along the length of the center aisle to catch pieces of stone that might fall on unsuspecting visitors.
The earthquake that had hit D.C. had caused damage to several of our cherished monuments, the National Cathedral included. The church had been closed to visitors for months after the quake, and had only recently reopened. In a city that boasted countless structures of beauty, the cathedral was a standout. I hoped for all our sakes that repairs moved quickly.
Of all the stained glass windows I’d seen in my life, those here were among the most vibrant in color and unique in subject matter. Although the sun was waning and the bright windows weren’t quite as spectacular as I knew they would be on a sunny afternoon, they were beautiful just the same.
A violet-and-indigo-hued window high to my right captured the beauty of stars and planets on a clear evening. I’d never been able to find the carving that purportedly was designed after Darth Vader, and didn’t expect I’d have time to look for it tonight.
I followed Quinn to a set of stairs, which I knew led down to the crypt. I wasn’t faint of heart, but I did have to ask, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Ladies first,” he said.
Quinn had become brusque, uncommunicative, and all business. Earlier this afternoon, I’d been convinced he was nervous because he wanted to ask me out. Was I delusional, or what?
Quinn led me through several awe-inspiring passages and finally stopped in a small nook with a kneeler, a set of vigil candles, and a narrow stone stairway curving up to a dark unknown. Quinn handed me a dollar. “Here,” he said, “when you’re ready.”
I was about to ask ready for what, when I understood. I knew the vigil candle routine. Put a donation in the little metal box and you earned the right to light a candle for a deceased loved one.
“I’ll be upstairs,” he said.
I peered around the corner to watch him walk back the way we’d come. I didn’t turn back to the vigil lights until I saw him make a left far down the corridor. The silence in the little area was deafening. I’d heard that phrase before, but understood it now. I was underground, surrounded completely by thick stone and the honored dead.
I folded the dollar, worked it into the metal donation box and lit a candle. Maybe it was supposed to be a signal, maybe it was nothing at all, but I couldn’t help but think about my dad and whisper, “I’m going to find out what happened to you if it kills me.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Yablonski said.
I heard him before I saw him marching down the curved stone stairs with his back as straight and tall as if he was trying to touch his head to ceiling.
“Where does that lead?” I asked when he made it down to my level. I started to peer up the stairs, but he waved me away.
“There’s no one up there,” he said. “You can be certain of that.”
“I wasn’t—” I started to say then thought better of it. “Gav said you had information of interest. I understand that you don’t want to be seen with me. Why can’t you be seen with Gav? If you met with him, he’d be happy to tell me whatever you shared with him.”
“Young lady—”
“My name is Olivia.” I reminded him with a little clip to my voice. “I’m Ollie to my friends, but Ms. Paras works, too.
”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Before we get to the substance of this conversation, I will answer your question with one of my own. You are here by yourself because I need to know something for my own erudition.”
“And that is?”
“What are your intentions with regard to my friend Leonard?”
“Gav?”
He flinched. “I understand that I am considerably older than you both, but I don’t understand how it is you refer to him by his surname rather than his given one. If you truly cared about him, that is.”
“I do,” I said levelly. “Make no mistake about that.”
“If you do,” he repeated, stressing the word, “how can you not use his first name? That seems disrespectful at a minimum, and cruel.”
I took a step back, as though slapped. “He prefers I call him Gav,” I said, angry now. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”
“I also have information for you, so don’t go running off yet. You’ll be disappointed if you do.”
“What kind of information?”
“Answer my question first. I haven’t seen my friend this deep in a relationship in a very long time. And you and I both know how things turned out for him.”
“You believe that nonsense about him being a jinx?”
“I believe he will not survive another loss. You and I both know how reckless you’ve been in the past.”
“Reckless?” I nearly squeaked. “That’s condescending. If you knew exactly how each of those situations really went down, you would understand.”
“Ms. Paras,” he said in a more gentle tone than I could have expected given my raised voice, “please understand, I do know. Everything. About every situation you’ve been involved in.”
That rendered me speechless.
“I am not here to criticize you.”
“Then why was that the first thing out of your mouth?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and I guessed he was counting to five. “Let me begin again. You have helped the White House.” He waited for me to acknowledge that he’d used the word helped.
“Go on,” I said.
“The truth is, you’ve kept the Secret Service informed as much as you possibly could have. That doesn’t excuse your involvement, but it does mitigate fault.”
“Gee, thanks.” I tried to tamp down my anger. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was uncalled for.”
His expression shifted, enough to let me know he appreciated my apology. “I am here for two reasons: one business, one personal. Before we get to the business, I wanted to talk about you and Leonard. My fear,” he said, “is that he will go to any length to protect you. As I said, he can’t withstand another loss like the tragedies he’s already endured. He will see to it that nothing like that ever happens again.”
I began to see Yablonski in a new light. “And you’re afraid that my tendency to get into trouble could ultimately hurt Gav?”
“Yes. He will put himself at risk. His life at risk. Anything to avoid losing you.”
“Because I’m looking into my dad’s history?” I asked. “How’s that going to get me into trouble?”
“As far as I can tell at this point, it won’t,” he said. “I’m not worried about that. What I’m worried about is that Leonard sees a future with you. A future that could be cut short because of your reckless behavior.”
I was about to protest but he stopped me with a look. “Consider my words. That’s all I ask. Now, for the other matter.”
I bit back the anger streaming up the back of my throat. “Go ahead.”
He shook his head as he began. “I haven’t been able to get to your father’s military history yet. Not without raising suspicions. What I have been able to do, however, is look into Pluto, Incorporated.”
Was he about to provide the same basic information that Quinn had this afternoon? This would have been a complete waste of time. “Anything of interest?”
“Quite,” he said, surprising me. “I would not ordinarily share the following information with you, but it may be in all our best interests to do so.”
“It’s not classified, is it?”
He gave me a look that screamed “stupid question,” and began again. “I wouldn’t share anything classified with you. I will tell you, however, that what I’m about to impart is not the kind of information a civilian might be able to dig up on his or her own. It’s confidential in that regard.”
“Yet you’re willing to share it with me. Even though you don’t like me very much.”
“Whether I like you is immaterial. What matters is that you trust me. Leonard assures me that if you do, you’ll be more likely to heed my instructions.”
“There’s truth in that.”
“You will keep whatever I share with you confidential?”
“I’ll tell no one except Gav.”
“Fair enough. Here’s as much as I know at the moment: Pluto, Incorporated is currently under investigation.”
“By whom?”
He didn’t like being interrupted. I could tell by the quick flash of teeth before he spoke again. “Authorities I do not care to name are looking at the company right now. That’s as much as I can tell you.”
It became obvious to me that this meeting was more to talk about Gav than about my concerns. But finding out that the company was under investigation was something.
He wasn’t finished. “Agent Quinn tells me you engaged in conversation with a Pluto representative.”
“I did,” I said. “I didn’t give her my real name. And I was disguised at the time.”
“I am aware of the circumstances. What I do not understand is how you think any information you glean about the company from their ads could have any bearing on your father’s murder.”
I shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find until you look.”
“Indeed.”
“Has Gav told you about our conversations with my dad’s former colleagues?”
“We haven’t had the opportunity. Why don’t you fill me in?”
I did. I told him about our visit to Harold Linka’s home and our more recent talk with Michael Fitch. “He knows something he isn’t telling us,” I said. “I hope to find out.”
“How do you intend to continue?”
“I plan to talk with him again. A little pressure could do the trick. He seemed fidgety.”
“Do not visit either individual again without informing me first.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t tell you that. And please keep me updated.”
“Via Gav?”
He gave a curt nod.
“And you’ll keep me updated as well?” I asked.
That quick flash of teeth again. “To the extent I can.” He waved toward the stairway. “Go on. Quinn will be waiting for you upstairs. He’ll see you to the car and home safely.”
“Thanks,” I said. “One more question.”
He not only didn’t like being interrupted, he got annoyed when people didn’t jump when he issued an order. “Does anyone else know that Gav and I are involved?” I asked, adding quickly, “Have you told anyone? Quinn, for instance?”
“I see no reason for him to know your business.”
“Good.” I started away then stopped. “I appreciate your help, you know. Even if I seem ungrateful, I’m not. But I am protective of Gav.”
“As am I.” He gave me another tight grimace. “Leonard is the son I never had. Any assistance I render you is done only as a favor to him.”
You didn’t get much clearer than that. “Understood,” I said.
CHAPTER 20
WE WERE AT FULL STAFF TUESDAY MORNING, with Virgil preparing the family’s breakfasts and Cyan, Bucky, and I discussing the four official dinners the Hydens had planned for the next couple of weeks. Cyan had her elbows on the countertop, palms supporting her chin as we studied the data we’d been given. “Half the guest list is attending all four dinners,” she said. “I guess th
at means no repeat items for these events.”
“I guess not,” I said. “Looks like we’ll have to come up with four amazing, original dinners. But that’s what we do best. I’m not worried.”
“Neither am I,” Cyan said. “Coming up with menus is fun. Preparing them even better. It’s keeping it all straight in my head that I’m concerned about.”
“That’s why we keep such scrupulous notes,” I said. “In fact, I wanted to ask you about what you meant by scribbling—”
“Olivia, there you are.” Thora, the woman who’d outfitted me in my disguise, swooped into the kitchen, taking in the area all at once. “Is this where you work your magic, dear?” she asked. Without waiting for me to reply, she reached out to Bucky, grasping his hand in both of hers. “So wonderful to meet all of you talented chefs. I am so in awe of the work you do for the president and his family each and every day.”
Virgil turned. “I prepare the family’s daily meals,” he said. “They only work on the social events.”
“My mistake,” Thora said without missing a beat. “You must be Virgil. So wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.” When he looked down to wipe his hands on his apron, Thora gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
He perked up at what he assumed she’d meant as a compliment. “Have you?” he asked. “Let me show you around then.” Virgil took a few moments to explain his creations, over which Thora oohed and aahed at appropriate intervals. When she thanked him and insisted she leave him to his work, she returned to our little circle and I made quick introductions with the rest of my staff.
“What brings you to the kitchen?” I asked. “If it’s about the wig and dress, I have them at home, but I’ll be happy to bring them back whenever you want.”
“No rush, dear. I have quite a stash of supplies. That’s not what I came to see you about.” She sent a wide smile to Bucky and Cyan before fixing glittering eyes on me. “You wouldn’t have a moment for some girl talk, would you?”
Me? Girl talk? This woman clearly did not know me well. “Sure,” I said because I was curious, but mostly because I was polite. “Follow me.”
