MY BREATH CAUGHT THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I opened the paper. With all the excitement yesterday running into Ruth Minkus at Arlington, I had almost forgotten about Howard Liss’s accusations. Almost. But not completely.
The newspaper’s headlines dealt with the Chinese assassinations, but I didn’t stop to read the coverage. All my focus was on getting to page two to see what new mischief Howard Liss was up to.
Whatever Happened to Mean Minkus?
The media (and dare I say it-the government) is persisting with society’s tendency to confer sainthood on an individual just because that person is dead. Have we so quickly forgotten the “Mean Minkus” appellation bestowed on our recently departed compatriot? I’m sure others aren’t so forgiving. In fact, I would be willing to bet that several high-profile celebrities are sleeping a little easier tonight now that the bulldog has bitten the dust. Whether they deserve the respite, or whether they’ve just dodged a bullet remains to be seen. It will be up to Minkus’s capable second-in-command, Phil Cooper, to determine what terrorist cells our favorite film stars belong to. If any.
My focus today is not on these superstars, but on the dead man. Let us stop singing his praises. Let us stop eulogizing him as though he were infallible and a loveable teddy bear just because he no longer walks in our midst. Let us admit he was a canker to many, and a hero to some. But if, indeed, he met his maker before his time, then I want to know who did it. You should want to know, too. You should demand to know. Perhaps then we will have ourselves a genuine terrorist to persecute. Who did it? I don’t know. Joel Minkus, the golden boy congressman-and soon to be senator if Ruth has anything to do with it-has not yet seen fit to make time for my questions. I hope he will reconsider soon. Time is our enemy. If anyone knows who Mean Minkus was targeting, we may have our best clue to our killer.
“You’re not actually reading that garbage, are you?” Mom asked from behind me.
Nana peered over my shoulder. “What does that crazy man have to say today?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “At least Liss isn’t attacking me again.”
“Good,” Mom said. “How anyone can subscribe to that man’s rantings, I can’t understand.”
“Rantings,” I said. “Good choice of word. This Liss Is More column might sell a lot of papers, but he sure seemed to be all over the place in terms of accusations. Today he’s on a whole new rampage. ‘Who was Minkus’s next target?’ ” I frowned as I turned the page. “Maybe that’s who the police should be investigating instead of me.”
“He’s a lunatic,” Nana said as Mom poured her a cup of coffee.
“What does that say about me?” I asked rhetorically. “I read him every day now.”
Mom patted me on the shoulder. “Well, of course you do,” she said in that soothing voice she used to use when I woke up during a nightmare. “He pulled you into this situation.”
I didn’t want to argue that I was already part of this situation before Liss ever got a hold of it, but the phone rang. I’d turned it back on this morning, hoping the onslaught from the press had subsided.
Nana looked up. “Do you think that’s your handsome hunk, Tommy?”
Mom and I exchanged a look. “No,” I said, with more than a little disappointment. “Ollie Paras,” I said into the receiver, forgetting this was my home phone. “I mean… Hello.”
“Oh my God, Ollie, there are people out on our front lawn. With cameras!”
In my effort to process the woman’s panicked words, I couldn’t place her voice.
“Why does anyone think we had anything to do with Minkus? You know we didn’t. Can’t you tell them? Steve is ready to go out there with a baseball bat.”
“Suzie,” I said, relieved to know who I was talking to. “Please, don’t let him do that, okay? It will just make it worse.”
“I know,” she said. “He knows it, too. But we can’t even leave the house to get the newspaper on the driveway without a hundred people shoving microphones at us and asking a million questions.”
“A hundred?”
“Well, at least a dozen. Hang on.” I heard her counting. “Well, there are five on the lawn and two by the street.”
“Have they been there since Monday?”
“No, just today. This morning. Why are they targeting us?”
I thought about that. Except for the camera crew and the White House staff, no one knew that Suzie and Steve had been part of Sunday night’s dinner preparations until I’d mentioned it to Jack Brewster, and then to the two detectives when Craig interrogated me. I couldn’t imagine who might have leaked that information to the press, but it was obvious someone had.
“I don’t have an answer for you,” I said, but my brain was trying to piece it together. “Did anyone come over to question you about Sunday’s filming?”
“Yeah,” Suzie said uncertainly. “Last night a detective stopped by and asked us a few questions, but he said it was just routine. Now this.” I could practically picture her gesturing out her front window.
“Try to keep a low profile,” I suggested.
“Do you have any idea what our schedule is like today?” Suzie asked, her hysteria returning. “We have two segments to film at the studio this afternoon. How can we get there if there are news vans blocking our driveway? What do they want from us?”
“Let’s take it easy,” I said, trying to work the same soothing magic on Suzie that my mom had been able to work on me. “First of all, they can’t be on your private property.”
“Hang on, let me peek out the window.” I heard the soft shift of metallic blinds. “No, they seem to be mostly on the street. Some are under the tree at the parkway.”
“Where do you live?”
She told me. I recognized the name as a posh Virginia suburb. “Okay,” I said. “As long as they-”
Suzie screamed.
“What?” I asked into the receiver. “What? What happened?”
When she answered, her breath came in short gasps. “One of them jumped up at my front window and took my picture.”
In the background I heard Steve swearing and threatening to grab a gun.
“Stop him,” I said.
My mom touched my arm. “What’s going on?”
I held up my palm to her. “Suzie,” I said, concentrating. “Stop him. Call the police. They can make the media back off. Trust me on this one.”
She dropped the receiver and I heard snippets of conversation as she pleaded with Steve to calm down. I turned to my mother. “The news folks are camped out at Suzie and Steve’s house.”
I’d already explained the SizzleMasters’ role in the current White House drama, so my mom didn’t need clarification. “Can they do that?”
I shook my head as Steve snatched up the phone on the other end. “Goddamn media!” he shouted.
I held the receiver away from my ear. Steve bellowed expletives, complaining about the lack of privacy they were suffering. “And now they go and scare my wife. Ollie, can’t the Secret Service do something about this?”
This didn’t seem like a good time to tell him that this didn’t exactly fall within the Secret Service’s jurisdiction. In the background, I heard Suzie ask, “What do we do?”
“That’s a good question, Ollie,” Steve said into the phone. “What do we do?”
“I’d suggest you wait them out-”
“You mean cancel our filming for today? That’s just wrong and you know it. We shouldn’t be prisoners in our own-”
“You’re right,” I said, interrupting him. “You shouldn’t. But can you think of any way to keep your commitments and avoid being run down by the newshounds?”
He was silent for a long moment. “Do you think they’ll give up by the end of the day?”
I doubted it. “Let me see if I can help,” I said, thinking that this conversation was exactly the sort of thing Tom wanted me to avoid. “Give me your number.” I had it on Caller ID, but giving Steve something rote to do might help calm him.
“Let me give you my cell and Suzie’s, too.”
I dutifully wrote down all the numbers he provided. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“I think we ought to sit down with you and talk about all this,” Steve said.
In the background I heard Suzie agree. “That’s a great idea. When can she come over?”
Come over? No way. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said to Steve, effectively cutting off Suzie’s train of thought. “Can you imagine what the press would do to us if I showed up at your house?”
“I still think we need to talk with you,” he said gruffly. Then, away from the receiver he addressed Suzie: “We can’t have her come here. Those vultures out there would skewer us.”
Suzie’s reply was inaudible.
“Let me call you back,” I said. “We can talk after I get more information.”
“Do you think they have our phones tapped?”
“Who?”
“The press. The Secret Service. The police. The NSA. Homeland Security.” With each tick of his list Steve’s voice rose until he reached fever pitch. “Do you think this is part of keeping us under surveillance? Do you know why they suspect us?”
“I don’t believe anyone really does, Steve,” I said. “I just think this is today’s news…”
“They suspect us all right,” he said cryptically. “But I’m not saying anything further on the phone.”
When we hung up, I ran my hands through my hair.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I need to call Tom.”
I wondered how this would sound to him. Less than a day after he’d warned me to stay out of the investigation, I was essentially dragged back into it. He had to realize this was no fault of mine. These were just friends who were asking for my help. But I couldn’t do anything for them-nothing at all-without risking Tom’s career.
Although I had no desire to keep secrets from my mom and nana, I stepped out onto my balcony when Tom answered, shutting the sliding door behind me. The morning was brisk but the bright sunlight that had kept us cheered during our trip to Arlington yesterday was nowhere to be seen.
“How are you?” I asked him.
His voice was wary. “What’s going on? You sound like there’s a problem.”
“No,” I said, trying to inject a tone of “pshaw” in my voice. “No problems. I just was thinking about what we talked about and I figured I should bring you up to date.”
He expelled a breath. “What happened?”
I talked fast, explaining about Suzie and Steve and how they wanted to meet with me. I expected him to get angry about this turn of events, but after a long, thoughtful pause he spoke. “Some interesting facts have come to light,” he said slowly. Then, as though anticipating my question, he said, “I can’t tell you what they are, but we may need to talk with you again soon.”
“Like an interrogation?”
He didn’t laugh. That made me squirm. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll see what I can do to get the media to back off Suzie and Steve. And if you want to talk with them, go ahead. We’re not suggesting you can’t maintain your friendships.”
The words were pleasant enough, but the effect was ominous. “You’re going to be watching me?”
“Not necessarily.”
“You’re going to be watching them?”
“I never said that.”
I pursed my lips, frustrated. I wondered what these “new interesting facts” were that he wasn’t sharing. “There’s something else you should know.”
“Uh-oh.”
I hesitated. There was no easy way to say this, so I just blurted. “I ran into Ruth Minkus yesterday and she accused me of killing her husband.”
Tom was quiet for so long I thought he’d hung up.
“You there?” I asked.
“My God, Ollie. I can’t keep up with you.” I heard scratchy noises, as though he were rubbing his face. I shivered and it wasn’t just because it had started to drizzle. I stared up at the overcast sky.
“We went to Arlington,” I said, trying to explain. “And she was just… there. It wasn’t as though I sought her out.”
“Why didn’t you call me about this yesterday?”
Why hadn’t I? Truth was I’d been nervous about letting him know I’d had a run-in with the deceased’s wife and son. “I called you today. Besides,” I added, my own anger starting to return, “it’s not as though I’m ingratiating myself into the investigation. For crying out loud, I had a conversation with Mrs. Minkus. There’s no law against that, is there?”
I could practically see him shaking his head. “No, Ollie,” he said with such resignation in his voice that I was sorry I’d raised mine. “There’s no law against you talking with people you run into-or people you have a relationship with. I just…”
“You just… what?”
“I hope Craig is able to see things the same way I do.”
“Does he have to know about any of this?”
“Suzie and Steve-yes. I’ll want to suggest that you’re present when we take a look at the DVD of that day’s filming. For whatever good that will do. And if you do talk with them, he’ll want to know if they said or did anything you consider unusual.”
“So they are suspects!”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Okay. Sorry,” I said. But my mind was racing.
“I have a few other things I want you to take a look at.”
“Like what?”
“It’ll wait. I’ll call you.”
Effectively dismissed, I hung up, but I stood outside, leaning on the balcony’s rail, even though it was wet and the chill seeped up through my forearms, making me shiver. When we’d first started our relationship, Tom and I both knew that our jobs-no, our careers-could cause strain. Emotional relationships were always fraught with peril, but his being a Secret Service agent, sworn to protect the president and his family above all else, made this one so much harder. I understood that there were things he couldn’t tell me. I had no problem with that. I also understood the pressures he was under. Craig and I had been friends before the first time I’d inadvertently gotten involved in Secret Service matters. Since then he had cooled toward me, and avoided me when he could. I suppose he didn’t believe I was worth his time, and I further supposed that Jack Brewster’s antagonistic bent during my intake questioning had more to do with Craig’s influence than with Jack’s personal impressions.
The street below was quiet except for the occasional car slicing through puddles, causing a sad sound that made me want to retreat into the warmth of my apartment-to where my mom was probably making something for us to eat, and where Nana was devouring the newspaper in my absence, pretending that she wasn’t hunting for mention of my role in this White House drama.
At least Tom had said he’d take care of Suzie and Steve. Still on the balcony, now ducking closer to the building to avoid the heavier rainfall, I dialed them back and let them know that the Secret Service had been alerted. “They better do something,” Steve said with uncharacteristic roughness. “They got us into this mess.”
I wanted to argue that it hadn’t been the Secret Service’s fault-but to what end?
“Where do you want to meet?” Steve asked as I was about to say good-bye.
“Excuse me?”
“We need to talk,” he said. In the background, I heard Suzie reiterate his statement.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
Suzie must have been listening in, because she grabbed the phone and started in on me. “Please, Ollie. You know we only agreed to come film at the White House because you wanted us to. We did this as a favor to you.”
That wasn’t how I remembered it. “I thought your production team wanted to use this for ratings week.”
“No,” she said, chastising now. “We did this because we knew it was important to you.”
It hadn’t been important to me in the least. I’d done it as a favor to them. Correction: The White House had agreed to the favor. I’d been left out of this decision entirely. Although they were indeed friends of mine, I’d been against them being in the kitchen while we were preparing a dinner for actual White House guests. I would have preferred to stage a fake dinner and treat the staff to whatever delicacies we came up with. “Actually, Suzie,” I began, but I was interrupted by a beep on the line. I took a look at the number. Tom. “I better let you go,” I said in a hurry to hang up.
“Please,” she said. “We really do need to talk.”
“Later,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”
“Please,” she said again. “But we have to meet in person. Just in case others are listening in.”
“I highly doubt anyone is tapping your line.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “But Steve and I will be more comfortable in person.”
I heard another beep. I wanted to switch over to talk with Tom. Now.
“Okay, fine. But I really need to get going.”
“Hang on.”
Steve took the phone. “We can’t get into this over open lines.”
“Got it,” I said, my exasperation evident. “But I can’t…” I took a look at my handset and realized Tom was no longer waiting for me to pick up. I bit my lip in anger and hoped he would leave a message.
“Let’s meet later,” Steve said.
Tom had said that there was no law keeping me from talking with friends. And right now there was no longer any need to get off the phone quickly. I sighed. “Sure. Where and when? I know my mom and nana will be excited to meet real television personalities.”
After a beat of silence, he said, “Just you, Ollie. Okay? Maybe we can meet your family another time.”
This was starting to feel a little bit strange. Steve persisted. “How about tonight? Do you think these camera crews will be gone by then?”
I heard Suzie in the background. “A police car just pulled up.”
“What do they want?” Steve asked her.
“How should I know?”
“Are they coming for us?”
“Steve,” I said, “you sound busy. How about I let you go?”
The balcony door opened behind me. “Are you okay out there?” Mom asked. She held the receiver of my apartment phone.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Tom’s on the line.” She held out the receiver and looked at me with hopeful eyes. “Maybe you should take this one.”
Steve was pleading in my ear. “Ollie, no. Don’t hang up.”
“I really have to-”
“The police are making them leave!” I heard Suzie say.
“But are the police coming for us?” Steve’s obvious tension made me wonder what he was so worried about.
My mom gave me one of those looks only moms can give and shook the phone at me. “He’s waiting.”
I tried again. “Steve, let me give you a call back in-”
“This is great,” he said. “They’re all taking off.” He breathed heavily into the phone. “The cops are gone, too. Good. We’ll be able to make it to the studio after all. Thanks so much, Ollie.”
“I really didn’t-”
“Let’s make her dinner tonight,” Suzie said in the background. “Have her come to the studio.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “The studio will be better than here.” Sounding a bit distracted, he added, “Tonight, you’re our guest. We’ll have a chance to chat in real privacy.”
“Okay, fine,” I answered hastily, trying to pantomime my frustration to my mom. “You have my e-mail, right? Just send me the address and a time. I really have to go now.”
“Sure thing, Ollie. And thanks again for all your help.”
I said good-bye quickly and grabbed the apartment phone while snapping my cell shut. “Sorry,” I mouthed.
My mom smiled and headed back in, leaving me on the cold balcony once again. “Tom?” I asked. “You still there? I was on another call with Suzie and Steve.”
“That was quick. You sure didn’t waste time getting in touch with them.”
And just like that, his tone annoyed me. I faced the glass doors that looked into my living room. My mom and nana were watching me, turning away when I caught them. I scratched at my head and was surprised when my hand came away wet. I’d been out here in the damp morning longer than I thought.
“Like you said,” I answered my tone sing-song, “there’s no law stopping me from having conversations with my friends.”
He made a noise-acknowledging the jab. “Are you going to be home later? Say, around eight thirty, nine tonight?”
I thought about Suzie and Steve’s offer to make me dinner. I should be home by eight-ish. “I’ll be here.”
“Craig wants you to look at a few things.” The dismissive tone was back. “I’ll stop by then.”
“You remember my mom and nana are still here?”
He blew out a breath. “I forgot.”
I started to appreciate how much pressure he was under. “They’ll give us privacy if we need it.”
“Fair enough.” He sounded all-too-eager to get me off the phone. “See you then.”
When I reentered the apartment Nana shook her head. “You look like a drowned rat.”
“Thanks.”
Mom wore one of her worried looks. “What’s up with Tom?”
“He’s stopping by later.”
At that they both brightened. I held up my hands. “Just official business,” I said, and just like that, their cheer dissipated. “Sorry.”
“Oh, Ollie,” Mom said. “We just want you to be happy.”
“Then let’s get out today,” I said, longing for something-anything-to get my mind off this mess. “I’d like to take you to the National Mall.” Turning, I cast a glance outside at the rain. “Of course, it’s not a very good day for that, is it?”
“It’s going to clear up by noon,” Mom said.
“It said that in the newspaper?”
“Nope,” she said with a grin. “I checked the forecast online.”
I touched base with Cyan, then Bucky. Neither had heard anything more than I had, but my second-in-command was greatly agitated.
I searched for something calming to say. “It’s just a matter of time before our staff is vindicated.”
Through the phone’s receiver I heard a rhythmic click-clack and I realized that Bucky was pacing across what sounded like a tile floor. At the same moment, I realized I’d been pacing as well. Weren’t we a nervous bunch?
Click-clack, click-clack. “How can you stay so calm?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t calm. That every moment of every day was agony until the word came down that we’d be allowed back into the kitchen. I couldn’t tell him that having my mom and nana here was both a blessing and a burden. If they weren’t here, maybe there would be something I could do to hasten the process along.
I thought about my promise to Tom and reconsidered that. Maybe having my family close by right now was the best thing I could ask for. They kept me out of trouble.
“I’m calm because I believe in our team,” I finally said.
“Do you? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?”
That got a laugh out of him, and I pounced on the break in the tension.
“Bucky, you know what a tight ship we run.”
“But what if someone set us up? What if this is a conspiracy?” He sucked in an audible breath. “We all know what the press can do to us. Won’t matter whether it’s really our fault. People are just too happy to watch other people fail.” There was validity in his words. “Every day people are uncovering dirt about each other. Even if none of it is true.”
He had a point. How many times had I received forwarded e-mails bashing a political figure, only to find out that the so-called “breaking story” held no truth whatsoever? Occasionally these stories were rescinded, but after the damage was done. As I gripped the phone, I vowed never to forward another negative-spirited e-mail again.
I needed to convince Bucky that everything would be better soon. If I could make him believe that we’d come out on top, maybe through cosmic energy and all-is-right-with-the-world equality, it would become so.
“I can’t stand all this waiting,” he said. The rhythmic pacing started again.
“Neither can I, but there isn’t a lot we can do right now. It’s not like they’re giving us access to the kitchen.”
“Oh my God,” he said, his voice panicked again. “Minkus’s dossier.”
“What about it?”
“You know we had it-we had all the guests’ dietary dossiers on file before the dinner.”
“So?”
“I-” He hesitated. “Remember that salad dressing we used?”
I started to get a crawling feeling in my stomach. “The one you came up with the day before the dinner?”
I heard Bucky swallow. “I created that one at home. I thought it would be a good idea to put a little extra effort…” He began to hyperventilate.
“I’m not understanding the problem,” I said. “Bucky. Talk to me. Was there something in the food that-”
“I have his dossier,” he said. “Minkus’s dossier. I sent the file to myself at home so I would have all his dietary needs on hand. Here.”
“You kept a list of his dietary preferences,” I said slowly, to clarify.
“Yes, but-”
“I don’t see anything wrong with that. Unless he had an allergy and you didn’t-”
“Don’t you understand? The fact that I sent this information to my home computer will be suspect. They’re going to ask me why.”
I did understand. But I couldn’t react to the alarm I felt. “And you have a perfectly valid answer.” I took a deep breath and tried again. “We all take information home. I’ve done that myself.”
“But have you ever had a guest die before?”
I knew better than to answer. Bucky’s voice had notched up a few octaves and he sounded on the brink of a breakdown.
He made an incoherent sound. “They’re going to investigate and find this. They’re going to put me in a room and interrogate me. What’s going to happen? My career is ruined.”
“Bucky.” I said his name sharply. “Is it just Minkus’s dietary restrictions, or do you have the whole file?”
Misery wrung out every word. “The whole file.”
While we were never granted access to classified information, we occasionally were given guests’ entire files, rather than just a list of their dietary needs. It came in handy to know, for instance, if a guest spent years in South America, or Russia, or Japan. Little tidbits helped us design creative and enjoyable menus.
The first thing that came to mind was that Bucky was right. Pretty soon someone would notice that Minkus’s information had been sent from our kitchen to Bucky’s home. The second thing that came to mind was that I wanted a look at that file. Although we worked hard to never make even the slightest mistake, I wanted a closer look at the information we’d been provided. Having it on Bucky’s computer was too tempting to pass up. I was sure we hadn’t missed anything, but it would feel very good to reassure ourselves.
“Tell you what, Bucky, sit tight. Make a copy of the file, okay?”
I heard him click-clacking across his floor. “Don’t you think I’ll get in trouble if I do that?”
“Why should you?” I asked. “You’re a member of the White House kitchen staff. You have every right to information about the guests you plan to feed. Make a copy-or two-and I’ll come by later. We’ll go over it together.”
“When can you be here?” he asked. “How soon?”
I opened my mouth to say that I’d be right there, but I caught sight of Mom and Nana sitting in front of the television, with their spring jackets folded neatly on their laps, ready to shut off the TV just as soon as I hung up the phone. I couldn’t disappoint them. “I’ve got a few things I have to do.”
“Huh?” His voice squeaked. “I need help on this.”
Subscribing to his growing hysteria would only make things worse. “As do we all right now,” I said calmly. “Now sit tight and I’ll be over later.”
Bucky grumbled but we agreed on a time to meet. As I hung up I wondered if Tom would think this was “getting involved” in the case where I shouldn’t. But I would argue that this dossier was given to me and to my staff. We had every right to examine it again now, especially if doing so would help prove our innocence. Though Tom might disagree, he would be wrong.
No, I decided. This foray with Bucky couldn’t possibly come back to bite me.