“Rough day?” Nana asked.
Mouth full, I nodded.
“The news is saying that the president won’t be able to make it to Carl Minkus’s memorial service,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “They’re having the wake tomorrow.”
Stanley didn’t like the fact that the president wasn’t planning to attend services for a man who had died under his roof. “Not right,” he said. “Sure, I know he’s got a country to run, but would it kill him to take a few minutes out to pay his respects?”
None of us answered him. I took another bite.
“Your mother says you were visiting with the SizzleMasters,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “How did that go? Do they have any idea what might have gone wrong at dinner?”
Stanley gave her a stern look. “Now you’re making it sound like you know for sure that whatever killed Minkus came out of the kitchen. For all we know, he did himself in. He was in the NSA. Maybe he took one of those suicide pills.”
Mrs. Wentworth raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“All’s I’m saying is that we can’t go jumping to conclusions or nothing. We have to wait until somebody finds the answers. Like Ollie here.” He turned to me and smiled.
I looked away, but found Mrs. Wentworth staring at me the same way. “I think it’s up to you now.”
For the second time that night, I nearly spit my food out. This time, instead, I held a hand up in front of my mouth and chewed quickly. “What are you talking about?”
My two neighbors wore twin “Are you a simpleton?” looks on their faces. Mrs. Wentworth patted my hand. “Just do what you’ve done before. Try to figure out who did it. Before long, you’ll have the whole thing solved. And you’ll make the headlines again.”
“I appreciate your faith in me,” I began, “but I think that’s exactly what the Secret Service doesn’t want me to do.”
Mrs. Wentworth snorted. “They’re just jealous.”
The sudden warmth that suffused me had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was something much more. I was home, fed, comfortable, and surrounded by family and neighbors who cared about my well-being. And, on top of that, they were convinced I would be able to figure out what the medical examiner, Secret Service, NSA, and other professionals could not. I patted her hand in return. It was nice to feel appreciated.
“Thanks.”
Unfortunately, the warm and fuzzy feelings were short-lived. When my newspaper arrived the next morning, I spread it out on the kitchen table, and sucked in sudden panic when I turned to the Liss Is More column. Reading the first line reminded me-with the subtlety of a gut-punch-that I’d forgotten to revisit Liss’s Web version yesterday to see what comment my mom had left. With the flurry of activity, the plethora of interruptions, and so much on my mind, I’d simply forgotten.
“Oh my God,” I said.
Today Liss Is More says: “Thanks, Mom!”
Faithful readers will be interested to know that it seems this lowly column has touched a high-pressure nerve. We caught a live one yesterday. One of our “Anonymous” submitters posted the following (reprinted in its entirety from the Web):
Dear Mr. Liss,
Your column only exists to appeal to the lowest, most base of human interests. Why would you suggest that those working in the White House kitchen might have had anything to do with Carl Minkus’s death? Don’t you have better things to do? Olivia Paras runs that kitchen with energy, pride, and dignity. It’s your column and the garbage you and your followers spew that’s keeping her from being able to return to her job. Stop blaming her for canceling the Easter Egg Roll. It’s your fault. You, and people like you, only want to sell newspapers, rather than find the truth.
Sincerely,
An Angry Reader
My, my. Angry Reader indeed. She asks (and I use the pronoun “she” with confidence) if I have nothing better to do. Well, today I want to say, “Thanks, Mom,” because after reading your letter, I did find something very interesting to do. I took a closer look at our country’s executive chef and discovered that Ms. Paras’s mother and grandmother are currently in town visiting their famous progeny. You, faithful readers, will recall that Olivia Paras has already made a name for herself (can you say “notorious”?) while in our nation’s employ. Earlier this week, I broached the idea that Ms. Paras may have gotten bored and played Russian roulette with dinner with no thought to its disastrous consequences, but I gave up that idea after White House press agents suggested I lay off. Fair enough. But yesterday’s entreaty by Ms. Paras’s mother (and can there be any doubt who wrote that?) now urges me to take a closer look.
Does Ms. Paras care to tell us why she spent so much time meeting in secret with Suzie and Steve-the SizzleMasters-last night? After all, they, too, are under suspicion. Stay tuned, faithful readers. In coming days Liss Is More may have more to share about SizzleMaster Steve’s history with the dead agent Minkus.
Let’s all take this time to look up the word collusion in our respective dictionaries, shall we?
“Oh my God,” I said again. What had she done?
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, coming in to the kitchen, still in her nightgown.
I expelled a hot breath and had about one second to decide my next move. “Nothing,” I said. I shut the paper.
“You look like you’ve gotten some terrible news, honey.” Moving toward the countertop, she started to pour herself a cup of coffee.
“Why don’t you shower first,” I suggested. “I made that a while ago and it’s probably stale. I’ll make fresh.”
She gave the pot a curious look. “There’s plenty in there.”
“Yeah, but it’s a little weak.” I grimaced, lifting my half-filled mug. “You and I both like it stronger. I’ll put some of the weaker stuff in the carafe for Nana.”
Mom didn’t seem entirely convinced that I gave so much thought to our morning coffee, but she shrugged. “All right. I won’t be long. What are we doing today, anyway?”
“I have to make a few phone calls,” I said. That was an understatement. All I wanted at this moment was for her to leave so I could start damage control. “But I have a few ideas. We’ll talk about it after your shower.”
Finally, she left the room.
Tom answered on the first ring. “So meddling runs in the family, eh?”
“Oh my God,” I said, for the third time. “What am I going to do?”
“You are going to do nothing at all,” he said. He gave a short laugh, which I thought was inappropriate, given the circumstances. “I guess it’s like they say: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The next time I chastise you for getting involved in situations you should stay out of, just remind me it’s in your DNA.” He laughed again. “Your poor mom. I know she was just trying to help. How is she taking today’s new twist?”
Nana came into the room. She helped herself to a cup of coffee.
“She hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Are you going to show it to her?”
Nana settled down across from me. She squinted over the top of her mug.
“I don’t think so.”
Tom made a noise. “Do you think that’s best?”
I had no idea what was best. I had no idea which way was up at the moment. I said so.
“Listen,” Tom said, using his serious voice. “This Liss character is nothing more than a pain in the ass. Don’t give him another thought, okay? You got that? People read his column for entertainment, not for news. By next week, they’ll have forgotten all of this.”
“Not if the Egg Roll is canceled.” I was morose and felt like spreading it around. “Then nobody will ever forget. When was the last time they canceled an Egg Roll?” I asked. “I mean, except for weather, or world wars?”