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.”