He canted his head, nodded, then went back to work.
After a few minutes of checking the room, I approached him again. “Where are the gingerbread men from Senator Blanchard?”
Yi-im’s jaw moved sideways, as though he were considering my question. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged. Did this man never talk?
Just as I was about to ask him again where they might be, Marcel came in, his face shiny from exertion, but his demeanor high and cheerful. “She looks marvelous, no?” he asked us.
Yi-im straightened and I told Marcel how fabulously things were coming together.
He beamed. “It is time to ensure that my masterpiece is fully functional,” he said, moving to the rear of the platform upon which the house sat. He plugged it into the wall. “We must see.” Turning to Yi-im, he waved his hand, one finger aloft, encompassing the room’s illumination. “Please lower the lights.”
Yi-im obliged. The moment the room was darkened-not terribly dark since daylight still brightened the windows- Marcel stepped back and rested his hand on the switch located behind the gingerbread building. “We are ready, yes?”
I nodded.
When Marcel flicked the switch, the gingerbread White House lit up from the inside. A warm, golden glow emanated from each frosty window and suffused the creation with a curious joy.
“Oh,” I said, unable to conjure up anything else.
“But wait,” Marcel said. “As they say on the television-there is more.” He fiddled behind the structure for a moment. “Yi-im is seeing to it that the First Lady will be able to light this with a single control, aren’t you, Yi-im?”
The smaller man nodded.
Marcel flicked a second switch and the corner poles I’d asked about before came alive with sudden brightness. “Sparklers?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, but they mimic the illusion, do they not?” He drew me closer. “They are able to continue sparkling for hours by using a method of constant feed.” He pointed to the bottom of one of the corner poles. “I have added these-they are spring-loaded to provide… what is the best word? Fuel? To each little flame.”
“Aren’t these a fire hazard?”
Marcel fixed me with a frown. “Do you not think that I have made certain to clear this with our Secret Service?” He shook a finger at me. “This is very low-grade. And not hot. Try touching it.”
I waved my finger over the top of the bouncing brightness. “It’s cool,” I said, surprised.
“But of course.”
“I’m impressed, Marcel. As always.”
He smiled, the feathers I’d unintentionally ruffled back in place. Clicking the house “off” again, he asked Yi-im to restore the lights. When he did, Marcel explained, “I have more of this fuel in my kitchen to replace as necessary.”
“Sounds like you have everything covered.”
“Again I say: But of course.” Big grin this time.
“By the way,” I said, when Yi-im resumed his sugar painting, and Marcel started his own personal inspection, “have you seen the gingerbread men the Blanchard children made?”
“The children?” he said, with a snort. “Certainly not. But I do have the gingerbread men sent to us from the Blanchard household, if that is what you are asking.”
I smiled at his clarification. “It is.”
“We will incorporate those with the house.” He pointed to a position on the wall just above the gingerbread building. “They will be placed there,” he said. “I wanted to fully test my house first and then we shall add in finishes as necessary.”
A soft voice from behind us. “Oh, Marcel.”
We turned. The First Lady had come in from the Blue Room, her hands clasped high to her chest. “How exquisite.”
Marcel’s dark face blushed and I noticed a drip of perspiration wend its way down near his ear. For all his bravado and bluster, Marcel was just as nervous as the rest of us to make sure everything went perfectly well. “Thank you, madame.”
Yi-im scampered out of the way as Mrs. Campbell made a slow show of inspecting the gingerbread house. “I am in awe,” she said.
Not wanting to disturb her while she talked with our pastry chef, I began to back out of the room.
“Just a moment, Ollie,” she said, holding up a finger. “If you don’t mind.”
What could I do? I mumbled acknowledgment and stood near the door to the cross hall, watching.
Mrs. Campbell took a few long moments to study the frivolous yet inspiring details worked into the piece. She smiled, but I thought it a sad smile. “At a time like this, it is good to be reminded of beauty. I am humbled by your talent, Marcel.”
Marcel gave a little bow. “You honor me, madame.”
“Thank you,” she said, in a near-breathless voice. Nodding to Yi-im, she made her way to me and guided us both into the cross hall. She didn’t stop there, however, instead waiting until we were in the center of the Entrance Hall to talk.
“Would it be too much trouble to arrange for a dinner tomorrow evening?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I said quickly. When the First Lady asks for anything, the answer is always an enthusiastic yes. “For how many?”
“Four,” she said. “My colleagues Nick Volkov, Senator Blanchard, and Helen Hendrickson will be joining me here.”
I opened my mouth to say something, thought better of it, and clammed up again.
Mrs. Campbell blinked moist eyes. “You have been privy to a great deal of information lately,” she said. “I apologize for that. I sense your apprehension.”
“It’s not my place…”
“Perhaps not, Ollie, but I plan to get this matter settled once and for all.”
I couldn’t stop myself this time. “Have you decided to sell?” Horrified that the question popped out, I raised my hand to my mouth. “Sorry.”
She didn’t appear to get angry. Rather she smiled, then sighed, deeply, looking away, as though speaking to herself-convincing herself of what she planned to say to her three friends. “No matter what they tell me, I can’t believe Sean took his own life. I also cannot believe that he gave me bad advice. I trusted Sean.” She met my eyes again. “I can’t make such a monumental decision with so much that hasn’t been explained.”
I hesitated, but knew that if I didn’t speak up now, I’d be sorry later. “I have a letter,” I said, “from Sean.”
My words puzzled her. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “He sent you something? When?”
“He left it for me, on my computer,” I said, explaining how I’d found it, and what the letter had said. I finished by adding that I was also convinced that the letter’s tone was such that I couldn’t imagine Sean taking his life either.
“Where is it?” she asked.
“I still have it on my computer,” I said, pointing down toward the kitchen. “But I gave a copy of it to Special Agent-In-Charge Gavin.”
She considered that. “Would you please make a copy for me?”
“Of course,” I said, starting for the stairs. “I’ll do that right now.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to welcome the First Lady. Her visit wasn’t completely without precedent, but it wasn’t the norm. “Thank you,” she said, with her characteristic grace. “I won’t be in your way for very long. Ollie has something of importance to share with me, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
When her back was turned, Bucky’s eyes rolled so far up into his head I thought he might be on the verge of collapse. I warned him with a glare.
Mrs. Campbell took time to speak with Cyan, Rafe, and Agda while I pulled up my files. Bucky whispered close: “Always nice to cozy up to the First Family, isn’t it? Lots of perks can come your way when you’re buddy-buddy with the boss.”
“Back off,” I said.
He did, but took a long moment to stare at me. I couldn’t tell what crazy thoughts danced behind those murky eyes. I could tell he’d been surprised by my sharp retort, but I wasn’t sure if the added emotion was amusement or fury. And I didn’t have time to bother.