I had no doubt who she meant. I pointed. “In the Blue-”
She didn’t wait for me to finish. Bolting away, she spied little John Blanchard and grabbed him by the arm. He protested loudly.
Maryann Blanchard turned, as though to admonish her son, then saw Bindy standing there. “What are you-?”
“We have to go,” Bindy said.
I’d left my position next to the gingerbread house to follow. “What’s going on?”
Bindy ignored me.
Mrs. Blanchard shook her head and answered the assistant. “The tour isn’t over yet.” She tugged John closer.
“Your husband wants you home,” Bindy said. “Now.”
That got Maryann Blanchard’s back up. I watched fire light her eyes. “Oh really? Well, you can tell him that no matter what his quarrel is with the White House, I am not giving up the chance to have my children photographed at this event.”
Bindy shook her head, and pulled Mrs. Blanchard’s elbow. She spoke softly. “You don’t understand,” she said, her nervous giggle making its appearance. This time it sounded almost like a hiccup. “It’s an emergency.”
Mrs. Blanchard’s eyes clouded. “What happened?”
“Come with me. Please.”
“Mommy, I don’t want to go,” Trey said. “We haven’t got our pictures taken yet.”
Bindy’s gaze floated toward the three gingerbread men, then back to Mrs. Blanchard. “We have to go. Now.” She squeezed John’s arm and he cried out. “I’m not kidding. You’ve got to listen to me.”
The crowd around Mrs. Blanchard had begun to notice the minor fracas, and Mrs. Blanchard noticed them. Reluctantly gathering her children and shushing their complaints, she followed Bindy out the door. As soon as they were gone, the onlookers returned their attention to the question-and-answer session going on under the Blue Room’s spotlights.
I returned to my post, and tried to process what just happened.
“What was that all about?” Bucky asked.
Marcel snorted. “Who can understand such females as these? You remember how Bindy behaved when she worked here. Always too impressionable.”
Marcel was right. She’d been an unpredictable and often unstable staffer. I’d harbored hope that this new position, working for the senator, would have settled her down.
Senator Blanchard was apparently still angry enough at Mrs. Campbell that the very idea of his family being here appalled him. I didn’t for one minute buy Bindy’s excuse of an emergency. I’d seen the lie flit across her face as she grasped for a reason to persuade Mrs. Blanchard to leave the premises.
Bindy had been manic in her demeanor. Frantic, actually.
I looked up when Gav appeared in the doorway. Keeping one eye on the festivities next door, he sauntered over and spoke softly, close to my ear.
“This is not for public distribution,” he said.
He waited till I leaned back and met his eyes. “Okay.”
Bucky was close enough to listen in. At Gav’s glare, he stepped a few feet away.
Gav whispered, “Sean Baxter didn’t commit suicide.”
I jerked away from him, looking again into his face. Although in my gut I’d known that to be true, it was far different to hear someone in authority say the words. “Who killed him?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We don’t know yet.”
“But they know for sure it wasn’t suicide?”
He nodded. “And I checked that other rumor you asked me about.”
“About Nick Volkov?”
“He didn’t kill Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “But someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like he did.”
“What does that mean?”
Gav gave a slight headshake. “Tell you more later. For now, just be aware.”
Like a ghost, he slid away.
Be aware? Of what? I wondered.
Bucky moved to stand next to me again just as the group began to filter into the Red Room. This was it: my time to shine. But I couldn’t feel the joy. Something was holding me back. A tight, annoying prickle told me something wasn’t quite right.
Cameras were set up and the First Lady was led to her spot just in front of the gingerbread house. It was then I realized that I was standing next to the switch. Mrs. Campbell would have to get in close to me in order to turn it on. Which meant I would have to move when the time came. A perfect photo opportunity, with the pastry chef on one side and the First Lady on the other. Whoever had plotted this out had vision.
Too bad poor Yi-im had gone home sick. If he’d been standing right here, he’d have been in the picture, too.
A feeling prickled the back of my arms and creeped across my shoulder blades.
I stole a look at the three gingerbread men the Blanchard family had insisted we place prominently in this room. The three men that, according to Agda, Yi-im had supposedly been “fixing” late last night.
I’d convinced myself she’d been mistaken in her observation. But… why had I made that assumption? Agda had been the personification of precision since we’d hired her. And for some reason, I’d chosen to doubt her when it came to Yi-im.
Yi-im, a “lazy man” by Jackson’s standards, who’d maneuvered his way into the pastry kitchen, even though he’d been hired as a butler.
I shook my head and paid attention to the ceremony.
Mrs. Campbell was wearing a black skirt suit, with no festive adornment whatsoever. Although she smiled as she took up her position next to Marcel, I knew from the look in her eyes that she couldn’t wait for this tour to be over. But we’d all worked so hard, and I knew she wouldn’t want to disappoint our nation’s citizens.
I thought about the dysfunctional champagne fountain. I wondered if anyone even missed it.
My mind flashed-a quick recollection-Curly sitting under the fountain, proclaiming nothing wrong with the device.
And yet it had blown water to the ceiling when activated in this room.
Here.
I swallowed.
The gingerbread house was exactly where the champagne fountain once stood.
Marcel nodded in answer to a question Mrs. Campbell posed. I hadn’t paid attention, but forced myself to refocus.
“And this only took you two weeks?” Mrs. Campbell said. “I don’t think I could create something this beautiful in a year.”
A titter of polite laughter from the audience. Marcel nodded again. “Thank you.”
I leaned back and peeked behind the skirted table, hoping no one would notice me. In order to get the gingerbread house to light up at just the perfect time, it had been plugged in-into two separate outlets that would work together, to light up both the inside and the outside of the structure.
These were the same two outlets the fountain had been plugged into before. Two outlets. Just like the two sockets that Stanley had shown me.
Blood rushed from my face to my feet. Bucky sidled closer. “Hang in there.”
I caught sight of Gav, watching everything from a far corner of the room, and thought about the real bomb that only he and I knew about. He gave me a funny look and I remembered, suddenly, Tom’s one-on-one lesson. He’d told me that explosives could take almost any shape. He’d shown me pictures. I thought about Gav’s training session with the simulated bomb in the presidential seal. I’d screwed that up because I hadn’t noticed the wires. If only I’d seen…
The wires.
I twisted my head. The Blanchard gingerbread men.
“My God,” I said, finally piecing everything together.
Mrs. Campbell started toward me-toward the switch.
Frozen by wild terror, I couldn’t move. Bucky tugged at my elbow, urging me to step away.
“No,” I said to him. “I think…”
It couldn’t be. Could it? I stared at the gingerbread men again.
Bucky’s teeth were clenched. “Ollie, come on.”
Mrs. Campbell gave me an uncomfortable smile as she shoehorned her way between me and the house.
“And our theme this year wouldn’t be complete without Marcel’s masterpiece, an absolutely magnificent reproduction of the White House.” Mrs. Campbell smiled, shooting me a look of confusion. I still hadn’t moved. “I give you our holiday theme and invite you all to enjoy… ‘Together we celebrate-Welcome Home.’ ” Her finger skimmed the switch.