“Don’t think about it,” Chase advised her. “Just keep your eye on the prize. We need to find out what the President figures happened to his friend.”
“Or former friend.”
“Exactly. All the rest is unimportant at this stage.”
She gulped some more when the number of Agent Smiths seemed to increase the closer they got to the mansion. “I think they’re multiplying. Just like in The Matrix.”
“Keep your cool, Odelia. This will all be fine.”
“That’s what you think. You’re the cop. I’m the reporter. Everyone knows the President eats reporters for breakfast.”
“He does not.”
“He hates us. He hates us all.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.”
“If he orders his Secret Service to take me out back for a neck shot tell my parents I love them, all right?”
“You’ll be just fine.”
She wasn’t too sure about that. She’d seen the way the President handled reporters. Chances were she wasn’t going to make it out of there alive.
Chase seemed to sense her apprehension, for he said, “If worse comes to worst, just tell them you’re with Fox News. The President loves Fox News. He’ll think you’re the best thing since sliced bread and he’ll probably try to make you ambassador to Finland or put you in charge of Homeland Security.”
She didn’t respond. Just then, her phone sang out Dua Lipa’s One Kiss. She saw it was that Otto Paunch guy again. Great timing.
“Hi, Mr. Paunch.”
“Hey, Miss Poole. Have you changed that rich list yet? I’m looking at the Hampton Cove Gazette website and President Wilcox’s name is still absent from the list.”
“I… have been a little busy, Mr. Paunch. But I’m on it.”
“That’s great. Oh, and while you’re at it, could you also change the President’s Wikipedia page? I see it says here that he was on the cover of Time Magazine twenty-one times. That’s incorrect. He’s been on the cover fifty times, more than any other president ever and certainly more than Richard Nixon, who was on the cover only forty-three times.”
“Um…”
“Can I count on you for that, Miss Poole?”
“Well, I don’t actually—”
“Thanks. You’re amazing. Talk to you soon!”
“I don’t actually work for Wikipedia,” she said, but Mr. Paunch had already disconnected. She stared at her phone. So weird.
“Who was that?” asked Chase.
“Otto Paunch. He’s one of President Wilcox’s best friends and he keeps calling me to change stuff online.”
“Like what?”
“Like the rich list we published, or now he was asking about his Wikipedia page.”
“I guess Presidents do that kind of thing all the time. They’re very sensitive when it comes to public perception.”
“But… I don’t work for Wikipedia.”
“No one does. They’ve got editors who write those pages.”
But then she forgot all about Otto Paunch and his strange requests. They’d arrived at the forecourt of Lago-a-Oceano and Odelia was duly impressed. It looked like something out of a fairytale, the porticoed entrance supported by columns, lending it a classical look. The mansion itself was huge, with dozens of windows looking out across the forecourt, the impressive building sporting a distinctly Spanish architectural style.
“It looks… amazing,” she gasped, then, “I’m underdressed, Chase. Grossly underdressed.”
“We’re here in an official capacity, Poole. Not as guests.”
And then a small army of Agent Smiths descended upon them and that was the end.
Chapter 15
Scarlett Canyon was filing her nails when the phone rang. Again. She sighed deeply, put down her nail file and picked up the phone. “Dr. Poole’s office. How can I help you?”
“Hi,” said a croaky voice. “My name is Ida LaBelle and I think I have a boil on my butt. Can you tell me what I have to do to get rid of it?”
“I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Poole.”
“No!” cried the voice. “I mean—I can’t. I’m a busy woman with a lot on my plate. But you sound like a clever person. And you work for a doctor so obviously you must know a lot about medicine. So please just tell me—advise me—what should I do?”
Scarlett studied her nails. She’d just gotten new gel nails down at the nail salon but she wasn’t convinced about the color. They were pink with little glittery ladybugs. She would have preferred the blue ones with the gold sparkly hearts. “I’m sorry, dear,” she now intoned. “I don’t know nothing about no butt boils.”
“But… you work for a doctor, don’t you?”
“Yah. So?”
“So you must be a licensed receptionist.”
“Look, honey. If you want to make an appointment, make an appointment already. Otherwise stop wasting my frickin’ time.”
“You are aware that you’re supposed to be a licensed receptionist to work for a medical professional, right? If not the inspectors might come in and arrest you for fraud.”
“What inspectors? What are you talking about?”
“You can’t just walk in from the street and start working for a doctor. You need to have the necessary paperwork. Didn’t nobody ever tell you that, Scarlett?”
She stared at the phone for a moment. That voice… “How do you know my name?”
“Because… I read it in the yellow pages just now.”
“I’m not in the yellow pages. Do people even still use the yellow pages?”
“Forget about the yellow pages and listen to me for a sec. I’m just trying to help you out here. If you don’t got no license you’re not even supposed to be in there, sitting at that desk and typing at that computer. Inspectors will come in and bust you if you don’t quit.”
“Vesta? Is that you?”
Silence. Then: “My name is Ida LaBelle. And I’m calling about my butt boil.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks, ‘Ida.’ And your butt boil! I’m telling Tex you’re harassing me!”
“You’re denying me medical treatment! That’s a federal crime! I could bust you for that, you booby bimbo!”
“Buzz off, Vesta,” said Scarlett, and thunked down the phone.
Just then, Tex walked in from the office, a smile on his face. “And how is my favorite receptionist doing? Was that a patient?”
“Nah. Just your mother-in-law trying to mess with me.”
The smile disappeared. “Vesta? What did she want?”
“I don’t know. Something about a butt boil and a license.” She waggled a nail. “She’s going to make trouble for you, Dr. Tex, I’m telling you. That woman is like a dog with a bone. She’ll keep coming back until you give her a kick in the bony rear end and be done with her.”
“I can’t kick my wife’s mother in the rear end,” said Tex, a little wistfully.
“Well, you should. I’ve known Vesta all my life. She’s a terror. I know she’s family and all, but sometimes you just have to draw a line in the sand, Dr. Tex. Take a stand.”
Tex didn’t look like he was prepared to take a stand. “If she calls again just tell her…” He hesitated, rooting around for a possible solution. “Just tell her not to call again,” he concluded lamely, then turned on his heel and disappeared into his office.
Scarlett smiled. “I’ll tell her just that and more,” she said to herself, then resumed the study of her nails. She needed more sparkle, she thought. Sparkle was the new pink.
The Agent Smiths that had converged upon Chase’s aged pickup now opened the door—both the passenger side and the driver’s side—then proceeded to escort the cop and his assistant out of the car. They all had those black sunglasses, making it impossible for Odelia to see their eyes, and for some reason they kept pressing their fingers into their ears.
But instead of taking them into the house, they escorted them right around it.