Eggsecutive Orders (18 page)

“What?” Suzie asked.

Overhead lights were still pouring brightness down onto the stage and the two of them looked like characters in a play—characters that had just been delivered very bad news.

Perspiring heavily, Steve shook his head. “This isn’t garlic,” he said. “This was supposed to be a tomato-garlic topping.”

Suzie and I looked at each other in silence. Steve stared up with confusion on his face. “How could I have not noticed?” He touched the chopped-up substance.

My heart resumed its trip-hammer beating. “Maybe we should try to figure out what it is,” I said, feeling like the only voice of reason in the room. The two of them were staring at the bowl, perplexed. “We may have to call the poison control hotline.”

Still grimacing, Steve said, “This doesn’t even smell like garlic.”

“I get it,” I said. “It’s not garlic. How about we try to find out what it is?”

“How could I have made this kind of mistake?”

Since Steve’s lament was rhetorical, I turned to Suzie. “Do you have a list of inventory? Stuff you’ve ordered? You have a lot of assistants here, right?”

She nodded, staring at Steve.

“I’m guessing one of them made this mistake. And since this is probably a food item, I’m sure we’re all going to be okay.”

She nodded again.

“Can I have your lists?”

Luckily, their computer was on and in minutes we had accessed their inventory, and meals planned for the next several days’ shoots. “What’s this?” I asked. “I thought you guys didn’t do desserts on the show.” The item I pointed to was a persimmon-and-lemon cookie.

Suzie looked over my shoulder. “Oh,” she said. “We thought it might be fun to branch out, to start including desserts, too. We have a one-hour show coming up where we prepare everything from soup and salad to dessert. This was going to be one of our experiments.”

The light was beginning to dawn. “This calls for persimmon pulp,” I said. “Where would that be?”

She rummaged around the kitchen, then held up a finger and headed to the rear of the studio. Steve had been paying attention. “Oh geez,” he said. “You think this is chopped persimmon?”

“Unripe persimmon,” I corrected. “If you have an assistant who confused persimmon with garlic, I think you need a new assistant. It makes sense though. The bitter taste. The numb tongue.”

Suzie returned. “According to our records we received a shipment of persimmon. But there’s nothing here.”

“Ollie,” Steve said, “I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am.”

“At least we know we’re okay,” I said, thinking the fruit in the bowl had to be
very
unripe. Nothing else could taste that vile and still not kill you. Tannins in unripe persimmon made the fruit unpalatable. And that was being kind.

There was a stool next to the counter. Steve backed up onto it. “Oh my God,” he said. “Can you imagine if this had happened in front of a studio audience?”

Unripe persimmon wasn’t toxic in such a small dose. And though it had the potential to cause bezoars, nasty masses that can accumulate in the esophagus or intestines if consumed in large quantities, I doubted anyone would ever eat enough to allow that to happen.

I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, willing the taste away. “Do you have anything to drink?” I asked.

“Sure, of course,” Suzie said, hurrying toward the refrigerator. “I could use something, too.” Over her shoulder, she stuck out her tongue. “Ick.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, for about the fifth time. “I can’t understand how this happened. I mean, the assistants know that I keep my garlic in that bowl. I always use the same bowl for garlic.” He looked about to cry. “But this time it was supposed to be a tomato-garlic combination. How could they have made such a stupid mistake? And why didn’t I notice it?”

“Let’s just be glad it wasn’t anything really bad for us,” I said, relief making me ultra-chatty. “For a minute there I was wondering . . .”

I stopped myself. Did I really want to tell them that I’d felt threatened? That I’d been ready to dash out the door? Wouldn’t that make it obvious that I suspected them in Minkus’s murder?

“Ollie!” Suzie said. The look on her face was one of incredulity. “You didn’t think we were trying to—”

“No. No, of course not,” I lied.

“It’s all my fault.” Steve placed both elbows on the countertop and buried his face in his hands. “I made this mistake because I was preoccupied. What other mistakes am I liable to make?”

We both looked at him.

“This isn’t going to go away,” he said.

“What isn’t?”

“We didn’t have anything to do with Minkus’s death,” he said, looking up. “I swear I didn’t. Neither did Suzie.”

“I didn’t think—”

Suzie placed a hand on my arm. “Yes, but the Secret Service probably does think so.”

“Why?”

“The NSA, Suze,” Steve said. “I think the NSA will be the first on our tails.” He lowered his head into his hands again. “But they won’t be the last.”

CHAPTER 13

THE WORRY LINES ON BOTH THEIR FACES TOLD me they were terrified. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

Steve seemed to have aged ten years in the past five minutes. “Want to finish dinner?” He tried a small smile. “I promise I won’t make you eat your vegetables.”

It was a lame attempt at levity, but I think we all needed some sort of relief. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m really not all that hungry. I’m sorry about wasting such a nice steak. Can I take it home?”

My request cheered them up. Professional chefs hate to ruin meals. Asking for the remaining steak told them I liked the dish, and that I trusted them.

“Of course!” Suzie said. “As soon as I pour you something to drink, I’ll get the steak wrapped up for you.”

The iced tea was sweet and I let it pool in my mouth to help rid myself of the persimmon aftertaste. Within minutes, the dining room table was clear. Suzie put down a fresh tablecloth and we all leaned forward over our glasses of iced tea to talk. At the center of the table was the DVD. What I wanted most of all were answers. The DVD might hold some. But I had a feeling that Suzie and Steve held more.

“Tell me why you think the NSA will be ‘tailing’ you.”

They exchanged a look.

“Come on!” I said. “Just tell me. Spit it out.”

Suzie fingered her neckline. “Are you still dating Tom?”

The question startled me into silence. “Uh . . .”

“Because, first, you have to promise you won’t tell him.”

Alarm bells rang in my head. And they weren’t from eating unripe fruit. “I can’t promise that.”

They exchanged another look. “They probably already know anyway,” Suzie said.

“But what if they don’t? What if the files are lost right now? Or maybe they put all of Minkus’s stuff in limbo. Then we’ll just be opening up a can of worms.”

Their argument zinged my curiosity into high gear.

Speaking very slowly, I asked them again, “Tell me what’s going on.” I stared at Steve—a warning not to beat around the bush any longer. “If you mistook chopped raw persimmon for garlic, there’s got to be something weighing on your mind.”

“A long time ago,” he began, blinking sandbaggy eyes, “back in college, in fact, Carl and I were friends. Room-mates freshman and sophomore year. He was a political science major. I was . . . well”—Steve gave a wry grin—“I was undecided for a long time.”

I’d had no idea that Minkus and Steve had ever known one another. “Why didn’t you say anything while we were preparing dinner Sunday?” I asked. “You obviously had a copy of our guest list. You should have mentioned something.”

“Well . . .” Steve dragged the word out. “He and I didn’t exactly part on the best terms.”

I chanced a look at Suzie. From the encouraging expression she was plastering on her husband, I knew she’d heard this story before.

“Go on,” I said.

“There was this girl . . .”

Uh-oh,
I thought.
Isn’t there always?
“And you both fell for her?”

Steve shook his head. “I wish it were something like that. No.”

I waited.

“She was a nice girl. Mary. She was on full scholarship and she worked really hard to keep at the top of her class. Going to college meant everything to her. She lived on the floor above us.”

I took a look at Suzie. She was squinting, like she knew this would be hard to hear.

Steve took a deep breath. “Mary was actively involved in student government, and was president of the honors fraternity.”

“She sounds like a real go-getter.”

Steve’s mouth twisted. “She was my good friend.”

“Was?”

“More iced tea?” Suzie asked.

At first I thought it was an odd time to interrupt, but when I noticed Steve having a hard time maintaining composure, I took a big drink and said, “Thanks, that would be great.”

When we were all settled again, Steve squared his shoulders. “By the time we were juniors, Mary had become a powerhouse on campus. She was destined to do great things—we all knew it. And we all supported her. She was one of those people who had a thousand things on her plate, but who always could make time for you, if you needed a hand, or help with studying, or advice—whatever. Mary made you feel like you were the most important person in her life at that moment. We all adored her.”

I was starting to have a queasy feeling. “And Carl Minkus?”

Steve spat an expletive. “Carl was a drunken idiot. He and I wasted a lot of our freshman year. By sophomore year, I got tired of the constant partying. It was time, you know?” He looked up at me.

I nodded.

“Carl’s father had been the president of Zeta Eta Theta—the same fraternity Mary was now president of. And Carl was jealous. He was under pressure to bring his grades up.” Steve gave an unhappy laugh. “There was no way he could even qualify for membership, let alone be an officer, but that didn’t stop him.”

This story seemed like something that couldn’t have anything to do with dinner last Sunday, but I let him continue.

“The elder Minkus pulled some strings and—what do you know?—Carl was initiated into Zeta Eta Theta. He called me to brag. Like this was some kind of real achievement.” Steve made a face. “Mary’s hands were tied.”

“He and Mary didn’t get along?”

“Not at all. She was upset about having to initiate Carl. She fought it, hard, because she believed in preserving the integrity of the organization. But once he was a member, she didn’t make waves. She was like that. She fought as hard as she could for what she believed in, but when the battle was over, she gave in graciously.”

Now Steve was squinting. He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t good enough for Carl. He wanted to be president, just like his old man. He had a lot of money, but Mary had brains and guts. She was the epitome of grace under pressure. He made her life difficult but she outclassed him in every way. And then he snapped.”

“Over a fraternity presidency?”

Steve rolled his glass back and forth between his hands. “You have to understand. At the time, this was a very big deal. Every Zeta president since the chapter’s inception had gone directly from college into a solid, lucrative position, thanks to elder ‘brothers’ in the business world. Mary had a spectacular future in front of her.”

“But?”

“Carl kept me updated. With the benefit of hindsight, I think he was doling out just enough information to keep me off track. He told me he had given up his craving for the Zeta presidency and that he had offered Mary an olive branch. He said he would stop badgering her if she’d meet him for coffee to talk about it. She agreed.”

I waited.

“That was the night she disappeared.”

I sucked in a breath so hard and so fast that it made me cough. “What?”

“We never saw her again.”

“But . . .”

He held up a hand. “Carl said he waited for her for hours at a coffee shop. Lots of people there—lots of witnesses. The barista commented that he was surprised Carl didn’t float out of there after all the coffee he drank that night.”

I shook my head. This wasn’t making sense. “You’re trying to tell me—”

“I believe Carl had something to do with Mary’s sudden disappearance.”

“Are you saying she’s dead?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. “After a few days we heard from her. She left. Went back home. Said she was giving up school for personal reasons—and not to contact her again. But you had to have known Mary to realize this was the last thing she would do. Attending the university was everything to her. She would never have gone without a fight. Something happened that night. I know it. But knowing something and proving it are two different things.” Steve’s eyes welled up. “Kids began calling her a dropout.” Another expletive, this one under his breath. “She was carrying a four-point-oh on a full-ride scholarship. No way would she just drop out.