Eggsecutive Orders (31 page)

I maintained my presence near the doorway, the cart safely stowed behind me. Now that I was in the heart of the West Wing, I tuned in to passing conversations. I caught a few vague references to headline topics, but nothing about Minkus. Until Jackson returned.

“I will check back with them in a moment. They will be ready for the entrée shortly,” he said. “Right now, it’s quiet. I don’t think they plan to do any serious talking with their mouths full of your famous salad.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“What were you hoping to overhear?”

“Me?” I asked. “Nothing at all.”

“Yeah, like I believe that,” he said with a smirk, then lapsed into the folksy speech that he probably reserved for times when he was relaxing with friends. “Don’t you be trying to pull one over on old Jack.”

“Okay,” I said. “The other guy . . . not Cooper . . . goes by the name Kap.” Jackson must have detected the disdain in my voice because his eyebrows raised. I frowned. “He took my mother out on a date.”

The look on Jackson’s face would have been enough to make me laugh if the situation hadn’t been so serious. “Well, that’s about the last thing I expected to hear.”

“Not only that, he’s a good friend of the Minkus family. I have to believe there’s a connection now that he’s chumming up with Cooper.”

Jackson glanced at the dining room door. “You wait here,” he said.

As he continued to serve, he provided me with a play-by-play of the conversation going on in the dining room. “Just discussing that assassinations in China,” he said. But then he shook his head. “Cooper, I understand why he’s here. But not that other gentleman. I wonder what his story is.”

I thought about Liss’s allegations. I wondered if Kap could have poisoned Minkus before dinner—I thought about how much Ruth Minkus despised the man. Did she have a sense about him? I would probably never know.

Jackson came in, his eyes bright. “You want the scoop?” he asked. He scanned the room and lowered his voice. “President Campbell took a call while I was in there. From the medical examiner.”

I swallowed. Waited.

He whispered, “And he shared this information with the other two men.”

“Well?” My throat was so dry I could barely ask, “What did he say?”

Jackson’s brow furrowed. “You aren’t going to like it.”

Visions of heads rolling—mine, Bucky’s, Cyan’s—made my legs weak. “Just tell me.”

“They figured out what killed Minkus.”

I held my breath.

“It was a toxin.”

Oh my God,
I thought.
It couldn’t be.
“Like . . . botulism?” I asked.

Jackson shook his head. “Don’t know. President Campbell wrote it down while he was on the phone, but I couldn’t get a look. Soon as he got off the phone, he showed the note to the other two. They didn’t say it when I was in the room, but they did say ‘toxin’ a couple of times.”

I prayed it wasn’t botulism. It couldn’t be. I took great care in my kitchen to keep food safe. That was part of my responsibility. It just couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“I have to find out,” I said.

Jackson looked as upset as I was. “Don’t know how you can.”

“They aren’t going to announce it?”

“No, ma’am. All three agreed to share this on a ‘need to know’ basis until . . . something—don’t know what—can be verified. They’re keeping mum. Heck, the president won’t even say it in front of me and you know we’re usually invisible.” Jackson’s face was creased with worry. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that much.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t go anywhere.” I closed my eyes for a long moment. “That means the kitchen is under suspicion again, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t answer that, Ollie,” he said. “But I can tell you that they aren’t sharing this information with the media yet, so . . .” He held a finger to his lips. “Okay?”

My brain was on hyper-drive. “If it was botulism . . .”

Jackson grimaced. “For your sake, hope it isn’t.”

I nodded. I supposed I’d find out soon enough. I hated waiting. In this case, however, I had no choice. He left me again.

Moments later, Jackson came back into the Roosevelt Room.

Followed by Cooper.

My shock at the agent’s unexpected appearance rendered me speechless.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Paras.”

I murmured a polite reply, not understanding this turn of events. Jackson intervened. “Mr. Cooper needs this room to make a private phone call,” he said with just the proper eloquence to usher me out. He followed me into the hall with the now-empty food cart.

Already dialing, Cooper offered absentminded thanks.

As soon as we were in the corridor, Jackson pointed to the dining room. “Come on, let’s get in there.”

“In?” I asked. “Where?”

He brought a finger to his lips. In hushed tones, he urged me forward. “President Campbell was called away by his secretary. It’s your chance, Ollie. Take it now or . . .”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

I stepped into the President’s Dining Room, Jackson behind me. He began clearing the plates around the room’s sole occupant, Kap, who was leaning on the table, his head propped up with one hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kapostoulos,” I said.

He looked up immediately. “Ollie,” he said, standing and closing his portfolio as he did so. “It’s good to see you again.”

Making small talk while I helped clear the tabletop, I forced a smile. “You, too. I happened to be over here, with Jackson”—I gestured out the door—“and I took the opportunity to stop by and say hello.”

“I’m glad you did.” But he didn’t look glad at all.

In record time the table was clear except for coffee cups, a few ancillary items, and three leather portfolios. All closed. Darn it.

“How is your mother?” he asked.

“Great,” I said. “She really enjoyed dinner the other night.”

“I’m glad.”

Calling on moxie I didn’t know I possessed, I said, “Small world. I’m surprised to run into you here at the White House.”

“Yes, I imagine you are.” He glanced down at the table, as though eager to get back to work. “And it was nice to see you again.”

I took the hint. I was being dismissed.

“I don’t want to bother you any longer, but . . .” Acting on whim, I blustered forth. “If you wanted to stop by the kitchen before you leave, I would love to show you around.”

Kap looked up from his papers, regarding me with a bit of wariness now. “That’s very kind of you. I may take you up on it.”

Was he as eager to find out more about me as I was about him? I hoped so. That would give me an opportunity to figure out exactly what this man was after.

Jackson was finished in here. And so was I.

As we left Kap sitting there, I worked up my most welcome smile. “I really hope you stop by.”

 

 

With this new toxin information running through my frenzied brain, I almost forgot my Secret Service mission. No longer encumbered by the wheeled cart, I took the stairs just outside the Cabinet Room down to the lower level.

I was glad to find Craig in his office. As much as I didn’t want to talk with him directly, I knew I had to. I waited in the anteroom for his assistant to announce me, and was shown in at once.

“Do you have a minute?” I asked.

Craig would be so much more handsome if he smiled once in a while. He had been writing longhand when I walked in, and he was slow to pull his attention from the paper before him. Slower still, was the drawl in his question. “What can I do for you, Ms. Paras?”

I pasted on a cheerful face. “Two things.”

His eyebrows arched and he placed his pen on the blotter, carefully arranging it exactly parallel to the blotter’s edge. “You may proceed.”

“First, I need to arrange to have the eggs delivered to the kitchen. Our Egg Board liaison has our supply ready. I just need the Secret Service to coordinate with her.”

He nodded, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and wrote on it. “Specifics?”

I provided Brandy’s name, phone, e-mail, and the location of the eggs. He recorded it all.

“Consider it done,” he said. “And second?”

This was the hard part. “It’s about Agent MacKenzie.”

His expression utterly neutral, he blinked slowly, waiting for me to continue.

“You need to be aware that Agent MacKenzie and I . . .” I faltered. Biting my lip, I tried again. “There is no need for you to . . .”

Again, the slow blinking. “Ms. Paras, exactly what are you trying to communicate about one of my agents? Are you reporting improper behavior on his part?”

“No!” If it were anyone but Craig, I might think he was trying to make a joke. But this guy was all serious, all the time. My voice naturally rose, but I struggled to lower it, cognizant of others in the anteroom. I stepped closer and spoke quietly. “Tom and I broke up, okay?” When there was no reaction on his part, I clarified. “We are no longer in a relationship. You got your wish.”

His brow creased. “And you are telling me this, why?”

He knew exactly why, but I took another step closer to his desk. “You can no longer hold Agent MacKenzie responsible for my behavior,” I said. And then I said the words that hurt most of all. “He is no longer part of my life.”

I didn’t wait for Craig to respond. I turned and hurried out the door and didn’t stop walking until I was safely back in the haven of the kitchen.

“You okay?” Cyan asked.

I nodded. “Mission accomplished.”

She and Henry wore expressions that said they didn’t believe me, but we had so much work ahead that neither of them pressed me for more.

CHAPTER 22

“HERE COMES TROUBLE,” CYAN WHISPERED.

In the midst of chopping chives, I looked up.

“And this is the kitchen staff,” Sargeant said, sweeping his arm forward to encompass all of us. “Although I confess I’m stymied as to why you wished to visit this part of the residence. Are you, perhaps, an aspiring chef?”

Standing a head taller than Sargeant, Kap halted in the doorway before entering. He ignored Sargeant’s question and addressed me. “I hope I’m not interrupting you, Ollie.”

“No, not at all.” I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped forward.

Nonplussed, Sargeant attempted to regain control of the conversation. He glared at me. “I wasn’t aware you and Mr. Kapostoulos were acquainted.”

I opened my mouth to form a vague reply when Kap said, “Ms. Paras and I have friends in common.” Kap looked at me. “Good friends, wouldn’t you say?”

Well, wasn’t that a little presumptuous. “Yes,” I said, more to annoy Sargeant than agree with Kap, “very good friends.”

Sargeant sniffed. “I have a list of questions for you, Ms. Paras. They came from the president himself. We are very concerned with sensitive food issues that relate to religious observances and belief systems. In fact, when Mr. Kapostoulos expressed his desire to visit the kitchen, the president suggested I accompany him. He believes that this way I can kill two birds with one stone, as it were.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but Sargeant poking his nose into the kitchen was nothing new. Doing so in the presence of Kap, however, made it odd. “Of course,” I said. “Let’s get started.”

I watched Henry and Kap size each other up. They were about the same height, about the same age. Henry resembled a kindly uncle, while Kap could have graced a senior edition of
GQ
. Henry offered to show Kap around, but our visitor declined and politely suggested Sargeant carry on.

At that, Sargeant opened a portfolio and clicked his pen. Kap’s dark eyes visibly hardened, almost as though the irises had swallowed up the pupils. He fixed his laser gaze firmly on our sensitivity director.

Sargeant asked, “What sort of delicacies do you generally prepare for the president and his guests?”

“There are many,” I said. “That’s a difficult question. Is there something specific you want to know about?”

“No. No.” Sargeant smiled, but I could tell it was just for show. “I just need to clear up these loose ends.” He consulted his notebook. “For instance . . . have you ever served truffles?” He looked up at me.

“Yes.”

He wrote that down. I got the feeling he was gauging my truthfulness. But why would I lie? “Foie gras?”

“The president doesn’t like it. So, no.”

“Caviar.”

“Yes.”

“Puffer fish.”

“No,” I said, aghast.

He watched me as I answered. “You have never served puffer fish?”

“Of course not. It’s too dangerous.”

With a prim smirk, he nodded and wrote that down.

A moment later, he continued with the questions, finishing off a list of about ten items, most of which we had served at one time or another. But never puffer fish. It wasn’t worth the risk. The skin and organs contained deadly toxins.