Fonduing Fathers (13 page)

“Thank you.”

He eyed Gav. “So is your friend here with you socially, or is he your armed escort?”

“Socially.” This conversation was not going the way I’d hoped. I veered back. “Until last week, my mom hadn’t told me much about my dad’s time here at Pluto, nor about the circumstances of his death.”

“Ah,” Benson said, closing his eyes for a moment, “I understand now.”

“Do you?” This had been one of my more impulsive
decisions. “I’m not sure I understand why I felt the need to come.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the glass-topped desk, all attention focused on me. Up close, the bulging circles around his eyes were fat bags of purple. I wondered if they hurt when he blinked. “Of course,” he said gently. “You’re looking for closure. Completely understandable.”

“I’d like to hear what you remember about that time,” I said, “if you don’t mind.”

He glanced at Gav, whose face showed no emotion whatsoever.

“I can handle it,” I said, bringing his attention back to me, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Yes, I imagine you can.” He sat back, laced his fingers, and dropped his hands to his lap. “I’m aware of your involvement in national affairs. You’ve had some close calls.”

I bit the insides of my mouth. “I’m not here to talk about myself,” I said softly.

He studied me, eyelids low. “I take it your mother told you about what we uncovered after your father’s death?”

“If you mean evidence that he was selling secrets to a rival, yes.”

“Then,” he said, raising his hands in supplication, “there isn’t much I can add that you don’t already know.”

“I don’t know who killed him,” I said. “I’d like to know that.”

“You’re very direct,” he said. “Your mother must have told you that the case was never solved. I make it a point to contact the police every year to find out if there have been any leads.” He spread his hands out over the desk. “There never are, but I call nonetheless, so that no one forgets.”

“That’s extremely thoughtful of you,” I said, “considering you believe he was stealing company secrets.”

Benson leaned back again, coolly studying me. “Why do I get the impression that this isn’t just a friendly visit after all?”

I could have bitten my tongue. “I’m sorry. I have a tendency to question things I don’t understand.”

“You and I share that trait, then.” To Gav, he said, “You’re very quiet.”

Gav’s voice was low. “This is Olivia’s story. I’m here in a supportive role.”

“All right, young lady.” Benson leaned forward again. “I’ll give you what you want. To be perfectly frank, I appreciate your no-nonsense approach. No sense dancing around a subject unnecessarily. Yes, I do call to see if there has been a break in your dad’s murder case. Every year. You’re right: It isn’t just because I’m a nice guy, though I believe I am. I’m also a shrewd businessman. Anyone will tell you that. Of course, I want your father’s killer apprehended, but I also want to set my own mind at ease. I want to know for certain that this was a robbery gone bad and not something more malicious.”

I felt myself grow warm with anticipation. “So you think it’s possible he was killed by someone he knew.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said. “I’m telling you that I don’t care for loose threads. An unsolved murder would qualify as one of the loosest, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Who might have wanted my dad dead?” I asked. “I mean, among the people who worked with him here?”

He pointed upward with both index fingers. “If I believed for a moment that anyone on my payroll was guilty of such a monstrous crime, I would deal with that individual quickly and incisively.”

“Even though you believed my dad betrayed you and Pluto by selling secrets to a rival firm?”

“Yes, even though.”

“And by dealing with that individual, do you mean turning him in to the authorities?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, tilting his head as he regarded me. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing at all,” I said. Time for damage control. “Mr.
Benson, that all came out wrong. You can understand, I’m sure, my need to find out all I can about my father’s death. Like you said earlier, I’m looking for closure.”

His gaze softened. “We here at Pluto were devastated when your father was murdered. We offered a reward for information leading to the arrest of the killer. Please appreciate how hard it is for me to speak so frankly. You’re his daughter, you deserve the truth, but we’re talking about a dark time in Pluto’s history.”

“You truly believe my father was guilty?”

Benson smiled sadly. “I understand you want to believe otherwise, I truly do. I dearly wanted to as well.”

“But—”

He gritted his teeth, speaking slowly, “I wish to heaven your father had not been killed. There’s nothing that can be done about that now. It’s best you leave the past behind and continue to live your own life, looking forward.”

The look on his face, the finality in his tone told me that Benson had nothing more to share. Not willingly, at least. I stood and said, “Thank you,” because politeness came naturally to me. “We appreciate your time.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You must understand that.”

I didn’t.

Back in the car, I stared out the window as we pulled away. “Well, that was depressing,” I said.

Gav squeezed my arm.

“FOR SOMEONE WHO’S SUPPOSED TO BE ON vacation, you sure spend a lot of time at work,” Cyan said when I showed up in the White House kitchen the next morning. She had a pile of fresh basil leaves next to her and was in the process of seeding tomatoes.

“What can I say? I miss you guys. What are you making?”

“That goat cheese and mushroom bruschetta we’ve been wanting to try. Except I’m substituting fresh basil for the dried and I’m seeding the Romas first.”

Bucky turned from his perch in front of the computer to greet me. “You missed out working on breakfast,” he said with a glance at the clock. “Lunch is under way and we’ve got it covered. Don’t tell me you’re just here for a social call?”

Leaning against the stainless steel counter in the room’s center, Virgil raised his attention from the notes he was
writing to balefully follow the conversation with his eyes. “No,” he said drily. “She’s here for another session with Josh.” Directing his focus to me, he asked, “Am I right?”

“Sort of,” I said. After learning the hard way that Virgil had a tendency to blab, I didn’t think it a good idea to mention that Josh and I planned to attend the next day’s Food Expo together. “I have an appointment with Doug first,” I said.

Cyan smirked and Bucky turned back to the computer with a shake of his head. Lucky for me, Virgil didn’t notice. He kept his attention in his notes but addressed me. “I know you think that the more you get in with the Hydens the more likely you’ll get me fired, but I warn you, it won’t work.”

Virgil was a broken record where his relationship with the Hydens was concerned.

I was fed up with Virgil’s oft-repeated laments. “I’ve told you before,” I said, “we appreciate the fact that you’ve taken over the family’s daily meals. With the number of official dinners this administration hosts, we’re already stretched thin.” I leaned across the counter to look him straight in the eye. “Sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but I value the efforts of everyone in this kitchen, you included. I am not about to try to get anybody fired.”

He made a face and returned to his work.

Was it always to be this way, Virgil trying to outmaneuver me because he thought I was outmaneuvering him? This was not my idea of an ideal working relationship. “What time is your appointment with Doug?” Cyan asked, doing her best to lighten the mood.

“In about five minutes.”

“Sounds intriguing,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“What does?” Peter Everett Sargeant strode into the kitchen, for once his question coming out inquisitive rather than intrusive.

I turned. “Good morning, Peter.”

“You’re here early, I see,” he said, “good. Doug told me about your outing tomorrow with Josh.”

Virgil looked up. Cyan and Bucky turned to face us. Oblivious, Sargeant continued. “I have to admit, I was surprised when he told me you’d be donning a disguise.”

The center of attention now, I held out my hands. “I was a little surprised, too.” Turning to my team, but focusing on Virgil, I added, “This is confidential. Do you understand? No one is to know that we’re doing this.”

“You’re taking him to the Food Expo?” Virgil asked as though I hadn’t said a word.

“You hadn’t told them.” Sargeant stated the obvious, looking chagrined. He pursed his lips as he addressed me. “You always tell your staff everything. How was I to know…?”

“No worries, Peter,” I said, staving off his denial of culpability. I was loath to jeopardize our fragile truce. To Virgil, I said, “Yes, Josh and I are going to the Food Expo.” I was careful to repeat my warning, “But I expect you to keep that information confidential.” To Sargeant, I asked, “Why did Doug tell you about Josh attending the Food Expo? That doesn’t seem to fall within your purview.”

“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But the First Lady apparently requested my input. I confess to be mystified as to why, but one doesn’t argue with the First Lady.”

“True enough.”

“Additionally,” Sargeant continued in a more animated fashion than I was used to seeing from him, “it seems our interim chief usher believes you would welcome my presence.” He affected a flabbergasted air, addressing the group as though performing for an audience. He splayed his hands against his chest. “Seriously?”

“Peter,” I asked with a smile, “is that…humor?”

“Certainly not.” He clasped his hands in front of his waist and adopted a more familiar, chastising tone. “Once again, Ms. Paras, you have drawn an erroneous conclusion.”

“My mistake.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, but there was no longer hostility there. “You should strive to be more careful.”

Cyan watched our banter with a look of utter disbelief. She’d been bugging me for weeks to explain what had happened to soften the lines of war between Sargeant and me. Although the encounter itself wasn’t any big secret, I’d found it hard to put into words exactly what had transpired. All I’d been able to tell her was that once two people faced death together, animosity lost its appeal.

“Doug is upstairs right now, Ms. Paras.” Sargeant tapped his watch. “Let’s not keep him waiting. He doesn’t possess the abundance of patience I do.”

This time, I laughed out loud. “Let’s go.”

We walked upstairs to the Entrance Hall and made our way to Doug’s office. The chief usher was looking harried as usual. “There you are,” he said with relief as though he’d been searching all over for us. I allowed myself a surreptitious glance at my watch. A minute before eleven. We weren’t even late.

“Good morning,” I said, gently reminding him not to forgo niceties. Placing my hands up near my face, I added, “I’m ready for makeup.”

He didn’t smile.

“You okay, Doug?” I asked.

Sargeant nudged me with his elbow but I couldn’t interpret what he expected me to glean from it.

“The kids are home,” Doug said. “Both of them meet with tutors daily to keep their studies up, but Abby’s turned into a real teenager.” Doug’s derision couldn’t be missed.

“I’ve interacted with Abby quite a bit over the past few weeks,” I said. “She’s as delightful as ever.”

“Except for the fact that she doesn’t want Josh hanging around her.”

“I’m missing your point.”

Sargeant took a step back, as though to distance himself
from the conversation. Oblivious, Doug’s voice rose. “All of a sudden she’s too busy for him. She has her friends over all the time. Either that or she’s out at her friends’ houses.”

“These things happen between siblings,” I said, shocked that he’d be talking about one of the First Family in this manner. “Now that it’s summer and they both have more free time, it’s natural that Abby branches out.”

“Well, guess whose problem it becomes? Every day, Josh is stuck here by himself, asking me when he can go visit his dad. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to tell one of the president’s kids that his dad is too busy? Every single day?”

I didn’t have answers for Doug. Moreover, it was obvious he didn’t want any. He wanted to vent.

Changing the subject, I asked, “Where am I meeting this consultant?”

“She’s set up in the Solarium.”

I couldn’t contain my disbelief. “The Solarium?” I’d expected to be shuttled off to a little-used office in the East Wing. The sunroom on the third floor of the family residence was, and had been, a refuge for many of the First Families who’d occupied the White House. “Are you sure?”

Doug sent me a withering glance. Standing next to me, Sargeant continued to study a painting on Doug’s office wall. “Yes, I’m sure,” Doug said. “Did you always question every directive Paul gave you like you do with me?”

I took a breath before answering. “Sorry, that was just surprise speaking.”

Doug glanced at one of the three digital clocks on his desk set to different time zones, and continued in a more controlled tone. “I didn’t know where she planned to set up until a few minutes ago myself,” he said. “You’d both better get up there, pronto. I promised you’d be in her chair by 11:15.”