Home of the Braised (20 page)

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t give me a little thrill.

“What I also know,” I said, “is that the president and Mrs. Hyden always put the country’s best interests before their own.” I pointed toward his chest. “And most certainly before yours. I have no doubt that Mrs. Hyden would toss you out in a heartbeat if she knew how you constantly sabotage our efforts here.”

“And you would be absolutely correct, Ollie.”

I turned, struck dumb by the appearance of Mrs. Hyden in the doorway. I noticed three details in my half-second shocked stare across the room: She had her arms folded across her chest as though she’d been listening for quite a while; Bucky and Cyan were staring at her slack-jawed; and Margaret, Sargeant’s assistant, was standing behind the First Lady, equally stricken.

“Mrs. Hyden,” I said, at once apologetic and utterly mortified, “I am so sorry. You should never have seen this. No,” I amended, hand to my forehead, “this should never have escalated. My fault.”

She strode deeper into the kitchen. Margaret followed in her wake, eyes wide. Gesturing toward the Truman plate sitting on the countertop, Mrs. Hyden said, “I stopped by the chief usher’s office to talk with him about our decision,” she said, “and when Margaret offered to go get an item from the collection to show it to Mr. Sargeant, I thought I’d come down with her, to see if the change was causing you any problem.” With her arms still tightly crossed, she said, “Apparently it has.”

“Do you see what I have to put up with down here?” Virgil asked her. “We wouldn’t have these outbursts if I were executive chef. We would run this kitchen like one of the best in the world.”

I very much wanted to remind him that this
was
the best kitchen in the world, but this wasn’t the time. I bit my tongue.

“Mrs. Hyden,” I began again, “I apologize for my unprofessional behavior. I have no excuse, and I am beyond humiliated to have behaved so badly. My only consolation is that Josh wasn’t with you. I don’t think I could bear that.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad he went back upstairs, too.” She came to stand between me and Virgil.

Virgil softened his tone, relaxed his angry face. “Denise—”

She stopped him with her finger. “Don’t say another word. This is clearly a bigger issue than I was aware of.” To me, she said, “Ollie, I will expect you to meet with Mr. Sargeant on this matter. At your convenience, that is. I realize we have a state dinner to prepare.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Virgil worked up a smile. “I’ve been trying to tell you what a dictator she is, but you and Parker never listen.”

I cringed when he referred to the president by his first name. Distant cousin or no, it wasn’t right coming from a member of the staff.

“You, Virgil, will accompany me to see Mr. Sargeant right now.” She turned to Margaret. “I’m sure our chief usher will be able to fit us in, won’t he?”

Margaret reacted like a woman who’d won the lottery. She practically jumped in awkward delight at the prospect of being able to help. “Yes, of course.” She took the Truman plate—with its peace-facing eagle—and scurried for the door. “I’ll let him know immediately.”

Mrs. Hyden turned to me again. “We will discuss this in depth, later.”

When she left, my shoulders slumped and I put my head in my hands.

Bucky patted me on my shoulder. “We’ve got to work on your timing, Ace. That was the first time I’ve ever seen you let loose like that. I’m proud of you.” Bucky let out a low whistle. “But did it have to be in front of the First Lady?”

URLICH PICKED ME UP FROM MY APARTMENT
Thursday morning. He wasn’t the first bodyguard who’d been assigned to me, but he was one of the few who didn’t object to me sitting up front in the passenger seat and didn’t mind a little conversation on the commute to and from work. I’d learned several things about the man. He wasn’t a foodie and didn’t understand the need to experiment with flavors, textures, and ingredients. To him, food was fuel, nothing more. He didn’t cook, didn’t care to. Divorced, he currently lived alone and was in a relationship with a woman named Naomi.

Urlich had been working for Baran for four years, and while he completely disagreed with the president’s decision to pull Kalto’s forces from Durasi, Urlich was a good soldier who understood the chain of command.

“How does Alec Baran really feel about these changes?” I asked him. “His bottom line is sure to take a big hit.”

Urlich didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Baran isn’t pleased, I can tell you that much. There’s not a whole lot he can do about it, though. When the government signed the contracts engaging Kalto forces, no one could have predicted these peace negotiations. We all thought that we’d be in Durasi for another ten years.”

“The contract goes ten more years?” I couldn’t prevent the distress in my voice. “You’ll all be here for the duration?”

“You don’t like us around much, do you?” he asked.

“It’s not that,” I said. “I like you personally—”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t take offense. And I didn’t mean to alarm you. We’ve got another two years here. That’s it. The current contract runs out after that. We were all pretty certain they’d be renewed, that’s all.”

I was glad to hear it. Changing subjects, I asked, “Have you served in Durasi?”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard about how the country is decades behind ours in terms of innovation and quality of life, but I like it there. Things are simpler. Can’t wait to go back.”

“Back?” I said. “I thought all forces were being pulled out.”

“They are,” he said. “You know as well as I do, though, that things like this take time. I’ll be in charge of overseeing troop recall operations.”

“That sounds like a big job.”

“I’m up for it,” he said. “These peace talks have been in the works longer than people are letting on. Alec knew about them more than a week ago.”

That was interesting. “And you said that Alec is against these changes.”

“Very much against them. When he first heard that Kalto might be pulled from Durasi, he asked a few of us to return to the States to help him strategize a way around it.” Urlich turned to me. “We did our best, but when the U.S. government decides something, little companies like Kalto are powerless against it.”

“I’d hardly call Kalto little,” I said, “or Alec Baran powerless.”

He gave a sad chuckle. “In this case, he is. But I wouldn’t count him down for long. People like Alec always manage to come out on top.”

We fell into silence for a few blocks. “Do you have any idea how much longer you’ll have to keep an eye on me?” I asked.

He kept his attention on the road, but looked thoughtful. “I can’t say, really. I will tell you that Agent MacKenzie has given me no further updates on the matter.” He turned to me when we coasted to a red light. “Do you have nightmares because of what happened to you at the Metro?”

I thought about the night gremlins. Not quite the same. “I haven’t, no,” I said. “I wonder what that says about me.”

“Sounds to me like you perform well under pressure.”

“Necessity is more like it,” I said. “Although this week, with the dinner plans and unexpected blowups, the pressure is most definitely on.”

“I can only imagine.” He waited a beat, then said, “I’ve heard a few stories about things you’ve been involved with in the past. Sounds to me as though you would have made an excellent Secret Service agent. Maybe even gotten a job at Kalto.”

“You’re making fun of me, right?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

“Ha,” I said. “First of all, I’m too short so I wouldn’t make it past the application stage. Second, I love what I do and have the best job in the entire world. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.” Thinking about Virgil, I added, “And I’d fight for the right to stay in this position for the rest of my life.”

Urlich kept his eyes on the road, but he smiled at that. “I hear you. I feel the same way. But like I said, Alec always has a plan. I’m sure whatever comes next will be even more challenging.”

We drove in silence until Urlich pulled up behind the White House. I was about to get out of the car when I remembered something. “I have an errand to run today,” I said. “I hope that’s not a terrible inconvenience.”

“Where to?”

“The Moultrie Courthouse,” I said.

“Traffic ticket?”

I was reluctant to tell him that I wanted to pick up the marriage license Gav and I had applied for. It seemed silly to want to go get it. Even though it would be ready today, it wouldn’t do us much good for several weeks. Still, I wanted my hands on the document as soon as possible.

“I can go on my own,” I said. “It’s not part of my daily routine. I can’t imagine anyone keeping tabs on me so closely that they’d even notice me leaving the White House.”

“That’s not our agreement. What time do you need to be there?”

“It’s not an appointment so there’s no set time. Today’s going to be busy and if I am able to get out at all, it’s going to be last-minute. Is that a problem?”

He scratched the top of his head. “Text me when you’re ready. I’ll do my best. If I can’t make it, I’ll find a replacement who will.”

As I walked to the White House from his car, I considered the idea of visiting the courthouse on my own, sans escort. I knew deep in my heart that no one would follow me. That no one was hanging outside the White House gates, waiting for me to emerge. Whoever had tried to have me killed the other day had to have noticed by now that I was being guarded. I was in as safe a bubble as I’d ever been. Still, I hadn’t stayed alive this long by being stupid. I huffed a sigh of disappointment. Urlich had asked me about nightmares. I didn’t have them at night—they were part of my every waking day. And I couldn’t wait for this one to be over.

Bucky and Cyan were hard at work in the kitchen when I walked in. “You guys have been getting in early all week,” I said, glancing at the clock. “I’m usually here before you. What’s up?” I took a closer look at what they were doing. “And why are you making breakfast?”

“Official word came down two minutes ago. Didn’t you get a text message from Sargeant?” Bucky asked.

I pulled up my phone. “No,” I said, then one second later, the sound of a text arriving. From the chief usher’s office. It read, “Call me.”

“Something about the dinner?” My heart raced. “Wait, where’s Virgil?”

Bucky and Cyan exchanged gleeful grins. “He’s on administrative leave,” Cyan fairly squeaked. “Woo-hoo!”

“Wait a minute, what?”

“Sargeant came down a few minutes ago. He was thrilled to see us in early,” Bucky said. “He told us that Mrs. Hyden put Virgil on leave. She wants time to decide what to do with that situation.”

“Whoa. This is news. And no, I haven’t had a chance to talk with Sargeant yet.” My phone registered another text.

Sargeant, again: “Call me now.”

“Hang on,” I said. “I’d better do this.” I picked up the kitchen phone and dialed his office.

“Ms. Paras,” he said when Margaret put me through. Uh-oh. He’d taken to calling me Olivia lately. Being back to “Ms. Paras” meant he had to be in a royal snit. “I can see you’ve arrived. I take it your staff has informed you of Virgil’s situation?”

“Does this mean that the three of us are in charge of the family’s meals again?”

“Until further notice, yes.”

“Peter, I can’t tell you how embarrassed I was to be caught arguing with Virgil.”

“As well you should be.” He made a peculiar
tsk
ing noise. “It seems, however, that our First Lady has taken your side on the matter.”

“She has?”

“You act surprised. And yet, you’re here. Virgil is not.”

“Yes, but she could simply be moving combatants to separate corners, temporarily. At this point, the day before the Durasi dinner, it makes more sense to remove Virgil from the kitchen than it does me. She could easily come back next week with a completely different outlook.”

“Not to put your mind at ease, Olivia, because you know that is not something I am wont to do. . . .”

I sensed good news in his reluctant pause. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Hyden did, indeed, take your side. She told me that she’d heard enough of your argument with Virgil to fire him on the spot. If he hadn’t been family—a fact that she now knows he’s shared with all of you—he would have been out on his delicate rump last night. As it is, he’s simply on administrative leave. Effective this morning.”

Relief whooshed out of me. “Thank you.”

“This was Mrs. Hyden’s decision,” he said. “Not mine.”

“You disagree?”

“Really, Olivia, you must refrain from putting words in my mouth.” I heard him sniff. “Good day. I trust you’ll keep me informed if there are any changes to the Durasi dinner.”

He hung up, and I stared at the handset before putting it down.

“Well,” Cyan asked. “Are you in trouble, too, or is everything okay?”

“For once,” I said, thinking about this turn of events with Virgil, Sargeant’s almost-supportive response, and knowing I would be picking up the marriage license later today, “I think things are just fine. Really great, in fact.”

That lighthearted feeling of bliss lasted for exactly three seconds. Until my cell phone rang. It was Gav.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“There’s been a shooting.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not me,” he said. His words were clipped. “The Keeper. The homeless man we talked with Tuesday night.”

Blood rushed to my feet so quickly that I grabbed the nearest cabinet to steady myself. “No.” I covered my eyes with my free hand. “Is he dead?”

“In surgery. Ollie, I don’t need to tell you what this means.” Gav took a quick breath.

I exhaled. Thank heavens the Keeper was still alive.

Cyan stared at me with wide eyes. Across the room, Bucky had stopped what he was doing to turn and listen. I was ever so grateful to be surrounded by friends right now.

“It’s because of us, isn’t it?” I asked, feeling as though the blood that had rushed downward had pooled into concrete, paralyzing my legs, making me weak.

“I’m convinced of it,” Gav said. “No more on the phone, though. I’ll pick you up after work.”

Shaken, I agreed. “That poor man,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ollie,” Gav said, “keep this to yourself.”

“I will, but Bucky and Cyan are here.” The two looked surprised to hear their names.

“Don’t give them any specifics. Don’t tell them who was shot. They’ll keep whatever they’ve overheard to themselves, I know. What time can I pick you up?”

It took me a minute to corral my brain. “I don’t think I can leave before six tonight. Maybe seven. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t tell anyone where we’re going. Not a soul. I’ll fill you in later.”

• • •

I NEVER THOUGHT I’D HEAR MYSELF SAY IT, BUT
Virgil’s departure couldn’t have come at a worse time. The last few days before a state dinner were always crazed yet micromanaged with great precision down to the minute. That was how it worked most of the time when everything was arranged months in advance and every task accounted for. With the shortened lead time for the Durasi dinner, however, and the not-unwelcome but thoroughly unexpected extra responsibility of having to prepare the First Family’s meals, we were strained to the breaking point.

“The problem is,” Cyan said, “even though the menu Virgil planned is here on the schedule, the recipes he intended to follow are nowhere to be found.” She spread her arms wide. “All his stuff is gone.” She glanced at the clock. “We managed breakfast today because it was easy and pretty basic, but we have two and a half hours before lunch and no recipe for today’s entrée. What do we do?”

“Hang on.” I called up to Sargeant’s office.

Margaret answered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sargeant is tied up at the moment.”

Unwilling to deal with her fussiness this morning, I kept it brief. “I need to talk with him, as soon as possible. I need to know if Virgil took anything with him when he left the White House.”

“I can tell you that,” she said. “Mr. Sargeant asked me to catalog everything Mr. Ballantine removed from the White House. There was an agent helping us, making sure everything went smoothly, too.”

“Which agent?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “She was simply assigned to make sure Mr. Ballantine didn’t take anything he wasn’t supposed to.”

I hadn’t noticed anything missing this morning, but I decided to take a closer look around the kitchen as she continued. “So, what did he take?” I asked.

“A set of knives. He said they were his.”

I checked the spot where Virgil usually kept his personal belongings. Empty. “They were. We all have our own knives.”

“That’s weird.”