Buffalo West Wing (3 page)

His hands came up, clutching one another as though seeking to grasp my meaning. “What?” He blinked several times. “You’re telling me you have a secret admirer?”

“Apparently it’s for the children. There’s a note inside. But until I figure out who left it here and why, I’m keeping it refrigerated and out of sight.”

“Clearly, the snack was intended as a gift for the new First Son and Daughter.”

“And just as clearly, I will not serve anything to anyone in this home unless I can be absolutely certain that it’s safe.”

He scoffed, frowning in that condescending way of his. “Well, of course it’s safe. It couldn’t get inside the White House if it wasn’t.”

I was about to remind him of other confections we believed had been “safe,” but he must have anticipated my reply because he backed up a step and raised his hands. “Have it your way,” he said. “The reason I came down here was to let you know that I will be keeping close tabs on the children for the first weeks while they settle in.”

My face must have betrayed my skepticism because he continued. “Although I am generally in charge of making sure the White House is sensitive to social and religious mores when entertaining guests, I have taken it upon myself to expand my responsibilities to ensure the new First Family is made to feel welcome in their new home.”

That was the job we
all
shared. Rather than point this out, however, I asked, “Do you have kids?”

He blinked. “No, why?”

“I don’t either,” I said, “so I’m not speaking from experience. But they’re going through a major upheaval in their lives right now.”

He waggled his head. “Upheaval? You make it sound so negative. They’re the new American royalty. They will have everything they want. And then some.”

“They’ve left their home and friends, and they will be living in a fishbowl from now on. With everything changing around them, I have to believe the new First Children will be most comfortable interacting with adults they already know.” If I could keep this tedious little man away from the kids, I would be doing a very good deed. “Their grandmother will be in residence. If you intend to plan anything, I suggest you make arrangements through Grandma Marty first.”

Sargeant didn’t care for my advice. I could see it in the precise way he steepled his fingers near his chest and tapped them together. “You’ve been lucky, Ms. Paras. I’ll give you that. But the Hydens are not the Campbells and while you may have fooled Mrs. Campbell, I suspect our new First Lady will not be such a pushover.” A tiny smile curled up one corner of his mouth as he took his leave. “It’s about time the First Family sees my worth rather than be dazzled by the stunts you pull. I’m looking forward to the next several weeks.”

I glared after him, knowing in my heart he was wrong, but knowing just as clearly that he would never admit it. My “stunts” had saved the White House—and its staff—from several embarrassing incidents. Was it too much to ask for a little respect from our sensitivity director?

At the door, he turned back. “Finally, after all your shenanigans, it’s my time now.”

I shook my head. I guess it
was
too much to ask.

CHAPTER 2

I GOT MY FIRST CHANCE TO TALK WITH THE kids when the social secretary’s assistant, Carol, accompanied them to the kitchen that evening during their scavenger hunt. Bucky, Cyan, and I knew exactly what role we were expected to play when the troops swarmed us, and so were prepared for the ruckus that rolled our way just before 10 P.M.

Eight kids arrived, laughing and talking, consulting hint sheets and arguing over who’d spotted which clue first. Both First Kids had invited three friends each, and the noise from their chatter was louder and more boisterous than we’d heard in our halls since Mrs. Campbell had organized the Mother’s Luncheon a couple years back. Several Secret Service agents accompanied the young crowd. I recognized Agent Gardez and was introduced to Agent Nourie, who nodded hello. Before the kids were allowed in, the two men scoped out the entire kitchen and then remained to guard the kids during the visit.

Thirteen-year-old Abigail was all gangly legs and arms. Tall and slim like her parents, she wore her dark hair to her shoulders and her nervousness on her sleeve. She stayed close to one particular girl and they giggled every couple of moments. I liked her immediately. Abigail had a quick, genuine smile; just from the looks of her, I could tell she was a cheerful kid.

“Hello,” I said, and introduced the staff.

Abigail solemnly shook my hand and thanked us for dinner. “The green bean casserole was very delicious,” she said.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Her younger brother shoved at the three boys who had been jostling with him since they arrived. Joshua was a full head shorter than his sister, carrying the tiniest remainder of baby fat. He had wide brown eyes and deep dimples. “Come on, Abby,” Joshua finally said. “We’re supposed to be looking for clues, remember?”

The social secretary’s assistant, Carol, cleared her throat. “Josh ...”

The boy’s shoulders drooped. He stepped forward, shook my hand, and thanked me for dinner. “Sorry,” Josh said. “I forgot.”

“No problem,” I said. “I want to welcome you all to the main White House kitchen. In here we can prepare anything you like to eat ... providing your mom gives us the okay.”

“Can you make ice cream?” one of Josh’s friends asked.

“We can,” I said. “But my friend Marcel, the pastry chef, usually makes the desserts. What kind of ice cream do you like?”

He was overridden by Josh. “Can you make crab cakes?”

That took me aback. “We make great crab cakes.”

I was about to say more, but one of Josh’s friends pulled at him. Abigail had begun to search the kitchen for the planted clues. Our job was to offer hints only as a last resort. The object of the game was not to rush through the scavenger hunt, but to allow the kids to become comfortable in all areas of the huge home.

“Your sister is beating us,” the friend said. And with that, they both took off, ice cream and crab cakes forgotten. Although there was little to fear in the White House itself, agents Nourie and Gardez watched over the kids with eagle eyes. Hands at his sides, posture erect, Nourie was as tall as Gardez, and just as handsome. Soft-spoken, he reminded me of Matt Damon, but with dark eyes. Where were they growing these Secret Service agents these days?

Cyan had noticed him, too. “Help yourself,” she said, pointing to the bite-sized portions of fresh fruit, veggies, and cheese we’d set out. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Nourie said. When he broke his focus long enough to smile at her, she blushed. I remembered Cyan’s reaction to Gardez earlier. She was definitely ready for a new relationship.

Apparently satisfied that the kids were safe in the kitchen, Nourie and Gardez excused themselves and said they would wait in the hall.

Abigail and her friends were much more polite about rummaging around the kitchen than Josh and his troop. The girls made a methodical search of the area, scribbling answers on their sheets of paper, and whispering as they compared notes. Josh and the three boys ran from cabinet to cabinet, opening and slamming them one after the other. They missed at least two clues.

Josh disappeared around the corner into the refrigerated area. There were no clues there—we’d decided to keep that area off-limits—and I followed to let him know. Just as I turned the corner, I heard him exclaim, “Hey!”

There was Josh, on tiptoes, pulling the box of chicken wings from the refrigerator shelf. If I would have set the box just six inches farther back when I’d put it away, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see it. “Look at what I found!”

Next to him in a heartbeat, I tried to peel the box from his hands. “I’m so sorry, Josh,” I said. “This isn’t for you.”

But he’d already opened the lid. “No, see. It
is
for us,” he shouted happily. “Abby, come here. See what I found!” Beaming, he looked up at me. “These are our all-time favorite. Abby and I even agree on that. Thank you for such a nice surprise.”

Of course he believed the wings had been left there as part of the scavenger hunt. Of course.

“I’m very sorry,” I repeated. I tried to close the lid, shaking my head as everyone else gathered in the cramped area. The kids surrounded me and Cyan stood behind them, her eyes chastising me for what she knew I was about to say. I swallowed. “This really isn’t for you,” I began, doing my best to explain. “I know what the note says, but here in the White House we have certain rules.”

Okay, bad choice of words. I realized it the instant they left my mouth.

Abigail stepped closer. She shifted her weight in a gesture I recognized. I’d used it when I was her age and didn’t agree with what I’d been told. “But it has our names on it,” she said politely. She pointed.

“I know.” Blowing out a breath, I watched Cyan wag her hands as though she wanted no part of this. Bucky wore a smirk that told me he wondered how I would try to talk my way out of this one. I finally succeeded in shutting the lid and held the box close to my chest. I felt like an idiot standing in front of them all, like a kid refusing to share. Josh was clearly displeased, his eyes piercing me with accusation.

“Carol will know what I’m talking about,” I said, hoping to heaven she would. “Here in the White House, we cannot ever serve food that comes to us suspiciously.”

Carol, for her part, looked as confused as the kids.

Then—just what I needed—Peter Sargeant, strode in. He cleared his throat and everyone turned.

“Hello there, kids. I came to see how the scavenger hunt was progressing. But what is going on here?” He pointed to the box in my hands. “Ms. Paras, have you been able to determine where that came from?”

“No.” I wished he would just stay out of this. “I’m actually trying to explain right now, how we take precautions to keep the White House food safe.”

The kids grumbled, and Sargeant stepped into their midst. They gave him a wide berth. Chalk one up for kids’ impressions. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for them to answer. “I had this exact same conversation with our executive chef earlier today—”

“And I told you then,” I interrupted, “that unless we know exactly where food comes from, we cannot serve it to anyone in the First Family.” I met Abigail’s skeptical stare because it was easier to face than Josh’s quivering lip. “Listen,” I said. “If I knew who left this here, I would be delighted to serve it.” I thought about a way to make Josh understand. “It’s a mystery. Until we know who brought this, we can’t serve these. But if you can find out who bought this at the store and left it in the kitchen, I’ll be more than happy to talk with them. As soon as this gets cleared up, we’re all set.”

Abigail asked, “Can’t you just, like, look at some tapes to see who was carrying the box when they came in?”

Sharp girl. “I’ve talked with the Secret Service about this,” I said. “They’re already checking. That’s how important this is.”

Josh made a face and turned away. I thought I heard one of Abigail’s friends whisper, “It’s just some stupid wings. Your chef back home would never take those away from you.”

Sargeant, never one to miss an opportunity to rub salt in the wound, held up his hands. “I’m so sorry, children, but this is Ms. Paras’s kitchen and these are her rules.”

“No,” I corrected him, “these are all our rules.”

“Would you be willing to send someone out to the nearest Rene’s Wings and pick up replacements?” he asked. “That would satisfy you, wouldn’t it? As long as no one knows it’s being purchased for White House consumption, it’s considered safe, no?”

“Yes,” I began, hating the quick brightness I saw in Josh’s eyes. I knew I was about to disappoint him again. “But I’m sure none of them are open. It’s well after ten.”

Sargeant made a show of looking at his watch. “So it is.”

Josh no longer looked like he was about to cry. At this point he was angry, and bored of the conversation. He jabbed the box with his finger. “I want these wings. Abby does, too.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he asked, “Right, Abby?”

His sister shrugged. “Just forget about it, Josh. We’ll tell Mom later.”

Sargeant added unnecessarily, “I’m so sorry, but Ms. Paras is quite strong-minded and we don’t want to get her angry.”

“That’s not the issue,” I said under my breath.

Carol had begun gathering the kids. “I think we’ve found all we need in here,” she said. “Let’s move on to the Map Room.” She met my eyes and I hoped to detect some friendliness, some measure of understanding there. Instead I found only sparks of anger.

They left quietly. Sargeant followed.

Bucky patted me on the shoulder. “Way to go, Ace.”

CHAPTER 3