Authors: Julie Hyzy

Eggsecutive Orders (19 page)

“All sorts of rumors started—ranging from her being gang-raped to having had a nervous breakdown.” He blinked, and swallowed. “I never did find out the real story, but I knew Carl was behind it.”

Aware that anecdotal stories didn’t prove a person’s guilt or innocence, I was hard-pressed to offer any consolation. But if Steve’s suspicions were right, it certainly made it seem as though Carl Minkus was a poor choice for the NSA. “I don’t know what to say.” I also didn’t know exactly how this impacted Minkus’s death investigation.

“Here’s the thing, Ollie,” Steve said, his voice shaking. “I pushed it. I went after him. I told him I knew he’d done something to Mary.”

“What did he say?”

“What do you think? He told me I was nuts because I had a crush on her and that I couldn’t face the fact that the campus sweetheart had up and left us. He told me that she told him she’d met a guy the week before and she was considering running off with him. A biker. Yeah.” Another bitter laugh. “But the school believed him.”

“What about her family?”

“I called them, once, about a month later.” Steve swallowed and I could tell it hurt. “Mary killed herself. This bright, wonderful girl had taken her own life. I couldn’t believe it. Her father was angry I’d called and told me never to bother them again.” He shrugged. “What could I do? I was a kid. There was no way to make the administration listen to me. And even if they didn’t believe Mary dropped out on her own, they weren’t going to give me the answers I wanted. It was all Carl’s fault. One time, I grabbed him and told him I swore I’d see this through until we discovered the truth.”

“What happened?”

Steve’s eyes were bright red. “Nothing. But Carl—maybe he wasn’t school smart—was street smart. He didn’t give up anything that might point to him. And after a while I just couldn’t do it anymore. I gave up. Eventually I discovered the culinary arts. I started working hard in my major. I didn’t forget about Mary, but I just stopped pushing.”

I patted his hand.

“You don’t understand,” he said, jerking away. “I got a great job out of college.” He stared at me and spoke slowly. “A great job.”

“That’s good.”

“No,” he said. “I got it through Carl’s father. He made sure I landed well. He made sure I had everything I needed.” He shook his head. “He bought me off.”

Suzie looked ready to cry. “I’m sure it was just coincidence.”

Steve slammed the table with a fist. “No. It wasn’t.”

I sat back, unsure where to go from here.

Steve wiped his eyes. “I stopped looking for answers. I failed.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“There’s more,” Suzie said.

I glanced at her, then back to Steve, who picked it up again. “Everything went quiet for a long time. We all worked hard, all graduated. Carl moved into bigger and bigger positions of power, and eventually got to his position at the NSA.” Steve wagged a finger at me. “I always made it a point to keep up with his career. Just in case. I figured Carl forgot about me. Well, at least until Suzie and I got the TV show. Then, all of a sudden, we’re stars.” He smiled. “Small stars, but, you know, kinda well known.”

I nodded.

“Out of the blue, Carl calls me. About a month ago, I think. Wasn’t it?”

Suzie was biting her lip. She nodded.

“He starts out like we’re old friends, but pretty soon he’s gloating, saying that he remembers what his dad did for me all those years back. He tells me that he never had anything to do with Mary leaving school or killing herself, but he always resented the fact that I believed he did. And that’s when he tells me that our positions had been reversed.”

“What?” I was totally confused.

“He says that now that he’s in charge of NSA investigations, he’s going to take a look into my file and see if I’ve ever been involved in any terrorist activities.”

My mouth opened. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

Suzie spoke up. “We didn’t know who the guests were going to be before we scheduled the White House shoot. If we had, I can tell you that we wouldn’t have picked that particular day.”

“I’ve never been involved in any terrorist activities,” Steve said. “But my father was a salesman who traveled extensively to the Middle East. Minkus found that interesting. He said he was going to see me hang.”

“Literally,” Suzie said.

Steve fixed her a look. “Even if he didn’t find me guilty of terrorism—and I don’t know how he could—he could kill my career.” To me, he added, “I think that’s what his ultimate goal was. To see me ruined.”

“That’s a terrible story,” I said.

“And that’s why we think the NSA might be looking at us now that Minkus is dead,” Suzie said. “We had a motive.”

Steve stared at the table. “I say: Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Wow.” I knew it would be a while before I could take it all in.

“Don’t tell your boyfriend, okay?” Steve asked. “I mean, just in case Minkus was bluffing. Maybe he wasn’t looking at me at all. Maybe he was just playing mind games. He was always good at that.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Please, just keep this to yourself,” Suzie said. “For now. The news says they’re working really hard on determining the cause of death. As soon as they figure out it wasn’t something he ate”—she tapped on the DVD case—“and they see we didn’t do anything to poison his meal, we should be okay. I don’t think it would be in anyone’s best interests to bring up all this old history.”

I licked my lips, realizing that the feeling had come back to my tongue.

Now only my brain felt numb.

CHAPTER 14

ON MY WAY HOME, I CALLED BUCKY AND TOLD him I’d gotten a copy of the DVD. He and I made plans to go over it the next day and he said he’d call Cyan to include her as well. While I was on the phone, Tom beeped in, and I hung up with Bucky to take the call.

“Hey,” I said. “Busy night, but I’m finally heading back. What time were you planning to stop by?”

“Ah . . .” he said. “Looks like plans have changed.”

“You’re not coming over?”

“No.”

“But you mentioned that Craig wanted me to have a look at something. What about that?”

“Craig changed his mind.”

“Do you want to stop by anyway?”

He hesitated.

“Forget I suggested it,” I said. “Never mind.”

“I just think it’s best if we aren’t seen together too much. At least until this investigation is over.”

“Yeah, you said that before.” What I wanted to say was that coming over to my apartment was hardly “being seen” together.

“Well,” he said awkwardly. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” I said. But my heart wasn’t in it.

When I finally made it to my apartment, I was completely worn out from the day’s craziness. Voices—more than just those of my mom and nana—and the scent of fresh bakery met me as I unlocked the front door.

“Ollie, is that you?” Mom called.

I tossed my jacket to the side and put my keys in the front bowl. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“You hungry?”

I was. After the story Steve had told, we were all so drained that Suzie had forgotten to give me my leftover steak. “What smells so good?”

Mrs. Wentworth, Stanley, and Nana were sitting at my kitchen table, all drinking coffee. Stanley stood up. “Here, you sit down.”

I waved him back and poked my nose into the refrigerator.

“I made pork chops,” Mom said. “With that topping you like. Want some?”

Having my mom here made me feel the comfort of being a little girl again. She seemed to enjoy bustling about, and as I took a bite of her homemade pork chops, I thought nothing had ever tasted so wonderful. I must have made a noise of pure pleasure, because they all stopped and looked at me.

“Rough day?” Nana asked.

Mouth full, I nodded.

“The news is saying that the president won’t be able to make it to Carl Minkus’s memorial service,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “They’re having the wake tomorrow.”

Stanley didn’t like the fact that the president wasn’t planning to attend services for a man who had died under his roof. “Not right,” he said. “Sure, I know he’s got a country to run, but would it kill him to take a few minutes out to pay his respects?”

None of us answered him. I took another bite.

“Your mother says you were visiting with the SizzleMasters,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “How did that go? Do they have any idea what might have gone wrong at dinner?”

Stanley gave her a stern look. “Now you’re making it sound like you know for sure that whatever killed Minkus came out of the kitchen. For all we know, he did himself in. He was in the NSA. Maybe he took one of those suicide pills.”

Mrs. Wentworth raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“All’s I’m saying is that we can’t go jumping to conclusions or nothing. We have to wait until somebody finds the answers. Like Ollie here.” He turned to me and smiled.

I looked away, but found Mrs. Wentworth staring at me the same way. “I think it’s up to you now.”

For the second time that night, I nearly spit my food out. This time, instead, I held a hand up in front of my mouth and chewed quickly. “What are you talking about?”

My two neighbors wore twin “Are you a simpleton?” looks on their faces. Mrs. Wentworth patted my hand. “Just do what you’ve done before. Try to figure out who did it. Before long, you’ll have the whole thing solved. And you’ll make the headlines again.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” I began, “but I think that’s exactly what the Secret Service
doesn’t
want me to do.”

Mrs. Wentworth snorted. “They’re just jealous.”

The sudden warmth that suffused me had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It was something much more. I was home, fed, comfortable, and surrounded by family and neighbors who cared about my well-being. And, on top of that, they were convinced I would be able to figure out what the medical examiner, Secret Service, NSA, and other professionals could not. I patted her hand in return. It was nice to feel appreciated.

“Thanks.”

Unfortunately, the warm and fuzzy feelings were short-lived. When my newspaper arrived the next morning, I spread it out on the kitchen table, and sucked in sudden panic when I turned to the
Liss Is More
column. Reading the first line reminded me—with the subtlety of a gut-punch—that I’d forgotten to revisit Liss’s Web version yesterday to see what comment my mom had left. With the flurry of activity, the plethora of interruptions, and so much on my mind, I’d simply forgotten.

“Oh my God,” I said.

Today Liss Is More says: “Thanks, Mom!”

Faithful readers will be interested to know that it seems this lowly column has touched a high-pressure nerve. We caught a live one yesterday. One of our “Anonymous” submitters posted the following (reprinted in its entirety from the Web):

Dear Mr. Liss,

Your column only exists to appeal to the lowest, most base of human interests. Why would you suggest that those working in the White House kitchen might have had anything to do with Carl Minkus’s death? Don’t you have better things to do? Olivia Paras runs that kitchen with energy, pride, and dignity. It’s your column and the garbage you and your followers spew that’s keeping her from being able to return to her job. Stop blaming her for canceling the Easter Egg Roll. It’s your fault. You, and people like you, only want to sell newspapers, rather than find the truth.

Sincerely,
An Angry Reader

My, my. Angry Reader indeed. She asks (and I use the pronoun “she” with confidence) if I have nothing better to do. Well, today I want to say, “Thanks, Mom,” because after reading your letter, I did find something very interesting to do. I took a closer look at our country’s executive chef and discovered that Ms. Paras’s mother and grandmother are currently in town visiting their famous progeny. You, faithful readers, will recall that Olivia Paras has already made a name for herself (can you say “notorious”?) while in our nation’s employ. Earlier this week, I broached the idea that Ms. Paras may have gotten bored and played Russian roulette with dinner with no thought to its disastrous consequences, but I gave up that idea after White House press agents suggested I lay off. Fair enough. But yesterday’s entreaty by Ms. Paras’s mother (and can there be any doubt who wrote that?) now urges me to take a closer look.

Does Ms. Paras care to tell us why she spent so much time meeting in secret with Suzie and Steve—the SizzleMasters—last night? After all, they, too, are under suspicion. Stay tuned, faithful readers. In coming days
Liss Is More
may have more to share about SizzleMaster Steve’s history with the dead agent Minkus.

Let’s all take this time to look up the word
collusion
in our respective dictionaries, shall we?

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