Eggsecutive Orders (23 page)

Much to my dismay, Ruth Minkus spotted us talking with Liss. She immediately made her way over to us, Joel at her side.

I desperately wanted to run.

“Olivia,” she said, as she drew closer. “How kind of you to come.”

If she recognized Liss, she didn’t show it. She didn’t even acknowledge Kap.

I took Ruth Minkus’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Biting her lip, she looked away. Liss’s eyes narrowed and his gaze bounced among us all. I released Mrs. Minkus’s hand, expressed my condolences to Joel, then turned my body to exclude Liss from the group. Mom and Nana came in around me, and Kap followed, effectively closing Liss off from our conversation. “I don’t want to keep you from your guests,” I said to Ruth.

She glanced toward Kap, fixing him with a cool stare. “Would you mind? I need a moment alone with Olivia.”

My mind screamed,
“No!”
I wished we had never come to this thing, no matter how much Ruth had entreated. “We really should be going.”

Ruth turned to Joel, who seemed torn. “Go mingle,” she said, giving his arm a little shove. “Your father would want you to talk to everyone here. To thank them.”

Reluctant to leave his mother, he tried to argue.

“I’m fine right now,” she said. “And this is important. Go on.”

Joel left.

I wasn’t keen on leaving my mother in Kap’s clutches, but she was a savvy, grown woman. There wasn’t much I could—or should—do to stop her. Plus, Nana was with her. I wondered for a moment if this was how parents felt when their children started dating: worried, protective, unwilling to let go. I blew out a breath and followed Ruth to the far left of the room. We were near the digital display where the slideshow of Carl Minkus photos played. The current shot was one of him in uniform.

Ruth’s eyes clenched shut and she looked away.

This side of the room had at least as many—if not more—floral arrangements than the other side had. I tried not to breathe in the sickeningly sweet scent as I read the gift cards in an effort to give Ruth a chance to compose herself. After a moment, she spoke. “I really have to get back to greet everyone who came here.” Her eyes widened and she again looked ready to cry. “But I needed to ask you something.”

“Of course.”

In the space of the seconds it took for her to speak again, I wondered what was hardwired into our brains that prompted us to forgive transgressions and promise cooperation to those who grieved. Ruth Minkus had been horribly rude to me not two days earlier. And yet, here I was.

“I read Mr. Liss’s column,” she began. “And I know you’re friends with Suzie and Steve.”

I waited.

She blinked a few times. “There was something about Steve my husband didn’t care for.”

I still waited.

“Do you . . . that is, would you have any idea what the bad blood is between them?”

Time for my best defense—deflection. “What makes you believe there was bad blood between them?”

Her eyes were glazed as though reflecting on old memories. Whatever she found there made her mouth tighten. “Carl wouldn’t tell me. And I knew better than to press.” Blinking again, she stared at the front of the room, where her husband lay in repose. I knew she couldn’t see him through the throng, but her breaths became short and shallow. Looking away, she suppressed a shudder. “If I would have known the SizzleMasters were in the kitchen that day . . .”

“You don’t really believe that they could have had anything to do with your husband’s death?”

Ruth Minkus’s face flushed and I could see how much of a toll this conversation was having on her. Her entire body trembled. “Did they say anything to you? Did they do anything suspicious the day of the dinner?” She put both hands on my forearm. “Please, if you can think of anything that can help me make this go away, please do.”

My logical brain wanted to tell her that nothing would make this sorrow go away except time, but I knew that victims, and families of victims, sometimes needed closure in order to begin the grieving process. With the suddenness of Minkus’s death, Ruth needed anything she could to help her hold on. That’s what she was searching for. I couldn’t blame her.

“I’ll do what I can. But right now, you probably have to get back.”

She nodded. “Thank you for coming, Olivia. May I call you Ollie?”

“Sure,” I said. Unable to resist my natural impulse, I again took her hand. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

 

 

We hadn’t gotten a half block away from the funeral home when Nana piped up from the back seat. “Odd,” she said.

I glanced at her through the rearview mirror to see her staring out the side window, with a look of concentration. Like she was trying to work something out in her head.

My mom twisted in her seat. “What’s odd?”

“The photos on that digital whatchamawhoozis.”

Relieved to be away from the place, and finding her choice of words humorous, I smiled. “What was wrong with them?”

Nana shook her head. “Not ‘wrong’ exactly.” She made a face. “Just incomplete, somehow.”

I hadn’t spent much time checking out the digital display, and had only caught that one quick glimpse of Minkus in uniform.

“I mean,” Nana continued, “when I go to these wakes, I always see pictures from the person’s childhood—and college pictures—and wedding pictures.” She resumed looking out the window. “The only pictures here were recent ones. Or political ones. I mean, I think there were three different shots of him with presidents.”

“Maybe that’s what Carl Minkus would have wanted,” Mom said.

I nodded. “I’m sure it is. He was climbing the ladder, no two ways about it.”

“By making enemies along the way.”

I glanced again at Nana in the backseat. She was thinking about Joe McCarthy, I could tell.

“Who was that big military guy with all the medals on his uniform?” she asked.

There had to have been a dozen well-decorated military types in attendance. “Which one?”

She described him well enough for me to recognize. “General Brighton. He’s another big hot shot,” I said. “Why?”

“He was talking with your boyfriend.”

“What?” I asked. “Tom was there?”

A half-second later I realized I’d jumped to an erroneous conclusion. Nana tapped Mom on the shoulder. “No,” Nana said to me. “He was talking with Kap. For quite a while.”

“Washington is a small place,” I said, trying to process that “boyfriend” comment as it related to my mother. “Almost everyone knows everyone else.”

“Something about their conversation,” Nana said.

“You eavesdropped?”

“Don’t I wish! I couldn’t get close enough to really hear everything they were saying.”

I was reminded of Tom’s comment about the apple not falling far from the tree.

“But you heard something?”

“They both used words like China and classified,” she said, clearly proud of herself.

She must have caught the look on my face, because she added, “I
did
hear them say that. They were about the only words I could make out, but they were clear as day. Of course, they also said Minkus’s name. Several times.” She held up a finger. “The thing is—I could tell from their body language that whatever it was, it was really important.”

When we got home I decided to leave a voicemail for Paul Vasquez, and I was surprised when he personally picked up his phone.

“Good to hear from you, Ollie. How are you holding up?”

We talked for a while before I hit him with my big request. “Is there any way at all we can get back into the kitchen?”

I heard him take a breath, as though preparing to let me down, so I interrupted.

“This may sound stupid, Paul, but at the Minkus wake tonight nobody really seemed to pay me any mind. I think the big theory suggesting the kitchen staff had anything to do with Minkus’s death has just about died down.”

“You attended Carl Minkus’s wake?” There was uneasiness in Paul’s voice. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“I didn’t,” I explained hastily. “I met Ruth Minkus for the first time just a few days ago at Arlington, and she insisted I attend.”

He was silent for a moment. “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe it. Odd things seem to happen around you, Ollie.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m trying to change that.”

He was silent for a heartbeat. “What about Suzie and Steve?”

I knew what he wasn’t saying: that even if it hadn’t been any of our staff members, we were—that is, I was—still responsible for every plate that left the kitchen. If Suzie and Steve were guilty of poisoning Minkus, my head wouldn’t just roll. It would bounce down the stairs.

“I don’t think they had anything to do with it.”

“Oh, Ollie,” he said with resignation. “I wish I could make the decision this minute to bring you and your team back, but my hands are tied. I’m sorry.”

“Do you know if there has been any progress at all?” I asked, wanting to prolong the call. It was my only tie to the White House right now, and it seemed a lifeline. The longer we talked, I reasoned, the better the chance that an aide would rush in and tell Paul the ban had been lifted. “Are we expecting any news soon?”

Another resigned sigh. “You know I would tell you if I could.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m working to get you back here,” he said with the first glimmer of cheer I’d heard all night. “But I hope you’re not planning to stir anything up.”

I thought about my promise to Tom. “Don’t worry. I’m behaving myself.”

But I wondered if Tom realized how much that was killing me.

CHAPTER 17

BACK AT MY APARTMENT, OVER MILK AND COFFEE cake, I called everyone to order. “Listen,” I said, “remember when those kids bullied me when I was little?”

Mom and Nana nodded.

“And remember how you told me that by giving in to my fears, I was allowing them power over me?”

Again, they nodded.

“Well, isn’t that what Liss is doing?” I asked.

Mom nodded. “That’s exactly right.”

“Let’s promise ourselves not to read his articles anymore,” I said. “Let’s refuse to let him have power over us.”

“I like that attitude, Ollie,” Mom said.

Nana yawned. “Me, too. As of right now—no more Liss.”

In the morning, when Mom asked, “Anything new in the headlines?” her tone was light, but her eyes asked if I’d cheated and peeked at what Liss had to say.

“More unrest in China,” I said, not rising to the bait. “Can you believe this?” I pointed. “The Chinese government is now claiming that the United States is responsible for the double-assassination.”

Her interest was piqued. She leaned over my shoulder as Nana came in, freshly showered and dressed to go out. We both looked up. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“I have a very good feeling about today,” she said, patting her fanny pack. “I want to be ready.”

“Good,” I said. “Maybe I can take you to see more of Washington.”

“Wow,” Mom said, scanning the article. “According to this, the two men who were killed had been wanted for questioning by the United States. The Chinese government is now saying it was the Americans who assassinated them instead.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Read it yourself.”

I did. The story was written by a U.S. correspondent clearly attempting to distance himself from any factual inaccuracies. He repeatedly talked about his sources and suggested, more than once, that presented facts should not be taken as true until proven. But, he also discussed the wild claims of the Chinese government and what it might mean to the United States if their allegations were true.

“So,” I said, slowly, trying to distill the information down to its key points. “They’re saying that they sent spies here and once we discovered them, we went over there to kill them? That seems so wrong.” I shook my head. “That can’t be the whole story.”