“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?
“Oh my God,” I said again. What had she done?
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, coming in to the kitchen, still in her nightgown.
I expelled a hot breath and had about one second to decide my next move. “Nothing,” I said. I shut the paper.
“You look like you’ve gotten some terrible news, honey.” Moving toward the countertop, she started to pour herself a cup of coffee.
“Why don’t you shower first,” I suggested. “I made that a while ago and it’s probably stale. I’ll make fresh.”
She gave the pot a curious look. “There’s plenty in there.”
“Yeah, but it’s a little weak.” I grimaced, lifting my half-filled mug. “You and I both like it stronger. I’ll put some of the weaker stuff in the carafe for Nana.”
Mom didn’t seem entirely convinced that I gave so much thought to our morning coffee, but she shrugged. “All right. I won’t be long. What are we doing today, anyway?”
“I have to make a few phone calls,” I said. That was an understatement. All I wanted at this moment was for her to leave so I could start damage control. “But I have a few ideas. We’ll talk about it after your shower.”
Finally, she left the room.