“Maybe,” Bucky said, “we should be looking at who’s staying off-camera.”
Together we accounted for everyone in the kitchen staff, including Suzie and Steve. Occasionally someone left the room-to get something from storage, or from the refrigerators, or for any number of reasons. With everyone in constant motion, there was no way to determine any unnecessary off-camera forays. Even after studying the outtakes.
“If there was anything in Minkus’s food, I doubt it was in the salad,” I said. “Everyone had that. Same with a few of the sides, and dessert. It had to be the entrée. Otherwise there would have been too much chance that he didn’t get the right one.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I sat up.
“You don’t think that maybe it was the salad-or the dessert-and it was meant for someone else?” Cyan asked.
The thought was too terrible to contemplate. Had someone targeted President Campbell and missed? I shook my head. “Let’s not get crazy here. Let’s just deal with what we know.”
“We know squat,” Bucky said.
Mom and Brandy got up and went into the kitchen. After another five minutes of futile food-prep-watching, I took a look at my watch and realized we were running much later than I’d expected. “I have to go to Minkus’s wake tonight,” I said, standing.
Cyan and Bucky both said, “What?” so quickly, it startled Nana awake.
I gave them the lowdown on Ruth Minkus’s phone call.
“That’s a little odd,” Cyan said.
Mom was still out of the room, so I lowered my voice. “Not when you understand the back story.” I told her about Kap and about his efforts to smooth things over between Ruth Minkus and me. “Probably just because he’s attracted to my mom.”
Nana had roused herself enough to add, “He sure doesn’t try to hide it.”
“So, you’re actually going to the wake?” Cyan asked disbelievingly.
“I hate those things,” Bucky said.
I gave him a look. “Like anyone enjoys them.”
I had no desire to visit a funeral home tonight, but I hardly felt able to refuse. Ruth had asked me to come. And though I barely knew the woman, I had to believe she would not have taken the time to call me if she hadn’t felt compelled to. Who’s to say how different people deal with grief? Maybe I represented closure for her.
After stopping back at my apartment to shower off the day’s egg smell and to change into appropriate clothing, my family and I drove to the funeral home in a Maryland suburb.
“Don’t they usually have services in the Capitol for big shots like Minkus?” Nana asked.
I smiled at her in my rearview mirror. “I think they save that honor for presidents,” I said. “Besides, this place is probably near the Minkus home. I’m sure Ruth made the final decision on where her husband would be waked.”
“Took them long enough,” Nana said with a sniff.
“They had to wait for the autopsy,” I said. My heart did that speed-beat thing it always did when I thought about how much my career hung on the medical examiner’s findings. I knew things moved a lot more slowly than they did on television, but it had already been four days.
My mom was riding shotgun and was staring out at the scenery as we drove. “You okay?” I asked.
She had been twisting the rings on her fingers. “Fine, fine.”
I waited.
“I was just thinking about your dad.”
“Still miss him?” I asked.
“Every day.”
CHAPTER 16
RUTH MINKUS HAD CHOSEN THIS FUNERAL home with care. The parking lot was expansive, and the venue stately. I offered to drop Nana off under the huge canopy-covered entrance, but she snapped good-naturedly, “What, are you saying I’m too old to walk?”
I shook my head and parked in one of the last available spots, about a half block from the front door. We walked past dozens of dark government-issue sedans and shiny, expensive imports, my pumps making lonely taps on the sidewalk. Outside, people mingled. Men and women in business suits stood around in small groups. A few of them smoked, and all of them looked up to see who was arriving. Just as quickly, they returned to their conversations, dismissing us as unimportant. I was okay with that. People didn’t often recognize me without my tunic and toque. Tonight, I was grateful for the measure of anonymity.
There had to be a hundred floral pieces in the chapel, all sadly bright and all giving off that peculiar scent that let you know you were at a funeral, even if you were blindfolded. The newspaper obituary had requested donations to charity in lieu of flowers, but apparently lots of mourners didn’t get that memo. Either that, or this was yet another place where even politics didn’t die. An impressive floral arrangement might not provide the family much solace, but it had the potential to say a lot about the generosity of the giver.
Well-dressed individuals waited in line to pay their respects to Ruth and Joel Minkus-there were at least fifty people in front of us. As we inched forward, I took the opportunity to read the cards on some of the floral sprays. Two huge red, white, and blue arrangements with gold ribbons flanked the casket. My mom raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed. “Those are probably from the White House,” I said. Then, “Hey, look at this.”
They leaned close. “It’s from his health club.” The three of us exchanged a look of amazement. “Geez, when a big shot dies, everybody sends flowers, huh?”
Over the course of the next ten minutes, we read all the other gift cards within our reach, but we hadn’t moved more than a few feet.
“Maybe we can just sign the book and leave?” I suggested.
If my mom had been hoping to see Kap tonight, she clearly was dissuaded by the press of the crowd. “Maybe that would be best.”
Nana was scanning the room, eyes sharp. “Where’s the shrine?” she asked.
We both looked at her.
“You know-the poster board with pictures of Minkus. Milestones. Birth, marriage, vacations, his kid being born and growing up.” She made a 360-degree turn, twisting, as she did, to peer around the gathered family and friends.
I pointed to a table on the room’s far left where a silver-framed computer monitor stood. “No homemade poster,” I said. “Nowadays people opt for a digital display.”
She fixed me with a skeptical look. “You mean the family doesn’t sit around and laugh and talk and cry as they make the posters and remember all the good times together?”
“Sure they do,” I said. “But now, instead of messing up the original photographs with tape or glue, the funeral home scans them and presents them as a slide show.”
“This I gotta see,” she said. And she was off.
“Don’t they have those in Chicago?” I asked Mom.
She shrugged. “Maybe the rich folks do.”
I guided her out of line and sought out the line for the guest book. “With this crowd, Ruth Minkus wouldn’t have even noticed us. I’m sorry to have pulled you and Nana out for this.”
“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m just happy I raised a girl who does things right. I’m proud of you for coming here even though you didn’t feel like it.”
“Olivia Paras?”
I turned. A short gentleman extended his hand to me. Like all the other men here, he was wearing a suit, but unlike the other mourners, he wore a smile. “I’m very glad to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I’m Phil Cooper. This is my wife, Francine.”
I shook his hand and that of the knockout blonde woman next to him.
“I’m very sorry for all the trouble since Sunday’s dinner,” he said. “And, if I may say so without sounding crass, I truly enjoyed the meal you prepared for us.” He gave a self-conscious shrug. “I was enjoying the entire evening up until… well…”
He turned toward the casket for emphasis. He didn’t need to do that. We all knew what he meant.
“Thank you,” I said, not entirely certain that was the proper response.