Perhaps reading the expressions on our faces, he quickly added, “We want to keep things private.”
“Sure,” I said, but his words hit me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. As I went back to preparations-cleaning the asparagus and baby greens-Liss’s not-so-subtle threat to make my relationship with Tom public sent a shooting pain of fear up the back of my throat.
“What’s wrong, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You’re pale.”
To tell the truth, I felt pale. A sadness I couldn’t reach sickened me. And I knew this queasy dread wouldn’t go away until I could make things right. The question was, how? I took a deep breath. “I need some air,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
Even as I strode out of the kitchen, I was pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I made my way outside into one of the courts that flanked the North Portico. “Tom,” I said when he answered.
“What’s wrong?”
The fact that he could tell so quickly that something was wrong was not lost on me. He and I had gotten to that point where we could often anticipate what the other would say. Comfort. We’d had that. For a while, at least.
I wanted to talk. But I knew this wasn’t a conversation for the phone. “Something’s come up.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes.” Gosh, I was not handling this very well. “Everyone is fine. But Liss-Howard Liss.”
“You’re back in the White House, aren’t you? I heard you got the all-clear today. I wanted to call, but I’m in training today.”
“Oh, you’re busy?”
“We’re on a break right now. Your timing is phenomenal.”
“At least something is.”
“Talk to me, but make it quick. We’re being called back in for the next session.”
There was no way to put this in a thirty-second conversation. “Just do me a favor and call me when you get out, okay? Call me first before you do anything. Will you do that?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I cringed. That was a lie. “It will keep until you call me.” I hoped that was the truth.
“Ollie, you’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you later. But it’ll be okay.” I felt a swift stab in my heart. “I have it all figured out.”
He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news. But I do have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“As soon as you get out, right?”
“That very moment.”
I rolled my shoulders but didn’t feel any better. That queasy sensation was still there. I stared up at the sky from between the court’s side walls. Overcast today. I shivered. It was cold outside, but I just noticed it now. My sorrowful mood did not have its genesis in Liss’s threat. Liss had only exacerbated an awareness that was already there. I knew what I needed to do. But I wondered if I had the strength to do it.
The sky above held no answers, so I made my way inside to the kitchen’s warmth, where life always felt safest.
Marguerite Schumacher, the White House social secretary, met me in the hallway. “I was just coming to talk with you.” Pert and dark, she had limitless energy, and a tenacity that I admired. “Have you heard about the plans?”
I told her I had. “I’m just disappointed that they’re cancelling the post-party. Everyone always looks forward to that.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I have to tell you, at first I thought canceling the party portion was a bad idea. But after talking with Mrs. Campbell, I understand where she’s coming from.”
“Having a party just a week after Minkus’s death wouldn’t look good?”
“That,” Marguerite agreed, “and…”
“What else? What are they not telling us?”
She placed a finger on her lips. “Don’t share this with anyone else.”
I felt my heart skip a beat. “What is it?”
For the third time today, the person I was talking with looked both directions before speaking. Anyone else might have started to develop a complex. But I understood. That’s part of the world I chose to live in.
Something else clicked in that moment. That realization that I was always in the middle of things. That’s who I was.
“You remember our last big holiday?” Marguerite asked.
“How could I forget?” The days leading up to the official White House holiday open house had been eventful, to say the least.
“Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want to take any chances this time. She wants the children to have their event, but, in her words, doesn’t want ‘to tempt fate’ by entertaining all the adults later that evening.”
“ ‘Tempt fate,’ ” I repeated.
Marguerite nodded. “At least until the Minkus investigation is completed.”
“So she believes Minkus was murdered?”
“I really can’t say.”
I watched her reaction. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
She gave a Mona Lisa smile. “I really can’t say.” Then, deflecting my question, she brought me up to date on the expected guests, and explained that there would be additional security-more than usual-on the grounds that day.
“But they never considered canceling the entire event?”
Marguerite gave me a weary look. “You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. Cancelling the kids’ events would be such a disappointment. There are families who look forward to this all year. Some come from across the country just for the chance to participate. Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want to let them down.”
“What about the clowns and the book readings and the magic shows?”
“Of course. We’ll still have all of that.”
“But there will be added security.”
“A lot of added security.”
“And the guests aren’t going to notice?”
She grinned. “In an effort to keep people from feeling uncomfortable, the extra Secret Service agents will be in costume.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Not bunnies?”
She laughed. “Some of them. Others will just be dressed like regular partygoers and will mingle in the crowd.”
“Good plan,” I said. “Thanks for the update, I’ll let my team know.”
A glance at my watch reminded me that my mom and Kap were probably on their date right now. I considered calling my mom’s cell just to check in, but nobody likes a buttinsky, and that was exactly what I would be. I thought about calling my apartment. Maybe Nana would be able to give me an update on the situation.
I made sure to refrigerate tonight’s bruschetta topping before making the call. Just as I pulled my cell phone out again, Bucky grabbed my arm, then let go almost immediately, as if surprised by his own action. “They want me upstairs.”
“Who does?”
“The Secret Service.” He swallowed. “They say they have a few more questions for me. Oh my God, they think I did it, don’t they?”
My number one assistant, I was discovering, went from zero to sixty in the space of a heartbeat. I’d never known anyone who flipped from emotionless to panicked with such speed.
“Bucky,” I said, with intense calm, “if they thought you did it, would they have allowed you back into the kitchen?” I extended my arm out toward our work stations and all the items we had in progress. “Would they allow you to cook for the president of the United States of America if they suspected you of murder?”
Bucky held his hands to his head. “We haven’t served the food, have we? No. They just brought us here for more questioning.”
“Why are you so afraid?”
My question seemed to stun him. “Why aren’t you?” he asked, stepping back. “This Minkus situation gives them the right to poke their noses into our private lives.”
“Yes, but-”
“What will happen if they find out that I’m living with…” He widened his eyes as if to say “You know who.” Rubbing his hands over his face, he groaned. “I could lose my job. I could lose…”