Julie Hyzy - Hail to the Chef

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“And you swear you saw this thing shoot water to the ceiling.”

“Just short of the ceiling.”

“But you swear you saw it.”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Well, there ain’t nothing wrong with this here fountain,” he said. “What kind of game are you playing, anyway?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“All I ever wanted from you,” I said in a clear voice, “was to answer one question. And before you shut me up again, here it is: A friend I trust has been an electrician for more than fifty years. He told me that more than one expert has been killed by floating neutrals. We had that storm the day of Gene’s accident, remember? My friend just suggested I ask you to check to make sure the White House is safe. All I ever wanted from you was to make sure the house was safe. Okay?”

Angry now, I stood and didn’t intend to look back before I left him sitting under the fountain. But I did look back and was immediately sorry. Though not directed at me, the intensity of his furious gaze nearly made me miss a step.

BINDY WAS WAITING FOR ME IN THE KITCHEN when I arrived.

“Are they there?” she asked me.

I didn’t understand. “Are who where?”

Behind her, Bucky rolled his eyes. “We have a lot of work to do here,” he admonished. “I hope you’re not planning to stay long.”

Bindy’s face reddened. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just felt as though I needed to make sure. They’ve closed off the upstairs to everyone until noon.” She looked at her watch. “But I promised Treyton I’d double-check on the placement of his kids’ gingerbread men.”

Senator Blanchard had very clearly washed his hands of the White House-at least until he himself could call the place home. There was no mistaking that, after last night’s arguments. Bindy was apparently far out of the loop. “Maybe there’s something you ought to know,” I said. “Give me a minute here and we’ll talk, okay?”

I went around to the computer where I checked my schedule, to ensure we weren’t running behind.

Bindy watched as I took turns to speak with each of the chefs. My first duty was to make sure that the kitchen produced the quality edibles we were known for, so I didn’t skimp on any of my questions. Nor did I harbor any fondness for Bindy’s boss. Let her wait.

“I’ll be out in the hall,” she said when Cyan pulled me back toward the storage area.

“Thank goodness,” I said under my breath.

Agda smiled and asked us to move out of her way as she slid a tray of petit-fours into the large stainless steel refrigerator.

I kept my voice low. “Can you believe she’s still bugging me about those gingerbread men?”

“Give it a rest, girl,” Cyan said. “Did you tell her they’re safe and sound in their place of honor?” She shook her head, then turned the subject back to our current concerns. “Whatever. I’ve got a slight change to the design we decided on for the lobster cake appetizer.”

She was about to reach into the same refrigerator Agda was using when the taller woman tilted her head and closed the door. “Pretty men?” she asked us.

We both looked at her, not understanding.

The blonde bombshell pulled her lips in as though trying to decide how to word what she wanted to convey. She held up three fingers. “Gingerbread from box?” she asked.

I remembered that Agda had been there when we received the three additions from the Blanchard family. I nodded. “Yes.”

“Very pretty,” she said again.

With Bindy waiting for me out in the hall and several thousand appetizers waiting for my approval in the next room, I was eager to put an end to this not-so-scintillating conversation. “They truly are,” I said, eager to see the change Cyan wanted to show me.

Agda put her hand on my arm. “They are broken?”

“No,” I said. “Last I looked, they were upstairs.”

She shook her head. “Yi-im,” she said, pronouncing his name Yim instead of Yee-eem. “He is fixing them, no?”

Now I was totally confused. “No. No one is fixing them. They’re upstairs.” I asked Cyan, “When did you last see them?”

She thought about it. “This morning. Yeah. All three were there. They looked fine to me.”

“And I saw them about an hour ago,” I said. I’d hate to think that one of them fell off their little posts. I turned to Agda. “Did one of them fall?”

She held up her hands in the universal language of “I don’t know.” Biting her lip before she spoke again, she said, “Yi-im tell me to shh.” She placed a finger over her lips. “He say he break it, he fix it.”

“When was this?” I asked.

Her big eyes moved up and to the left. “Eight o’clock, at night.”

“Yesterday?”

She nodded.

“Wow, that’s pretty specific,” I said.

She may not have understood my surprised reaction, but she must have understood my meaning. “I have couple minutes before I go home last night,” she said. “I want to see White House upstairs. Yi-im say, ‘Shhh.’ ”

“You asked him about it?”

“Yah. He say he fixing.” She tilted her head. “Fixing all three.”

With Agda and Yi-im and their combined broken English, I couldn’t begin to guess what either of them really meant. I rubbed my eyes. The last thing we needed was another loose end. “Maybe I should go check,” I said.

Cyan gave me a look. “And what will you tell Bindy if one of her precious decorations is broken?”

I was already moving back into the main part of the kitchen with a plan to keep Bindy at bay. “Maybe she doesn’t have to know.”

She was pacing the Center Hall when I returned. “Took you long enough,” she said.

I swallowed my annoyance at her snippy remark, deciding instead to go on the offensive. “I don’t know why you even care about these gingerbread men anymore.”

“I told you that Senator Blanchard was very eager to have his children’s-”

“What difference does it make if he and his family aren’t coming today?”

When her jaw dropped just a little, I realized she really hadn’t been brought up to speed.

“Bindy,” I said. “I am not one to tell stories out of school, but I have the distinct impression that Senator Blanchard is intent on severing his ties with the White House. And I have it on good authority that he is boycotting today’s event. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

That one struck a nerve. She pulled her shoulders back. “I spoke with Senator Blanchard just before I came here. And he told me to make sure everything was still in place for the photo-op. That’s why I came. To make sure the kids’ men are where they can be seen.”

Blanchard must have had a change of heart, I thought. But he’d made things perfectly clear to Mrs. Campbell yesterday. I wondered what had changed, why his bitterness had suddenly made the leap to good sense.

I sighed. “I’ll be the first to admit that plans change here faster than a collapsing soufflé. But I can’t take you upstairs.”

“Can you just go check and report back to me?”

Did she think I had nothing better to do than to double-check her boss’s whims? I bit the sides of my cheeks to keep from a snappy retort. I knew the relationship between Mrs. Campbell and Senator Blanchard was on shaky ground today. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for me to just take a peek and give her an update.

“Wait here.”

I took the steps two at a time and turned left when I made it to the top. Crossing the Entrance Hall, I hurried past the tall pillars toward the Red Room, my soft-soled shoes making tiny squeaks on the shiny floor. There were photographers in all the public rooms. They’d been granted early access in order to set up. Big, shiny, white flash umbrellas decorated each corner, and bright spotlights were clicked on and off, as light meters were tested.