Julie Hyzy - Eggsecutive Orders

“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…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Personally, I thought his fear was over the top. I didn’t believe for a moment that his relationship with a member of the Egg Board would cause any conflict of interest whatsoever. If it did, then what would be said about my relationship with Tom?

That thought dried my mouth. Thoughts of our talk later today sent pillars of fear driving down into my stomach. There was nothing I could say to Bucky to reassure him. And I wished there was because maybe then I could reassure myself.

But before I could even attempt, one of the Guzy brothers came into the kitchen. “Buckminster Reed?”

Bucky lifted his head.

“Come with me.”

Cyan and I tried to smile as Bucky left-an effort to make this sudden summons seem like no big deal-but he wasn’t buying it. His lips tight, he gave us a long, meaningful stare before following Guzy boy out of the room.

“He’ll be okay.” Hearing myself say the words actually made me feel a little bit better as though by virtue of will I could make everything okay. Weren’t we back in the White House? That was a step in the right direction, for sure.

Cyan said, “Yeah,” but her tone was unconvinced.

In addition to preparing dinner, we worked ahead. It had been so long since we’d been in the kitchen that there was a lot of catching up to do. Cyan and I barely spoke as we cleaned out old food that had gone bad and began chopping, cleaning, and slicing items we knew we would need going forward.

Just as we finished, Bucky returned. His pale face was covered with a sheen of perspiration. “What happened?” I asked.

His eyes were glassy. “The dossier,” he said.

Minkus’s. “What did they say?”

“They’re considering suspension.”