Affairs of Steak (20 page)

That was a surprise. “What do you need?”

“I spoke with Milton. I think he was more than a little embarrassed. It took some coaxing, but he did admit to hanging around your apartment two nights ago.”

“He did?”

“My lowlife nephew admitted to creeping around your apartment. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not as much as it would if that guy who followed me on the subway was shadowing me. Milton is harmless, isn’t he?”

Sargeant’s lips were set in a thin line. He breathed deeply through his nose. “To you, yes.”

“What did he do to you to make you hate him so much?”

My question clearly took him aback. “I don’t hate him.”

“You give a mighty fine impression of it.”

Whatever he might have been willing to say disappeared as his face closed up. “Will you talk to this Lynn person?” he asked.

“I’ll do my best.”

His mouth twisted. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

Back in the kitchen, Bucky pointed upward. “Doug wants to see you the minute you’re back.”

“What now?”

Bucky shook his head “It’s always something.”

Doug was on the phone when I knocked at the jamb of his open door. Mouthing, “Just a minute,” he indicated I should take a seat. “Count me in. I haven’t gone out with you guys in a while,” he said into the phone. “Thanks, Wyatt. Talk to you later.”

When he hung up, I asked, “Wyatt Becker?”

Doug didn’t seem to mind my nosiness. “Yeah. He’s getting a group together to go camping. We used to go every few months. Now we’re lucky if we make it once a year.”

“I didn’t know you and Wyatt were friends on the outside.”

“Hard to make friends anywhere else when we spend so much time here.”

“True enough. You wanted to see me?”

He pulled out a pad of scribbled notes. “It’s about Virgil.”

“Is he really going to Camp David?”

“I thought it best.”

“Why?” I asked. “That’s just avoiding the problem. We need to work this out.”

“Not until both of you cool down. You can’t constantly harass the new guy, Ollie.”

“
Me?
If anyone is harassing people, it’s Virgil. He’s wild, unpredictable, and downright mean to our kitchen assistants. He doesn’t need time to regroup. What he needs is to be taught manners. He’s not going to learn that up at Camp David.”

“It’s for the best.”

“Just the opposite.”

Doug stared at me. “Paul didn’t tell me you were this argumentative.”

“Paul understood people. He knew how to facilitate cooperation. You could have learned a lot from him.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

I had clearly overstepped my boundaries. Quieting the fury roiling in my gut, I stared back. “Paul let me run the kitchen the way I knew best. I came to him with problems if there were any. Virgil needs to respect the chain of command. That’s how we’ve always functioned around here because that’s the way it works best. Paul would have told Virgil to try to work things out with me first. If that didn’t resolve the issue, Paul would have set up a meeting with the three of us to talk things out.”

Something behind Doug’s eyes shifted. I recognized it. He knew I was right. The question was, would he admit it so we could move forward, or would he dig in his heels and refuse to back down?

“I’m not going to tell him he can’t go,” he said finally.

“I think that’s a mistake.”

Doug’s eyes went flat. “Thank you for stopping by, Ollie.”

My hands worked themselves into fists as I made my way back to the kitchen. Bucky looked up as I walked in, and took a step back. “Whoa. What happened?”

I didn’t often lose my temper. At the moment, I wasn’t out of control, but I was having a hard time keeping a handle on my emotions. “Can’t we ever catch a break around here?”

Bucky didn’t say a word.

“Our job is to work as a team to prepare all the White House meals, right?”

He nodded, looking afraid.

“So then why, I ask, do we need a chef dedicated to handling the First Family’s daily meals? On his own? That is detrimental to the team spirit, if you ask me. Of course,” I grumbled, “no one’s asking me. But fine. I could have dealt with Virgil if Doug had stayed out of this mess. But no.” I shook a finger. “Paul wouldn’t have interfered.”

Bucky still didn’t interrupt.

I took a breath. “Virgil’s going up to Camp David, with Doug’s blessing. How does that look? Like we both said—you know that Virgil has the First Lady’s ear.”

“You’ve got some capital with her, too, you know. Especially after Virgil bailed when Josh was in danger.”

“Yeah.” Bucky was right about that, but I didn’t want to stop. I needed to keep up my tirade. I needed to vent.

“Doug’s just new in the job,” he said. “He’s bound to make mistakes.”

“Are you trying to make me less angry?”

Bucky smiled. “Is it working?”

“No,” I said. “Yes.”

“We’ll get through this, Ollie. We always do.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t convinced.

“At the risk of sending you into another downward spiral—what did Sargeant want?”

“Actually, Sargeant brought good news.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“I told you about his nephew, Milton. It seems as though he’s been loitering around my apartment the past couple days.”

“And that’s good news?”

“Better him than whoever killed Cawley and Woodruff.”

Bucky grimaced. “Good point.”

“That reminds me,” I said, picking up the phone. “I need to see if the Secret Service is willing to call off the guard.”

I left a message for Tom to call me at his earliest convenience. I didn’t want to be a bother, but I also didn’t want to have to deal with the Secret Service watching my every coming and going.

Bucky and I worked side by side. As cranky as Bucky could be, he was silent most of the time and I preferred a calm, quiet kitchen over one with a raging lunatic chef ordering everyone around. As soon as Virgil got back, he and I were going to have a chat. Before then, I just needed to figure out exactly what I wanted to say and the optimal way to word it.

After about an hour of mulling and after multiple rehashings of my conversation with Doug, I asked Bucky, “Do you know Wyatt Becker, the social aide?”

He shook his head. “Should I?”

“He’s been here enough. You’ve probably seen him.”

We worked a little longer.

“Was there a reason you wanted to know?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, half surprised by the question. “I just…”

He waited.

“You’ll keep this confidential?”

Bucky cocked one eyebrow, as if to say, “Don’t I always?”

“Sargeant and I have been working with Wyatt Becker.”

“From the look on your face, I take it you don’t much care for the guy.”

“That obvious, huh?” I asked. “I met him once, and my impression is that he’s the worst kind of wimp.”

“There are levels of wimp?”

“Wimps can be pleasant enough, given the right circumstances. But this one is totally stuck on himself.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, got it. What does he have to do with you?”

“He’s been assigned to help me and Sargeant work on this event. But I can’t stand the guy.”

“You?” Bucky said, bringing his hands to his chest, “Be still my heart. Except for Sargeant and Virgil, I thought you liked everybody.”

Gracing him with a mock withering glare, I went on, “There’s something so smug about this guy. He keeps telling us about how he saved the day here, or prevented calamity there. But all he does is sneak around, promise what he can’t deliver, then hide out of sight until the storm passes.”

“Maybe he’s been taking lessons from Sargeant.”

I laughed. “Good one. Big difference, though. At least with Sargeant you know exactly where you stand. He has no compunction letting me know he can’t tolerate me. I’m able to deal with that. It’s real. It’s tangible. This may sound weird, but with Sargeant there’s no pressure. Nothing I do for him will ever change his opinion of me, so I don’t worry about it.”

“Sounds like you’re going soft on him.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Don’t let the wimps and bullies get to you,” he said. “I’ve been around this place a long time. I’ve seen people come and go. Sure, there are exceptions, but for the most part, those of us who put our heads down and do our jobs well are recognized. Those that don’t are found out soon enough.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Except that doesn’t apply to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You never keep your head down.”

“Ha-ha.”

The phone rang next to me and I picked it up. “Ollie, it’s Tom. Got your message. I’d rather do this in person,” he said. “Can you stop by my office in about ten minutes?”

I looked at my watch. “I’ll be right there.”

When I hung up, Bucky said, “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“From the look on your face and the tone of your voice, I’m worried.”

“Don’t be.” I pulled out my pen and began writing a few notes. “Just a quick trip over to Secret Service. I have no idea how long I’ll be, but here are a few ideas I wanted to talk with you about regarding the party. Given how today is already scattering, I’m afraid if I wait much longer, I’ll forget something.”

“You’re using your new pen. Any particular reason?”

I looked at him, deadpan. “To write with?”

“Or because it reminds you of Ethan Nagy’s visit here? Cyan is convinced he wants you to call him.”

“Cyan’s got stars in her eyes.” I held up the pen. “This is a nice remembrance of doing a good deed. They didn’t need to give me anything, but I take my positives wherever I can.”

“So you’re not interested in Nagy?”

“Why, are
you
trying to set me up now?”

He gave me a shrewd look. “Not if you’re already seeing someone.”

I felt the blush rise to my cheeks.

He grinned. “I knew it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I need to get over to Secret Service, pronto.”

“I’ll hold down the fort.”

I started off but stopped at the doorway. “Not that it matters,” I said, feeling lame even as I asked, “but who exactly do you think I’m seeing?”

Bucky smiled enigmatically. “Get going. You don’t want to be late.”

There was no way Bucky knew about Gav. No possible
way. As I made my way to the Secret Service office in the West Wing, I argued with myself. Gav and I had something, clearly, but we hadn’t yet defined exactly what that was. A tight friendship? Something more? And who the heck said it needed to be defined immediately anyway?

The only thing stopping us at this point was his reluctance to move forward. Based on what he’d told me about his two prior relationships, I understood his fears completely. But I didn’t know what I could do to help him see that what we had was different. That he wasn’t a jinx.

Tom was waiting for me. “Come on in,” he said, “and shut the door.”

I complied and sat down.

“If I get this straight, you want us to cut your Secret Service detail, correct?”

“That’s it in a nutshell. Mrs. Wentworth, my neighbor—”

“I remember Mrs. Wentworth.”

I felt the blush creep up again. Of course he did. “She saw someone hanging around my apartment.”

“I know.”

“I found out it was Milton Folgate, Peter Sargeant’s nephew.”

The look on Tom’s face would have been comical in a different circumstance. “I heard he showed up yesterday morning to talk with you. What’s going on here, Ollie? Why is he bothering you?”

“Mostly he just wants a job at the White House, and he thinks I have some pull.”

“Hello? Reality check. You don’t get hired by the White House when you’re caught stalking the staff.”

“Yeah, well…He also wanted to share that information about the double murder.”

Tom looked at me. “What information?”

“I talked with one of your agents here yesterday,” I said, then explained about the guy who had bumped into Sargeant that morning, and about Milton shouting after him.

Tom nodded. “I remember that from your statement. But no one here said anything about this yesterday. Go on.”

There had been a lot of bad press over the past few months about mishandlings by the Secret Service, and I wondered now how much of that was based in fact. Tom should have been apprised immediately. “Milton swears he saw him again. With another guy. When I asked him to describe this other fellow, it sounded a lot like Brad, who’d followed me on the Metro.”

Tom blew out a breath as he wrote a note on the pad next to him. “Why is it always—”

“Me?” I shook a finger at him. “Don’t say it.”

He looked up. “Fair enough. Is that it?”

“The two guys met a third guy.”

“Description?”

“Not much. Just that Milton knows he works for the government. Unfortunately, he can’t remember where he’s seen him before.”

“That’s not much, but every little bit helps. He told you all this yesterday?”

“Yeah, but he’d been drinking. I could smell it on him. I can’t promise that anything he said is worth anything.”

“Probably not.”

“So,” I asked, “since it was Milton hanging around my place, can we dispense with the armed escort?”

“I’ll consider it.”

My face must have fallen because he added, “I can’t make that decision right here and now without giving it careful consideration. There’s no doubt in my mind that whoever Brad was, he was somehow involved in the murders and possibly also in Mr. Bettencourt’s disappearance. If this Milton fellow is right and Brad is connected with your ‘bump guy’ from the day of the murder…” Tom stopped, looked up and closed his eyes. “I’m starting to sound like you. We don’t have any evidence that the bump guy is in any way connected, yet I’m starting to see conspiracies.”

“If Milton saw him with Brad, that’s something.”

“You said that you never got a clear look at the bump guy’s face and that you didn’t believe Sargeant or Milton
did either. How can he be so sure he’s seeing the same person now?”

“Good point. No idea.”

“Everybody wants to help the Secret Service.”

“Take it as a compliment.”

“Not when they think we’re falling on our faces.”