Fonduing Fathers (26 page)

“What do you want from me, Ingrid?”

“Mickey told me to give the box to you.”

That shut me up. “Me?”

She sounded near tears. “I’m worried about him. He isn’t so good in the world by himself, you know? He has problems.”

“I understand.”

“Can you meet me?” she asked. “He told me to give this to you, but he also said not to let anyone know I was doing it. That scares me. Like he thinks people are watching. He’s so paranoid, and most the time I think he’s just off his nut, you know? But it’s different this time.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out by where my sister lives. I took the train. Mickey said to stay away from home until it was safe. I could meet you somewhere close to you,” she said. “I know my way around the city.”

As oddball as I’d found Mickey Fitch, I couldn’t dismiss how much her words chilled me. “What time?” I looked at my watch.

“I don’t know, maybe about eight o’ clock? Eight-thirty?”

“At night?”

“It’ll take me a while to get out there from here. And I kinda want to keep moving, if you know what I mean.”

I thought of asking Gav if he—

Oh geez! Gav was still on the other line.

“Sure,” I said talking fast now. “How about we meet at one of the monuments or memorials,” I said. “You pick.”

“Oh…I don’t know.”

“How about the FDR one?” I suggested. “It’s not out in the open. We’ll be able to find a quiet place to talk.”

“I guess.”

“Which era?” I asked.

When she didn’t answer immediately, I realized I’d confused her.

“It’s in four sections,” I said, “like giant outdoor rooms, one for each of his presidencies. We can meet in any of them.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

I wracked my brain for a part of the exhibit she wouldn’t be able to miss. “The breadline,” I said, wanting to get back to Gav before I had to face Quinn. “There’s a life-sized sculpture of men standing in a breadline. I’ll meet you there.”

“Breadline?” she asked, unsure. “You mean…”

I was probably short with her. “You know, back during the Depression when people stood in line for bread. There are statues there. You can’t miss them.”

She didn’t sound terribly convinced when she said, “Okay, I’ll see you there around 8:30.”

“Looking forward to it,” I said automatically, making a face to myself as I heard the happy phrase I usually reserved for friends. She hung up and I clicked over to Gav. “Argh,” I said again.

“I thought you forgot about me.”

“Never. Hey, listen, all of a sudden I can’t talk, but I need to know what you’re doing tonight.”

“I’m free in about an hour. What’s up?”

“Tell you later. Can we meet out here? Say around six?” I named a local restaurant.

“This sounds like it’s going to be good. Catch you then.”

I hung up in time to see Quinn return. “Off the phone now?”

“What’s up, Agent?”

“Yesterday,” he said, lowering his voice and stepping closer. “Outside the coffee shop, you had a conversation with someone. Who was it?”

I pointed to myself. “I had a conversation? I don’t remember that.”

He stared at me with dead eyes. “You don’t remember talking with a young man?”

“I didn’t—Oh!”

“You remember now?”

“That wasn’t much of a conversation. When I found the shop closed, I looked around for likely suspects. He seemed to be looking for someone, too. I thought he was my contact. I was wrong. He was looking for a girl.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“I got the impression it was a blind date.”

“That’s all it was?”

I put my hands up, feeling cranky because of Doug’s bombshell and subsequent request, the pressure while I’d been on the phone, not knowing what I might be walking into this evening with Ingrid, and because I didn’t like being interrogated as though I’d done something wrong when all I’d done was follow the rules. “Yeah, that’s all it was. Are we done here?”

Quinn’s teeth nipped his lower lip on one side. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “All done.”

Agitated and frustrated with myself for losing my temper, I excused myself as I passed Quinn and took the circular staircase down to the ground floor.

“You missed Sargeant by about thirty seconds,” Cyan said when I returned.

Oh yeah, the Thora situation. “Which way did he go?”

She pointed out the other doorway. I was torn. We were cleaning up for the evening and I hated to leave my staff with all the last-minute business.

“I thought he said something about the curator’s office,” Cyan said, “but I can’t be sure. We’re just about done here. If you need him, go on.”

“I hate to leave all the work to you guys.”

Virgil gave a hearty snort.

Bucky rolled his head toward the other man, shooting him a derisive look that Virgil missed, completely. “You get stuck here late more than anyone,” Bucky said to me. “If it makes you feel better, come back here after you talk with Sargeant. You can double-check our cleanup.”

“Thanks,” I said, heading out again.

Sargeant was just exiting the curator’s office when I caught up with him. “Peter,” I said, heartened to notice he was looking less dazed than he had last time I’d seen him. “You have a moment?”

He went tense immediately. Would we always have this effect on one another? I thought about his assurances that his observations of me and Gav would be kept confidential and I decided to press forward. “This won’t take long,” I said.

“Certainly.” He waited, clearly expecting me to start talking here in the center hall.

That would not do. I peeked into the nearby library. The last time I’d been in here it had been with Sargeant, going over mug shots. “There’s no one in here.”

He didn’t remark, simply followed me in. I could tell curiosity was getting the best of him, but he wore an air of calm I hadn’t seen on him for a very long time.

“What’s so pressing, Ms. Paras?” he asked when I closed the door.

Now that I had him here I barely knew where to begin. “It’s a matter of some delicacy.”

“Oh?”

I gave a self-conscious chuckle. “This may seem very odd. I feel strange in this situation…”

“Ms. Paras,” he said sharply, “I have never known you to mince words around me. Please get to the point.”

“You’re right. Here it is as plainly as I can give it to you: Thora, the woman who set up our disguises for the Food Expo, is interested in you.” I waited for that to sink in before adding, “Romantically.”

If I’d have taken one of the heavy tomes from the shelves and smacked him across the face with it, he couldn’t have looked more surprised. “You know this?” he asked. “Or do you simply suspect?”

“She asked me to act as intermediary.”

“Oh,” he said again, but this time with that dazed look on his face again. He massaged the small area between his brows and closed his eyes for a moment. “Today is certainly a day fraught with surprise.”

“What else has happened?” I asked.

He shot me a quizzical glance, then his gaze relaxed. “It may shock you to hear this, but I’m sorely tempted to tell you. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Not yet.”

“Sounds serious.”

He took a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“When you can discuss it, if ever, I’ll be happy to do what I can to help.”

His mouth twisted, half up, half down. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to smile and his muscles simply couldn’t remember how, or if he was about to chastise me again. “That time may come. In the meantime, this situation with Thora…” He didn’t look displeased. “Quite unexpected.”

“If you’re concerned about letting her down I can tell her—”

“No, no, that’s not it.”

My turn to be taken aback. “All right then, whatever you want.” I suddenly remembered the card and dug it out of my pocket. “Here, she gave me this. It’s all yours.”

“Thora,” he said to himself as he studied it. “She’s tall.”

“She is.”

Making eye contact once again, he smiled. It was a sight I hadn’t often had the opportunity to experience. “Is she here today?”

“I saw her this morning. I’m sure if she’s still around, Doug will be able to find her for you.”

His eyes clouded. “Doug does not care for me overmuch.”

“That makes two of us.”

He made a noise that could have been a chuckle.

“Have you heard that the Hydens are thinking of naming him to the position of chief usher, permanently?” I asked.

He frowned. “That would be a travesty.”

“I agree.”

GAV AND I LEFT THE RESTAURANT A LITTLE before eight, giving us plenty of time to walk to the FDR Memorial and get there well before our appointed time with Ingrid. I’d brought him up to date on my clandestine trip to the National Cathedral and subsequent discussion with Yablonski. I left out Yablonski’s review of our love life.

I finished by saying, “He didn’t have a lot to share beyond the fact that Pluto’s being investigated. He wouldn’t even tell me for what. He doesn’t want me to visit Fitch or Linka without letting him know, so I suppose we ought to tell him about this visit with Ingrid tonight.”

Gav listened, taking several moments to reply. “He won’t be reachable this evening. I know that much. I’ll contact him first thing tomorrow. We’ll know more by then.”

“Another thing,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me that Quinn was one of Yablonski’s go-to guys?”

Gav expelled a breath that could have been a laugh. “It
never occurred to me to mention it. Yablonski has connections in every possible corner. There are plenty of people around us every day with ties to him. From here on, it will be better if you assume he has eyes and ears everywhere.”

I gave him a sidelong appraisal. “Et tu, Brutus?”

He laughed for real this time. “You know better than that.”

As we strode west along the National Mall, Gav looked up at the dimming sky. “I’m very glad I’m able to come along on this excursion,” he said. “Mickey’s wife calling you out of the blue raises flags.”

“For me, too,” I said. “I don’t know what to expect.”

The first time I’d visited the FDR Memorial, I’d come at it from the back and walked through in reverse chronological order. That hadn’t made the experience less enjoyable. In fact, I liked being able to take in each presidential term before moving backward through time. I had, however, returned on multiple occasions to go through from beginning to end. That’s where we started today.

We passed the statue of Franklin Delano Roosevelt in his wheelchair on our way to the breadline sculpture. Ingrid wasn’t there yet. “It’s still a few minutes early,” I said. “Let’s walk around.”

Tourists took pictures of each other, posing with the statues of men in the Depression-era breadline, as well as with the one of a seated man, leaning forward in eager attention, listening to one of FDR’s Fireside Chats.

Gav and I meandered, looking like tourists ourselves. We headed deeper into the presidency, admiring the many waterfalls and stonework. “This place is magnificent,” I said. “It’s one of my favorite memorials.”

Gav gave a low chuckle. “You say that about all of them.”

“I suppose I do,” I said. “Whenever I visit, I’m overwhelmed by their beauty.”

He grabbed my arm, silencing me as Ingrid came into view. She walked quickly, gripping a small box tight in her
hands, looking this way and that, like a shoplifter making a furtive getaway. And not a particularly adept one, seeing as how she missed us watching her. As she hurried past, a flurry of birds rushed out from one of the nearby trees with a wild rustle of wings and flutters. Ingrid gave a tiny yelp, clasping the box closer and ducking away.

We started after her, catching up as she reached the breadline exhibit. Her head twisted right and left; she was clearly looking for us.

“Go on,” Gav said. “I’ll keep an eye on you from here.”

I approached the woman. “Ingrid?”

She yelped again, spinning to face me, one hand flying free from the side of the box to clutch at her throat. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “You scared me.”

The way she studied the people near us, a family with kids in strollers, an elderly couple, a group of twenty-somethings placing baseball caps atop the breadline heads for photos, made me believe she was losing her grip. Her eyes were wide and it looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. “I came from my sister’s,” she whispered. “Going right back there after this. Mickey said that if this got into the wrong hands, it could be bad.”

Ingrid thrust the box at me as though eager to be rid of the vile thing. “Here, it’s yours now.”

I hefted it. Lightweight and no bigger than a paperback, it didn’t resemble the shoe box my mom had saved my dad’s letter in, but it reminded me of it just the same. I didn’t want to examine it too closely in front of Ingrid. “And you have no idea what’s in here?”

“None,” she said. “Scout’s honor. I never seen Mickey as worked up as he was when he gave it to me. I’m afraid for him.”

“Why didn’t Mickey come with you?” I asked.

Ingrid looked ready to cry. “I told you, I haven’t heard from him. Not since yesterday. I left a note at home telling
him I’d be by my sister’s and I thought he’d call or something.”