Eggsecutive Orders

This didn’t seem like a good time to tell him that this didn’t exactly fall within the Secret Service’s jurisdiction. In the background, I heard Suzie ask, “What do we do?”

“That’s a good question, Ollie,” Steve said into the phone. “What do we do?”

“I’d suggest you wait them out-”

“You mean cancel our filming for today? That’s just wrong and you know it. We shouldn’t be prisoners in our own-”

“You’re right,” I said, interrupting him. “You shouldn’t. But can you think of any way to keep your commitments and avoid being run down by the newshounds?”

He was silent for a long moment. “Do you think they’ll give up by the end of the day?”

I doubted it. “Let me see if I can help,” I said, thinking that this conversation was exactly the sort of thing Tom wanted me to avoid. “Give me your number.” I had it on Caller ID, but giving Steve something rote to do might help calm him.

“Let me give you my cell and Suzie’s, too.”

I dutifully wrote down all the numbers he provided. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“I think we ought to sit down with you and talk about all this,” Steve said.

In the background I heard Suzie agree. “That’s a great idea. When can she come over?”

Come over? No way. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said to Steve, effectively cutting off Suzie’s train of thought. “Can you imagine what the press would do to us if I showed up at your house?”

“I still think we need to talk with you,” he said gruffly. Then, away from the receiver he addressed Suzie: “We can’t have her come here. Those vultures out there would skewer us.”

Suzie’s reply was inaudible.

“Let me call you back,” I said. “We can talk after I get more information.”

“Do you think they have our phones tapped?”

“Who?”

“The press. The Secret Service. The police. The NSA. Homeland Security.” With each tick of his list Steve’s voice rose until he reached fever pitch. “Do you think this is part of keeping us under surveillance? Do you know why they suspect us?”

“I don’t believe anyone really does, Steve,” I said. “I just think this is today’s news…”

“They suspect us all right,” he said cryptically. “But I’m not saying anything further on the phone.”

When we hung up, I ran my hands through my hair.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“I need to call Tom.”

I wondered how this would sound to him. Less than a day after he’d warned me to stay out of the investigation, I was essentially dragged back into it. He had to realize this was no fault of mine. These were just friends who were asking for my help. But I couldn’t do anything for them-nothing at all-without risking Tom’s career.

Although I had no desire to keep secrets from my mom and nana, I stepped out onto my balcony when Tom answered, shutting the sliding door behind me. The morning was brisk but the bright sunlight that had kept us cheered during our trip to Arlington yesterday was nowhere to be seen.

“How are you?” I asked him.

His voice was wary. “What’s going on? You sound like there’s a problem.”

“No,” I said, trying to inject a tone of “pshaw” in my voice. “No problems. I just was thinking about what we talked about and I figured I should bring you up to date.”

He expelled a breath. “What happened?”

I talked fast, explaining about Suzie and Steve and how they wanted to meet with me. I expected him to get angry about this turn of events, but after a long, thoughtful pause he spoke. “Some interesting facts have come to light,” he said slowly. Then, as though anticipating my question, he said, “I can’t tell you what they are, but we may need to talk with you again soon.”

“Like an interrogation?”

He didn’t laugh. That made me squirm. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll see what I can do to get the media to back off Suzie and Steve. And if you want to talk with them, go ahead. We’re not suggesting you can’t maintain your friendships.”

The words were pleasant enough, but the effect was ominous. “You’re going to be watching me?”

“Not necessarily.”

“You’re going to be watching them?”

“I never said that.”

I pursed my lips, frustrated. I wondered what these “new interesting facts” were that he wasn’t sharing. “There’s something else you should know.”

“Uh-oh.”

I hesitated. There was no easy way to say this, so I just blurted. “I ran into Ruth Minkus yesterday and she accused me of killing her husband.”

Tom was quiet for so long I thought he’d hung up.

“You there?” I asked.

“My God, Ollie. I can’t keep up with you.” I heard scratchy noises, as though he were rubbing his face. I shivered and it wasn’t just because it had started to drizzle. I stared up at the overcast sky.

“We went to Arlington,” I said, trying to explain. “And she was just… there. It wasn’t as though I sought her out.”

“Why didn’t you call me about this yesterday?”

Why hadn’t I? Truth was I’d been nervous about letting him know I’d had a run-in with the deceased’s wife and son. “I called you today. Besides,” I added, my own anger starting to return, “it’s not as though I’m ingratiating myself into the investigation. For crying out loud, I had a conversation with Mrs. Minkus. There’s no law against that, is there?”

I could practically see him shaking his head. “No, Ollie,” he said with such resignation in his voice that I was sorry I’d raised mine. “There’s no law against you talking with people you run into-or people you have a relationship with. I just…”

“You just… what?”

“I hope Craig is able to see things the same way I do.”

“Does he have to know about any of this?”

“Suzie and Steve-yes. I’ll want to suggest that you’re present when we take a look at the DVD of that day’s filming. For whatever good that will do. And if you do talk with them, he’ll want to know if they said or did anything you consider unusual.”

“So they are suspects!”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Okay. Sorry,” I said. But my mind was racing.

“I have a few other things I want you to take a look at.”

“Like what?”

“It’ll wait. I’ll call you.”

Effectively dismissed, I hung up, but I stood outside, leaning on the balcony’s rail, even though it was wet and the chill seeped up through my forearms, making me shiver. When we’d first started our relationship, Tom and I both knew that our jobs-no, our careers-could cause strain. Emotional relationships were always fraught with peril, but his being a Secret Service agent, sworn to protect the president and his family above all else, made this one so much harder. I understood that there were things he couldn’t tell me. I had no problem with that. I also understood the pressures he was under. Craig and I had been friends before the first time I’d inadvertently gotten involved in Secret Service matters. Since then he had cooled toward me, and avoided me when he could. I suppose he didn’t believe I was worth his time, and I further supposed that Jack Brewster’s antagonistic bent during my intake questioning had more to do with Craig’s influence than with Jack’s personal impressions.

The street below was quiet except for the occasional car slicing through puddles, causing a sad sound that made me want to retreat into the warmth of my apartment-to where my mom was probably making something for us to eat, and where Nana was devouring the newspaper in my absence, pretending that she wasn’t hunting for mention of my role in this White House drama.

At least Tom had said he’d take care of Suzie and Steve. Still on the balcony, now ducking closer to the building to avoid the heavier rainfall, I dialed them back and let them know that the Secret Service had been alerted. “They better do something,” Steve said with uncharacteristic roughness. “They got us into this mess.”

I wanted to argue that it hadn’t been the Secret Service’s fault-but to what end?