Eggsecutive Orders

He had a point. How many times had I received forwarded e-mails bashing a political figure, only to find out that the so-called “breaking story” held no truth whatsoever? Occasionally these stories were rescinded, but after the damage was done. As I gripped the phone, I vowed never to forward another negative-spirited e-mail again.

I needed to convince Bucky that everything would be better soon. If I could make him believe that we’d come out on top, maybe through cosmic energy and all-is-right-with-the-world equality, it would become so.

“I can’t stand all this waiting,” he said. The rhythmic pacing started again.

“Neither can I, but there isn’t a lot we can do right now. It’s not like they’re giving us access to the kitchen.”

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice panicked again. “Minkus’s dossier.”

“What about it?”

“You know we had it-we had all the guests’ dietary dossiers on file before the di

“So?”

“I-” He hesitated. “Remember that salad dressing we used?”

I started to get a crawling feeling in my stomach. “The one you came up with the day before the di

I heard Bucky swallow. “I created that one at home. I thought it would be a good idea to put a little extra effort…” He began to hyperventilate.

“I’m not understanding the problem,” I said. “Bucky. Talk to me. Was there something in the food that-”

“I have his dossier,” he said. “Minkus’s dossier. I sent the file to myself at home so I would have all his dietary needs on hand. Here.”

“You kept a list of his dietary preferences,” I said slowly, to clarify.

“Yes, but-”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that. Unless he had an allergy and you didn’t-”

“Don’t you understand? The fact that I sent this information to my home computer will be suspect. They’re going to ask me why.”

I did understand. But I couldn’t react to the alarm I felt. “And you have a perfectly valid answer.” I took a deep breath and tried again. “We all take information home. I’ve done that myself.”

“But have you ever had a guest die before?”

I knew better than to answer. Bucky’s voice had notched up a few octaves and he sounded on the brink of a breakdown.

He made an incoherent sound. “They’re going to investigate and find this. They’re going to put me in a room and interrogate me. What’s going to happen? My career is ruined.”

“Bucky.” I said his name sharply. “Is it just Minkus’s dietary restrictions, or do you have the whole file?”

Misery wrung out every word. “The whole file.”

While we were never granted access to classified information, we occasionally were given guests’ entire files, rather than just a list of their dietary needs. It came in handy to know, for instance, if a guest spent years in South America, or Russia, or Japan. Little tidbits helped us design creative and enjoyable menus.

The first thing that came to mind was that Bucky was right. Pretty soon someone would notice that Minkus’s information had been sent from our kitchen to Bucky’s home. The second thing that came to mind was that I wanted a look at that file. Although we worked hard to never make even the slightest mistake, I wanted a closer look at the information we’d been provided. Having it on Bucky’s computer was too tempting to pass up. I was sure we hadn’t missed anything, but it would feel very good to reassure ourselves.

“Tell you what, Bucky, sit tight. Make a copy of the file, okay?”

I heard him click-clacking across his floor. “Don’t you think I’ll get in trouble if I do that?”

“Why should you?” I asked. “You’re a member of the White House kitchen staff. You have every right to information about the guests you plan to feed. Make a copy-or two-and I’ll come by later. We’ll go over it together.”

“When can you be here?” he asked. “How soon?”

I opened my mouth to say that I’d be right there, but I caught sight of Mom and Nana sitting in front of the television, with their spring jackets folded neatly on their laps, ready to shut off the TV just as soon as I hung up the phone. I couldn’t disappoint them. “I’ve got a few things I have to do.”

“Huh?” His voice squeaked. “I need help on this.”

Subscribing to his growing hysteria would only make things worse. “As do we all right now,” I said calmly. “Now sit tight and I’ll be over later.”

Bucky grumbled but we agreed on a time to meet. As I hung up I wondered if Tom would think this was “getting involved” in the case where I shouldn’t. But I would argue that this dossier was given to me and to my staff. We had every right to examine it again now, especially if doing so would help prove our i

No, I decided. This foray with Bucky couldn’t possibly come back to bite me.

CHAPTER 11

THE AFTERNOON DID CLEAR UP, AND WHEN the sun came out, so did some unseasonable warmth. My mom tied her pale blue jacket around her waist and pulled out her sunglasses as we strolled along the National Mall. Nana kept her pastel pink-striped jacket on, but she’d unzipped it, not just because the day was warming up nicely, but because it gave her easier access to her fa

“There’s a lot we’re missing,” I said, as we walked west from the Capitol building. “Don’t you want to see the National Air and Space Museum?”

My mom shook her head. “It sounds a lot like the Museum of Science and Industry at home,” she said. “We can do that on a rainy day. Today I want to be outside and enjoy this beautiful scenery.”

Nana, shuffling behind us, said, “I want to see the Washington Memorial.”

“That’s Monument,” I said gently. “It’s the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. I made that same mistake when I first got here,” I said. “But a kind woman named Barbara set me straight.”

My mom turned around. “Do you and Tom come out here very often?”

I took a look at the blossoming trees, the clear blue of the sky, and the crowds milling around out enjoying the gorgeous day. When was the last time he and I had spent a day together just enjoying the beauty that surrounded us in our nation’s capital? I shook my head. “Not often enough.” There was so much here to be thankful for-so much to appreciate, and yet he and I were constantly pulled apart by our conflicting schedules. The last few times I’d been out here, I’d been on my own.

“Is that a carousel?” Nana asked, pointing behind us.

“Yeah,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t want to go for a ride.

“I bet the little kids love that.”

I thought about my own experiences with that carousel-and witnessing a murder-as I made a noncommittal reply. “It’s a long walk to see all the memorial exhibits. You sure you’re up for it?”

We stopped a moment to stare out toward the Washington Monument. “Says here it’s over 555 feet tall,” Mom said, taking her turn with the pamphlet. “Guess how much it weighs?”

“Weighs?” Nana asked. “Why? You pla

“Take a look,” I said, pointing. “See that line? Where the color changes? They started building it in 1848 but ran out of money. It sat here for twenty-seven years before they started work on it again.”

The three of us stared at the tall white obelisk. With the sun almost directly overhead, we all had to squint. Tall, spare, stark, and circled by snapping American flags, it was a breathtaking sight.

“Hello again, ladies.”

We turned. My mom made a fu

He smiled. “Please call me Kap. All my friends do.”