Eggsecutive Orders

Steve spit out the veggies, just as Suzie and I had. “What the hell?” he asked.

“Should we get to a hospital?” I asked. “All of us?”

Frantically wiping at his tongue with his napkin-a truly unappetizing sight if there ever was one-Steve shook his head. “I can’t imagine…”

He slammed the DVD onto the table and ran out of the dining room back into the stage-kitchen. We followed.

Digging out an olive oil container, he smelled the top of it. “Seems fine,” he said. Then, with a look of dawning realization, he pulled a plastic bowl from the refrigerator and removed the top. He stuck his face close to its contents. He then tipped a finger into the mix and touched it to his lips, grimacing at the taste. “Dear Lord,” he said.

“What?” Suzie asked.

Overhead lights were still pouring brightness down onto the stage and the two of them looked like characters in a play-characters that had just been delivered very bad news.

Perspiring heavily, Steve shook his head. “This isn’t garlic,” he said. “This was supposed to be a tomato-garlic topping.”

Suzie and I looked at each other in silence. Steve stared up with confusion on his face. “How could I have not noticed?” He touched the chopped-up substance.

My heart resumed its trip-hammer beating. “Maybe we should try to figure out what it is,” I said, feeling like the only voice of reason in the room. The two of them were staring at the bowl, perplexed. “We may have to call the poison control hotline.”

Still grimacing, Steve said, “This doesn’t even smell like garlic.”

“I get it,” I said. “It’s not garlic. How about we try to find out what it is?”

“How could I have made this kind of mistake?”

Since Steve’s lament was rhetorical, I turned to Suzie. “Do you have a list of inventory? Stuff you’ve ordered? You have a lot of assistants here, right?”

She nodded, staring at Steve.

“I’m guessing one of them made this mistake. And since this is probably a food item, I’m sure we’re all going to be okay.”

She nodded again.

“Can I have your lists?”

Luckily, their computer was on and in minutes we had accessed their inventory, and meals pla

Suzie looked over my shoulder. “Oh,” she said. “We thought it might be fun to branch out, to start including desserts, too. We have a one-hour show coming up where we prepare everything from soup and salad to dessert. This was going to be one of our experiments.”

The light was begi

She rummaged around the kitchen, then held up a finger and headed to the rear of the studio. Steve had been paying attention. “Oh geez,” he said. “You think this is chopped persimmon?”

“Unripe persimmon,” I corrected. “If you have an assistant who confused persimmon with garlic, I think you need a new assistant. It makes sense though. The bitter taste. The numb tongue.”

Suzie returned. “According to our records we received a shipment of persimmon. But there’s nothing here.”

“Ollie,” Steve said, “I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am.”

“At least we know we’re okay,” I said, thinking the fruit in the bowl had to be very unripe. Nothing else could taste that vile and still not kill you. Ta

There was a stool next to the counter. Steve backed up onto it. “Oh my God,” he said. “Can you imagine if this had happened in front of a studio audience?”

Unripe persimmon wasn’t toxic in such a small dose. And though it had the potential to cause bezoars, nasty masses that can accumulate in the esophagus or intestines if consumed in large quantities, I doubted anyone would ever eat enough to allow that to happen.

I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, willing the taste away. “Do you have anything to drink?” I asked.

“Sure, of course,” Suzie said, hurrying toward the refrigerator. “I could use something, too.” Over her shoulder, she stuck out her tongue. “Ick.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, for about the fifth time. “I can’t understand how this happened. I mean, the assistants know that I keep my garlic in that bowl. I always use the same bowl for garlic.” He looked about to cry. “But this time it was supposed to be a tomato-garlic combination. How could they have made such a stupid mistake? And why didn’t I notice it?”

“Let’s just be glad it wasn’t anything really bad for us,” I said, relief making me ultra-chatty. “For a minute there I was wondering…”

I stopped myself. Did I really want to tell them that I’d felt threatened? That I’d been ready to dash out the door? Wouldn’t that make it obvious that I suspected them in Minkus’s murder?

“Ollie!” Suzie said. The look on her face was one of incredulity. “You didn’t think we were trying to-”

“No. No, of course not,” I lied.

“It’s all my fault.” Steve placed both elbows on the countertop and buried his face in his hands. “I made this mistake because I was preoccupied. What other mistakes am I liable to make?”

We both looked at him.

“This isn’t going to go away,” he said.

“What isn’t?”

“We didn’t have anything to do with Minkus’s death,” he said, looking up. “I swear I didn’t. Neither did Suzie.”

“I didn’t think-”

Suzie placed a hand on my arm. “Yes, but the Secret Service probably does think so.”

“Why?”

“The NSA, Suze,” Steve said. “I think the NSA will be the first on our tails.” He lowered his head into his hands again. “But they won’t be the last.”

CHAPTER 13

THE WORRY LINES ON BOTH THEIR FACES TOLD me they were terrified. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

Steve seemed to have aged ten years in the past five minutes. “Want to finish di

It was a lame attempt at levity, but I think we all needed some sort of relief. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m really not all that hungry. I’m sorry about wasting such a nice steak. Can I take it home?”

My request cheered them up. Professional chefs hate to ruin meals. Asking for the remaining steak told them I liked the dish, and that I trusted them.

“Of course!” Suzie said. “As soon as I pour you something to drink, I’ll get the steak wrapped up for you.”

The iced tea was sweet and I let it pool in my mouth to help rid myself of the persimmon aftertaste. Within minutes, the dining room table was clear. Suzie put down a fresh tablecloth and we all leaned forward over our glasses of iced tea to talk. At the center of the table was the DVD. What I wanted most of all were answers. The DVD might hold some. But I had a feeling that Suzie and Steve held more.

“Tell me why you think the NSA will be ‘tailing’ you.”

They exchanged a look.

“Come on!” I said. “Just tell me. Spit it out.”

Suzie fingered her neckline. “Are you still dating Tom?”

The question startled me into silence. “Uh…”

“Because, first, you have to promise you won’t tell him.”

Alarm bells rang in my head. And they weren’t from eating unripe fruit. “I can’t promise that.”

They exchanged another look. “They probably already know anyway,” Suzie said.

“But what if they don’t? What if the files are lost right now? Or maybe they put all of Minkus’s stuff in limbo. Then we’ll just be opening up a can of worms.”

Their argument zinged my curiosity into high gear.

Speaking very slowly, I asked them again, “Tell me what’s going on.” I stared at Steve-a warning not to beat around the bush any longer. “If you mistook chopped raw persimmon for garlic, there’s got to be something weighing on your mind.”