Eggsecutive Orders

Well-dressed individuals waited in line to pay their respects to Ruth and Joel Minkus-there were at least fifty people in front of us. As we inched forward, I took the opportunity to read the cards on some of the floral sprays. Two huge red, white, and blue arrangements with gold ribbons flanked the casket. My mom raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed. “Those are probably from the White House,” I said. Then, “Hey, look at this.”

They leaned close. “It’s from his health club.” The three of us exchanged a look of amazement. “Geez, when a big shot dies, everybody sends flowers, huh?”

Over the course of the next ten minutes, we read all the other gift cards within our reach, but we hadn’t moved more than a few feet.

“Maybe we can just sign the book and leave?” I suggested.

If my mom had been hoping to see Kap tonight, she clearly was dissuaded by the press of the crowd. “Maybe that would be best.”

Nana was sca

We both looked at her.

“You know-the poster board with pictures of Minkus. Milestones. Birth, marriage, vacations, his kid being born and growing up.” She made a 360-degree turn, twisting, as she did, to peer around the gathered family and friends.

I pointed to a table on the room’s far left where a silver-framed computer monitor stood. “No homemade poster,” I said. “Nowadays people opt for a digital display.”

She fixed me with a skeptical look. “You mean the family doesn’t sit around and laugh and talk and cry as they make the posters and remember all the good times together?”

“Sure they do,” I said. “But now, instead of messing up the original photographs with tape or glue, the funeral home scans them and presents them as a slide show.”

“This I gotta see,” she said. And she was off.

“Don’t they have those in Chicago?” I asked Mom.

She shrugged. “Maybe the rich folks do.”

I guided her out of line and sought out the line for the guest book. “With this crowd, Ruth Minkus wouldn’t have even noticed us. I’m sorry to have pulled you and Nana out for this.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m just happy I raised a girl who does things right. I’m proud of you for coming here even though you didn’t feel like it.”

“Olivia Paras?”

I turned. A short gentleman extended his hand to me. Like all the other men here, he was wearing a suit, but unlike the other mourners, he wore a smile. “I’m very glad to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I’m Phil Cooper. This is my wife, Francine.”

I shook his hand and that of the knockout blonde woman next to him.

“I’m very sorry for all the trouble since Sunday’s di

He turned toward the casket for emphasis. He didn’t need to do that. We all knew what he meant.

“Thank you,” I said, not entirely certain that was the proper response.

Francine sidled up to her husband and tucked her hand through his arm. “It really was a wonderful meal,” she said. “It was my first time visiting the White House-you know, as a guest. Can you believe it? I’ve lived here in D.C. my whole life, but I’ve only done the normal tours. I was so excited when Phil and I got invited.” Her face was pink with animation and she smiled much more brilliantly than one should at a funeral home-no matter what the circumstances. “I had such a nice time. It’s unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” I said again, this time wondering what, exactly, she meant by “unbelievable.” Di

Phil stepped a little closer to me, speaking quietly. I had to strain to hear him over the din of conversation surrounding us. “Have you heard anything more about what happened that night?”

I shook my head, thinking it was an odd question for a security agent to be asking the executive chef. “Have you?”

“Not much,” he said, glancing around. I got the impression he was making sure no one could overhear us. “What’s happening with the Egg Roll Monday? And what about your staff? Any idea when you might be cleared?”

Since when did federal agents care about the kitchen staff? “We’re still waiting for word.”

The conversation was begi

I glanced over to the corner, near the back, where an elderly man hunched over his cane. “Who is he?”

“You don’t recognize him?”

I looked again. “No.”

Cooper came closer, so that he and I were now facing the same direction. His wife had disengaged herself from his arm and was now talking with my mom. “That’s Howard Liss.”

Instinctively I gasped, resisting the overwhelming urge to march over and tell him off. Not good form at a wake. “What’s he doing here?”

“He likes to ‘immerse himself’ in his stories. At least that’s his claim. Personally, I see him as a vulture, circling and hoping for some new tidbit to exploit.” Cooper winked at me. “I just wanted to let you know because you seem to be on his radar lately.”

“Thanks.”

“Rumor has it he’s targeting me next.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Cooper didn’t answer. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Paras. I wish you the best of luck.”

He left as Nana returned.

When we finally made it to the front of the book line, I wrote my name and address and then turned away to allow the next person access. “Aren’t you going to take a holy card?” Nana asked.

“No.”

“Hmph,” she said, as she reached in to snag one for herself. “I’ll take it then.”

“I think we can sneak out now,” I said, speaking quietly. I told them both what Phil Cooper had told me. The three of us stole peeks at Howard Liss.

“He looks like a bad person,” Mom said. “I can tell these things.”

I thought he looked rather benign. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a slim, white-haired, distinguished fellow leaning on a carved cane. His photo in the newspaper must be at least a decade old, I decided. Instead of a hard-hitting reporter who may or may not twist the facts to suit his journalistic fancy, this guy looked like a college professor. Somebody who taught economics, maybe. Or philosophy. And definitely nearing retirement.

“Let’s get out of here before he sees us,” I said.

We had just made it to the chapel doorway when we stopped short.

“Cori

My mother said, “Kap!” with about the same expression.

“I’m so happy you were able to make it,” he said. Turning to me, he squinted. “How was Ruth to you tonight? Did she seem better?”

“Ah,” I said, hedging. “We didn’t get a chance to talk with Ruth one-on-one.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the casket and the crowd of people surrounding it. It dawned on me that I hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of the deceased. “The line is so long…”

“We can’t have that,” he said. Taking my mother by the arm, he smiled down at me. “It’s so hard for Ruth to talk to everyone she intended to. She would be very upset if you left.”

“I don’t want to bother-”

“No bother at all.” He leaned down to speak close to my ear. “As a matter of fact, Ruth wants to ask you something.”

The skepticism must have shown on my face, because he was quick to add, “I don’t know what it is. She seems to be pushing for answers when there are none.”

“I hope there are answers soon,” I said, my impatience with being trapped at this funeral parlor with no clear means of escape showing through. “I don’t blame her a bit. As soon as they vindicate the kitchen, I’ll be able to get back to work.”