Eggsecutive Orders

Kap’s reaction surprised me. “They haven’t allowed you back yet?”

This was in the news almost daily. I wanted to ask the man if he lived in a cave, but politeness won out. “No. Not until the medical examiner clears us.”

Howard Liss had sidled up to us and had heard most of our conversation. “Hello,” he said. “You’re Olivia Paras, aren’t you? I’m-”

“I know who you are.”

He didn’t extend his hand. Thank goodness, because I would have refused to shake it. He tilted his head with a sly smile. “I see you’ve been reading my column.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I suppose I have you to thank for all my time off.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” His eyes lasered in on mine, like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s in the first Terminator movie. “You haven’t gotten word that you’re allowed back in the kitchen yet?”

“No,” I said, keeping my voice light. “But if we were to be allowed back in, I’m sure you’d be the first to know.”

His mouth twitched. Like he was enjoying this.

Which meant it was time for me to leave. “If you’ll excuse us,” I began.

“And you must be Olivia’s mother,” Liss asked, ignoring me and turning to my mom. “A pleasure.”

I touched her arm. “Mom. Let’s go.”

Kap insinuated himself between them. “Why are you here, anyway?” he asked Liss.

They were about the same age. Both tall and white-haired. But where Liss had a cane, and the milky-white complexion of a man who spent his sunshine in front of a glowing computer screen, Kap was olive-complected, fit, and muscular. He looked like a poster boy for Viagra commercials.

Liss pulled himself up to full height, which was about an inch shorter than Kap’s. “I was going to ask Ms. Paras the exact same thing.” Again, the laser eyes. “I don’t understand,” he said, then a corner of his mouth curled up. “What is your co

Tiny Nana, with her big heart-and suddenly loud voice-thrust her holy card into Liss’s hand. “You know what this means? You are at a wake, mister. If you can’t behave properly, I think maybe you should go home.”

People around us began to take notice.

Liss smiled down at the card in his hand. He pointed to Minkus’s death date on the back of the picture of Saint George. “See this?” he asked. Without waiting for us to answer, he said, “This isn’t right. Carl Minkus wasn’t destined to die on this date.” He shook his head. “And if you had anything to do with it, Ms. Paras, the world needs to know that.”

My mom muttered, “You’re despicable.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “But it’s people like you who read my column.” He smiled. “And when you respond so predictably, you keep me comfortably employed.”

Much to my dismay, Ruth Minkus spotted us talking with Liss. She immediately made her way over to us, Joel at her side.

I desperately wanted to run.

“Olivia,” she said, as she drew closer. “How kind of you to come.”

If she recognized Liss, she didn’t show it. She didn’t even acknowledge Kap.

I took Ruth Minkus’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Biting her lip, she looked away. Liss’s eyes narrowed and his gaze bounced among us all. I released Mrs. Minkus’s hand, expressed my condolences to Joel, then turned my body to exclude Liss from the group. Mom and Nana came in around me, and Kap followed, effectively closing Liss off from our conversation. “I don’t want to keep you from your guests,” I said to Ruth.

She glanced toward Kap, fixing him with a cool stare. “Would you mind? I need a moment alone with Olivia.”

My mind screamed, “No!” I wished we had never come to this thing, no matter how much Ruth had entreated. “We really should be going.”

Ruth turned to Joel, who seemed torn. “Go mingle,” she said, giving his arm a little shove. “Your father would want you to talk to everyone here. To thank them.”

Reluctant to leave his mother, he tried to argue.

“I’m fine right now,” she said. “And this is important. Go on.”

Joel left.

I wasn’t keen on leaving my mother in Kap’s clutches, but she was a savvy, grown woman. There wasn’t much I could-or should-do to stop her. Plus, Nana was with her. I wondered for a moment if this was how parents felt when their children started dating: worried, protective, unwilling to let go. I blew out a breath and followed Ruth to the far left of the room. We were near the digital display where the slideshow of Carl Minkus photos played. The current shot was one of him in uniform.

Ruth’s eyes clenched shut and she looked away.

This side of the room had at least as many-if not more-floral arrangements than the other side had. I tried not to breathe in the sickeningly sweet scent as I read the gift cards in an effort to give Ruth a chance to compose herself. After a moment, she spoke. “I really have to get back to greet everyone who came here.” Her eyes widened and she again looked ready to cry. “But I needed to ask you something.”

“Of course.”

In the space of the seconds it took for her to speak again, I wondered what was hardwired into our brains that prompted us to forgive transgressions and promise cooperation to those who grieved. Ruth Minkus had been horribly rude to me not two days earlier. And yet, here I was.

“I read Mr. Liss’s column,” she began. “And I know you’re friends with Suzie and Steve.”

I waited.

She blinked a few times. “There was something about Steve my husband didn’t care for.”

I still waited.

“Do you… that is, would you have any idea what the bad blood is between them?”

Time for my best defense-deflection. “What makes you believe there was bad blood between them?”

Her eyes were glazed as though reflecting on old memories. Whatever she found there made her mouth tighten. “Carl wouldn’t tell me. And I knew better than to press.” Blinking again, she stared at the front of the room, where her husband lay in repose. I knew she couldn’t see him through the throng, but her breaths became short and shallow. Looking away, she suppressed a shudder. “If I would have known the SizzleMasters were in the kitchen that day…”

“You don’t really believe that they could have had anything to do with your husband’s death?”

Ruth Minkus’s face flushed and I could see how much of a toll this conversation was having on her. Her entire body trembled. “Did they say anything to you? Did they do anything suspicious the day of the di

My logical brain wanted to tell her that nothing would make this sorrow go away except time, but I knew that victims, and families of victims, sometimes needed closure in order to begin the grieving process. With the sudde

“I’ll do what I can. But right now, you probably have to get back.”

She nodded. “Thank you for coming, Olivia. May I call you Ollie?”

“Sure,” I said. Unable to resist my natural impulse, I again took her hand. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

We hadn’t gotten a half block away from the funeral home when Nana piped up from the back seat. “Odd,” she said.

I glanced at her through the rearview mirror to see her staring out the side window, with a look of concentration. Like she was trying to work something out in her head.

My mom twisted in her seat. “What’s odd?”

“The photos on that digital whatchamawhoozis.”

Relieved to be away from the place, and finding her choice of words humorous, I smiled. “What was wrong with them?”

Nana shook her head. “Not ‘wrong’ exactly.” She made a face. “Just incomplete, somehow.”

I hadn’t spent much time checking out the digital display, and had only caught that one quick glimpse of Minkus in uniform.