Eggsecutive Orders

“Just that I believe the investigators aren’t seeing the forest for the trees.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I caught Paul in his office. “Ollie,” he said, not smiling. “I think I know why you’re here.”

“They can’t suspend Bucky.”

He shook his head. “My hands are tied.”

“We all take paperwork home. It happens all the time.”

“But guests don’t usually die,” he said, then added, “Thank God for that.”

“You mean to tell me that if Minkus hadn’t died, and yet the Secret Service had found out Bucky forwarded that document to himself, they wouldn’t raise an eyebrow?”

Paul made a so-so motion with his head. “That’s impossible to tell, but I have to believe they’re cracking down especially hard in this case. There’s no textbook on what to do when a White House visitor dies-or is killed-while at di

“What can I do to vouch for Bucky?”

Another so-so motion; this time Paul’s eyes looked sad. “I don’t think that will do much good at this point.”

“My support wouldn’t count for anything, would it?”

Paul looked away. “It’s not that.”

“Sure it is.” I heard the bitterness in my voice and then I couldn’t stop myself. “Doesn’t anyone care about what might have really happened here? Why is everyone so suspicious of us? And why bring us back if the Secret Service isn’t going to trust us? If they’re so leery about us being here, how can they be so sure we won’t try to poison someone else?”

My voice had gotten louder and even I realized I was approaching panic. Not very professional. I toned down immediately.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I just don’t understand any of this.”

“As I mentioned,” Paul said, “you-and your staff-are back because the First Lady requested it. When the word comes down from that high up, the Secret Service has no choice in the matter.”

The thought that had occurred to me earlier sprang back into my brain. “Thanks, Paul,” I said.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” I said. “Not unless you can prove that Carl Minkus died of natural causes.”

He opened his hands. “I’m sorry there’s not much I can do.”

I forgot about calling home to check with Nana until I was back in the kitchen. I would have pulled out my phone, but I caught sight of Bucky removing his apron with a look of abject defeat on his face.

“They didn’t…” I said.

He didn’t make eye contact. “One of those twin agents- Guzy-came by to tell me. Said I could finish out the day, but I figured why bother?”

When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were glassed over and held such weight that I could barely stand to look at him.

“Don’t go yet,” I said. “Please.”

“Why?”

“I have an idea.”

He started to shake his head-to argue-but I stopped him.

“Just a couple more hours, okay? Just trust me.”

The words fell out of my mouth and with them, I realized I was almost promising him I’d fix the situation. But could I? Did I have the support I needed to pull this off?

“Come on, Buckaroo,” Cyan said, with a lightness so forced I felt her pain. She pointed to the clock with a floury finger. “It’s only a couple more hours and we could sure use the help.”

“Don’t know what good I’ll be here,” Bucky said, but he tied his apron back on.

“Let’s just worry about pla

“Being suspended and all, I probably won’t even be working here next week. They didn’t even say how long I’d be off. Maybe indefinitely.”

His tone was gruff, as might be expected, but yet again Bucky’s vulnerability caught me by surprise. He’d always been my loudest critic and biggest a

I had an idea. A good idea, I thought. But it had the chance of coming back to bite me, too.

“Okay,” I said. “We have no major events next week after the Egg Roll, so we can probably bring out a few of the family’s favorites while tossing in a couple of new items. Any suggestions?”

We discussed the menu at length and I was encouraged to note Bucky getting into it-crabbing at me when I disagreed with him. Bucky’s complaints actually made me feel good. Almost like we were getting back to normal.

When we had the week’s worth of meals pla

“So, that’s it, huh? I guess I should get going.”

“Did you refill our tasting spoons?” Cyan asked him. “We sent the ones that had been sitting here over to the dishwashers, but they haven’t brought us any clean ones back. Would you mind checking on that before you leave?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but complied.

As soon as he was out of the room, Cyan sidled up next to me. “He doesn’t want to leave.”

“If I have anything to do with it, he won’t.”

She peered over my shoulder, then whispered, aghast, “You aren’t.”

Not looking at her, I shrugged, returned to the e-mail I’d been writing. “We all do our part,” I said. A couple of keystrokes later, the message was sent. “Now, let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

At least I was doing something. My spirits buoyed, I took a deep breath and reveled in the joy of moving forward. But that feeling was short-lived.

“Olivia Paras.” Peter Everett Sargeant III’s pronouncement was not an inquiry. More like a command.

I turned, dismayed by the unexpected arrival of our sensitivity director. “Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

He stared at me through hooded eyes. “We need to talk.”

“I am up to date on all the schedule changes, Peter,” I said. “And since we are no longer serving di

He tilted his head in his inquisitive yet condescending way, but I caught the underlying glee in his eyes. “I wish it were that simple,” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid this matter is much more grave than that.”

I couldn’t imagine anything more serious than canceling a White House event, but I took the bait. “Fine. Let’s step-”

Wrinkling his nose, he turned to Cyan. “You will excuse us.”

She looked to me. I nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He watched her leave. “Why do you keep her on staff?” he asked. “For one thing-”

“I don’t believe you came here to discuss my staff,” I said, interrupting. “So if you don’t mind, let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

As it always did when I dealt with Sargeant, my posture became more rigid, my speech pattern more formal. There was nothing casual about this man. Perhaps subconsciously, in an effort to facilitate more efficient communication, I parroted his terse, prim demeanor.

He began: “You are incorrect in your assumption.”

I startled, and it bugged me that he noticed.

His smile grew broader. “This is most certainly about one of your staff members. I am here to discuss the immediate dismissal of Buckminster Reed.”

Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. Gathering my wits, I searched for a comeback. “Bucky doesn’t report to you. He isn’t even within your chain of command.”

“Which is why,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I am coming to you first. It is unfortunately true that I have no authority where Mr. Reed’s continued employment is concerned. But I heard what he did, and I find that wholly unacceptable.” The smile never wavered. “As should you.”