Eggsecutive Orders

Craig wasn’t budging. “Doctor Michael Isham is one of the finest pathologists in the country. We will have to wait and see what he says.”

“But…”

“Until we can prove that food served at last night’s di

“But the Easter Egg Roll,” I said. “It’s a week from today.”

“The Easter Egg Roll is not my concern.”

“We have a lot of work to do. I mean… this is a big deal. Surely the president and First Lady understand that. How can we prepare for the Egg Roll if we aren’t allowed in the kitchen?”

Craig licked his lips, but I interrupted before he could answer.

“And what about preparing regular meals!” I was growing indignant. I knew we could probably keep the house ru

“Until you are cleared, you won’t be preparing any food at all.”

“But the other kitchens…”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “It isn’t just the kitchens we’re investigating. We’re investigating all of you.”

My mouth dropped open. Again I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was pretty sure it was Paul. “You can’t be serious,” I said.

“When the safety of the president of the United States is at stake, I’m dead serious.”

I pulled my lips shut-tightly, to prevent an outburst. Then: “What about the other guests?”

My question seemed to take Craig aback; the two detectives, too. They stopped writing long enough to send me quizzical looks.

“So far, the other guests are unaffected,” he said. “But I understand you prepared a separate entrée for Carl Minkus. He was served food that the other guests did not touch.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Mr. Minkus is vegetarian, and we made sure to follow his dietary guidelines exactly.” I raised a finger and shook it for emphasis. “I made certain to personally oversee everything that went out that night.” I knew such a statement put me at higher risk for investigation, but it was true. Nothing went out without my approval. “But if he had an allergy that we were unaware of-”

“His medical records indicate no such allergy.”

“Maybe he recently developed one.”

“Maybe you’re grasping at straws.” Craig consulted notes for a brief moment, then met my eyes. “You told Jack Brewster that you had two guest chefs in the kitchen yesterday.”

“Suzie and Steve,” I said. “The SizzleMasters.”

The female detective shot a questioning look at the handsome older detective. He supplied the answer, and I heard his voice for the first time. “It’s on the Food Cha

Craig didn’t look at him. “Why were they in the White House kitchen?”

“This is what I was trying to tell Agent Brewster,” I said. “We were filming a segment for the SizzleMasters show. It’s kind of like one of those challenge cooking shows where the TV personality shows up and challenges the competitor. We were working on the filets for last night’s di

Paul interjected. “I approved this because Mrs. Campbell was very much in favor of giving viewers an intimate look inside the White House kitchen.”

Craig looked confused, so I said, “We were not only being challenged by the SizzleMasters, we were serving the food prepared during the challenge.” I waved both hands in front of me to ward off an anticipated argument. “But we weren’t filming the guests actually enjoying what we’d prepared. We made extra for our judges.”

“Judges?”

“We enlisted a couple of the butlers to sample the steaks. It’s part of the schtick for the TV show.”

Craig held up a hand. “I do not care about ‘schtick.’ What I do care about is the fact that we have a dead guest on our hands. A very prominent, very dead, guest. And I believe we are trying to find out what he may have ingested that took his life. Carl Minkus was a vegetarian, correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then I do not see the relevance in discussing this television challenge. I do not see what bearing any of this has on our investigation.”

Exasperated by the slow deliberation of his cadence, I rushed to get my words out. “We had cameras rolling the entire time. They were supposed to send me a copy. I’m sure if you contact the production company, you’ll be able to get one, too.”

Craig glanced up to the female detective. She nodded, and Paul accompanied her out of the room.

Chalk one up for me.

“Did anybody else have a vegetarian meal at di

“No,” I said. “We made Mr. Minkus’s di

My stomach dropped when I realized what I’d said. Why not just take out a full-page ad, a

Fielding flipped a page in his notebook. “What about side dishes? Salads? Desserts? Was there anything that all the guests ate?”

“Sure,” I said. I rattled off the prior evening’s menu, and told him that in addition to Carl Minkus’s sesame eggplant entrée, he’d been served a lemon-broccoli side dish, a salad with homemade dressing, and he’d shared in one of Marcel’s spectacular desserts. “That you’ll have to get from Marcel. I know it involved spun sugar and ice cream, but beyond that-”

Craig interrupted. “He is being questioned as well.”

“But no one else has gotten sick, right?” I asked hopefully.

“As of this moment,” Craig said, “that is correct.”

“You have the entire guest list?” I was pushing it, I knew, but I wanted to be sure they knew I was willing to help in any way I could. “We added Philip and Francine Cooper at the last minute yesterday.”

“We have the entire list,” Craig said.

Fielding grimaced, but dutifully wrote it down. “I didn’t have that.”

Craig didn’t like to be one-upped. He went through the entire guest list with Fielding, ticking off names as he spoke.

“Ruth Minkus was in attendance with her husband. Additionally, we had Philip Cooper; his wife, Francine; and Alicia and Quincy Parker,” he said.

At the mention of Alicia Parker’s name, Craig winced. Everyone knew our fiery defense secretary.

“Don’t forget the president and First Lady,” I said. “They were there, too.”

Craig gave me a lips-only smile. “Yes, we are aware of that.”

Detective Wallerton returned, and together with Detective Fielding and Craig they questioned me about everything that went on in the kitchen yesterday. I remembered almost every detail, but told them I needed to consult my files for a few of the ingredients used to prepare Mr. Minkus’s meal. After listening to my exhaustive recitation and taking plenty of notes, the detectives seemed satisfied with my answers.

Craig surprised us all by turning his attention to Tom. “Agent MacKenzie, how long have you been on duty?” Before Tom could answer, Craig continued, “You have been here for over twenty-four hours. More than thirty, in fact. Am I correct?”

Tom nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Go home, Agent.”

Tom started to argue that as a ranking Secret Service agent during a crisis, his place was at the White House, but Craig cut him off. “You are relieved. Get some sleep. And don’t come back until you do.”

Tom left without further comment, but I knew how disappointed he must be. I was disappointed as well. His silent presence had been a comfort.

By the time they were done asking me everything fourteen times each, I was sticky and clammy and wished I could race home and shower. Then I remembered Mom and Nana.