Affairs of Steak

by Julie Hyzy

  “He’s Secretary of State Quinones’s right-hand man, isn’t he?” I asked. Whatever Doug had promised, he had promised to do so with discretion. My nerves tingled. I waited.

  “It’s actually the fourth time he’s called today. He wanted me to talk to you.”

  “Me?” My voice fairly squeaked.

  “As you know, Secretary Quinones is coming to a dinner meeting tomorrow night.”

  “Has something changed?”

  “Ethan Nagy will accompany him.”

  That seemed unusual. “Why is that?”

  “Is it your job to question why anyone is invited to the White House?”

  Stung, I tried again. “I don’t know if we have any information on Mr. Nagy’s dietary restrictions.”

  “We’ll get that to you today. But that’s not why I called you in here. Secretary Quinones’s wife, Cecelia, wants to give you a small gift to thank you for rescuing her father.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, “that’s not necessary. I would feel terrible accepting anything.”

  “That’s beside the point. She wants to do it, and Secretary Quinones intends to present it to you personally. You don’t say no to the secretary of state.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said unnecessarily.

  Doug needed to learn that once he won his point with a subordinate, he didn’t need to put an exclamation point on it. Doing so only added tension, disconnecting us from wanting to help him in the future. Paul had had a gentle yet powerful demeanor. I’d heard his technique described as having a velvet fist. In contrast, Doug wielded a hammer. Worse, he didn’t have particularly great aim.

  Sargeant cleared his throat. “And this concerns me how?”

  Doug placed both hands atop his desk, fingers spread. “I’m getting to that next.” His eyebrows came together and his lips pursed, as though he were weighing his next words. “Peter, why did you cut Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner from the party guest list?”

  Sargeant sat up. “What are you talking about?”

  “This could have been a mistake of great proportion. Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner are Hyden-family friends and are among the key people the First Lady expects to attend the secretary of state’s affair.”

  “I didn’t…”

  Doug picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “I have it right here. You removed the Baumgartners from the guest list. I need to know why.”

  Sargeant was without words. He turned to me. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

  I shook my head.

  “Peter,” Doug said slowly, “we all know how much you dislike our executive chef. Things will go much better for you if you own up to your actions. If this was a simple error on your part, just say so.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sargeant said. “I have provided no input on the invitation list yet. Why do you think I touched it?”

  “You weren’t supposed to, true. But you went in and took the Baumgartners off. There’s no disputing that. The document was sent from your computer. No one has access to it other than you, am I right?”

  “My office?” he said. “Couldn’t someone have gone in when I stepped away?”

  “To what end? Who on staff would care whether the Baumgartners attend or not?” Doug took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but this incident will have to go into your file. If you had admitted the mistake, we could have possibly—”

  “I didn’t do it,” he said, then pointed at me. “She probably did it. She can’t stand me.”

  I put both hands up. “No, no, no. Don’t get me involved here.”

  Doug looked confused.

  Truth was, I almost felt sorry for Sargeant. I believed he had nothing to do with removing the Baumgartners from the guest list, but how had the change been made from his computer? Either there was a glitch in Doug’s information, or someone on staff had it in for Sargeant—which didn’t exactly narrow the field.

  Sargeant pulled himself up to his full sitting height. “I don’t have an answer for you, but I will endeavor to find one. This was not my doing, but as it happened on my computer, I do take responsibility.” He leaned forward to jam an index finger onto Doug’s notes. “Put that in my file, will you?” With that, he stood. “If there is nothing else, I will attend to this matter immediately.”

  When he left, we both looked after him.

  “We’re just lucky a sharp-eyed staffer noticed this,” Doug said.

  “Who was it?”

  He named one of the assistant calligraphers who worked in the East Wing. I knew her slightly. Thin and mousy, she usually kept her scraggy blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was timid enough for Sargeant to easily manipulate if he wanted to, but I just couldn’t see it. I couldn’t imagine him interacting with her, nor her trying to get him into trouble.

  “We’re missing something here,” I said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Doug said, but I could tell he’d already moved on to something else.

  CHAPTER 10

  “ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL DAY IN THE KITCHEN.” Bucky swiped the countertop with a flourish. “Everybody fed. Nobody dead.”

  “That isn’t funny,” Virgil said.

  Bucky shrugged. “Maybe not, but it’s accurate. You’ve only been here a few months. You don’t know the trouble we get into.”

  Virgil was leaning over one of the side counters, poring over notes. “What have we heard about tomorrow?” he asked. “How many for lunch?”

  “It’s on the computer,” I said, “updated regularly.”

  “I prefer working with paper and pen.”

  “Suit yourself. But the rest of this kitchen works on the computer, and if there are any updates we need to be aware of, they’re there.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said as he made his way over to the monitor, “any more updates on the wakes and funerals of the chief of staff and that girl?”

  “That ‘girl’ has a name,” Cyan said. “Patty Woodruff. Just because she wasn’t a big hotshot here doesn’t make her death any less significant.”

  Virgil wisely chose not to argue the point. “Patty, then. Have we heard any more about the arrangements? Will you go?”

  “We’re not required to,” I said, “but I feel as though I should.”

  “Finding them murdered doesn’t make you responsible,” Virgil said. If I thought our newest chef was suddenly expressing compassion, I was slapped back into reality when he added, “I should be the kitchen representative for Chief of Staff Cawley’s wake. He and I golfed together many times. I found him to be a delight. Such a waste.”

  I thought Cyan’s glare would burn a hole through the back of Virgil’s head.

  “That’s your decision,” I said. “I’m sure his family would appreciate it.”

  “I’m sure they would.”

  A little ping went off in my brain. “You were friends with Mark Cawley, then?” I asked.

  Virgil was sitting in front of the computer. “Of course. You golf with a man, you know him.”

  I wanted to delicately ask him about that ringtone we’d heard when the bodies were discovered. I knew that detail had not been leaked to the press, so I didn’t want to break any confidences. This might take a couple of clever dance maneuvers.

  “Was he a big Barry Manilow fan?”

  Virgil barked a laugh. “Barry Manilow? Mark wasn’t that old. He was younger than me, in fact. What would make you ask that?”

  “Something I heard.” That wasn’t a lie. “I guess I was mistaken.”

  Virgil went back to studying the monitor, but I could see his focus shift. He stared over the top of the monitor for a moment. “Now that you mention it, there was a Barry Manilow song he liked. We were in the car once and it came on. He turned it up.”

  “Which song was it?”

  “Why do you care, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “Does this have to do with the investigation?”

  I needed to be vague, so I stretched the truth a little. “When we were talking
about entertainment for the Quinones birthday party, Wyatt asked me who the entertainment would be. Barry Manilow is a possibility.”

  “For Quinones’s age group, yes,” Cyan said, “but you’re asking about Cawley. He’s much younger.”

  “I just thought how sad it was that he would be missing this event,” I said. “Especially if he was a fan.”

  Cyan screwed her face up into a look of utter disbelief. She leaned in close to whisper, “Lame.”

  Maybe, but Virgil seemed oblivious. He was staring at the wall, hand over his mouth, deep in thought. “I remember it clearly because I made fun of him. Of course in his car, he picks the music. For the life of me, I can’t remember which song it was.”

  “ ‘Copacabana’?” Cyan asked.

  Bucky piped up. “ ‘I Write the Songs’?”

  Come on, I urged silently. Somebody suggest “Mandy.”

  Cyan again, “ ‘Looks Like We Made It’?”

  “ ‘Can’t Smile without You’?”

  Virgil snapped his fingers. “I got it! ‘Mandy.’ ”

  “ ‘Mandy’?” I said. “That is an old one.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “But Mark said it made him smile because it reminded him of someone he cared about.”

  “His wife’s name isn’t Mandy, or even Amanda,” Cyan said.

  Thank you! I waited for Virgil to pick up on that. He didn’t disappoint. “No, his wife’s name is Susan.”

  “Weird,” I said, striving for noncommittal.

  “Could he have been having an affair?” Cyan asked. “With somebody named Mandy?”

  “Maybe that was the name of his dog,” Bucky said. “Wasn’t that the rumor about that one, anyway?”

  “I think that was ‘Shannon,’ ” I said, “not a Manilow tune.”

  Virgil had been pondering Cyan’s question. “I don’t think Mark was having an affair, but then again…”

  “Did the Secret Service or the police talk with you about that?” I asked.

  “They asked me if I thought he was having an affair with Patty, but I told them absolutely not. She’s much too young. Cawley was a decent guy. Patty was just a kid.”

  A decent guy? Stepping out on his wife? I took a breath. No sense getting ahead of myself. But I couldn’t help thinking that if we knew who’d inspired Cawley to include that intro to “Mandy” as his ringtone, we might have a clue to his killer.

  “What, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You just went white.”

  “What if whoever killed Cawley and Patty believed they were having an affair?” I asked. “What if Cawley’s wife did it?”

  “She lives in Vermont,” Virgil said. “Plus, I heard they investigated her. It was in the paper. Airtight alibi.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, “I seem to remember that now. Forgot.” I hadn’t forgotten at all, but I thought it better to make that suggestion than to share what was really on my mind. That whoever this Mandy was had done the dirty deed herself.

  “And they give you kudos for solving crimes.” Virgil laughed. “You’re days behind everyone else.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Bucky and Cyan were watching me, but Virgil didn’t pay them any attention. Bucky had a warning look on his face. “Ollie would stay out of things if she knew what was good for her.”

  Cyan’s expression matched Bucky’s. “Especially this time. She’s too involved already.”

  With his back to us, Virgil was missing all the subtext. “Maybe next time you should check with me when you’re looking for answers. I know a lot more than you give me credit for.”

  I winked at the other two. “I’m sure you do.”

  Agent Scorroco drove me home again at the end of the day. No one had made any further attempts to accost me, but to be fair, no one had had the chance. My new best buddy made sure to deliver me safe and sound to my building every evening and was there every morning bright and early to pick me up. He also insisted I sit in the backseat. I hated that.

  For the past trips home, he’d asked if there was anything I needed on the way. There hadn’t been. And even though I didn’t need anything today, either, I wondered why he hadn’t asked. Agent Scorroco came across like a man of routine and I was curious what was up.

  I leaned forward. “Not going to ask me about stopping along the way today, Agent Scorroco?”

  His hands were set precisely at the ten and two position and his attention never wavered from the road. “Not today, ma’am,” he answered in his soft Kentucky drawl. “Orders are to take you straight home.”

  “Oh, do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

  No answer. I’d learned that trying to engage Agent Scorroco in conversation was a futile endeavor, so on the ride to Crystal City I sat back, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed Gav.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “Wow, first ring, I’m impressed.” It was rare when we didn’t play telephone tag for several hours before finally connecting. “You busy tonight? It’s been a heck of a day.”

  He didn’t answer.

  I sneaked a look at my driver, who appeared to be utterly uninterested in what I was saying. “I could use company.”

  “You had company.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “See you in a few.”

  He hung up. I tapped the back of Agent Scorroco’s seat. “Is something going on?” I asked him.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose any information.”

  “But it’s about me.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t answer.

  I sat back hard, folded my arms, and stared out the window.

  I usually waited for Agent Scorroco to give me the all-clear before getting out of the car, but the moment he threw it into park, I was up and out the door, looking for Gav.

  Agent Scorroco jumped out and called from the driver’s side, “Ms. Paras.”

  The outside of my apartment building was quiet as ever. No one loitering in the shadows, no one waiting near the door. The way Gav had said “See you in a few” led me to believe he was here already, or at least on his way. But then again, would he want Agent Scorroco to see him? Probably not.

  Coming around the front of the car now, Agent Scorroco tried a more chastising tone. “Ms. Paras,” he said, “you can’t run out like that until I make sure—”

  I waved him silent. “I’m fine. I’m going straight in. You can take off.”

  He looked unconvinced. “But my orders—”

  “Your orders were to get me here safe and sound. I’m here. I’m safe. I know that ensuring I’m sound isn’t always possible…” He didn’t laugh. Fine. I pointed to the glass entryway. “If it makes you feel better, you can watch until I get in.”

  At that moment four men came running up, two from the street end of my apartment building and two from the far side. I jumped, then relaxed. All four wore suits, held grim expressions, and had wires running up to their ears. Not only that, but they all had the pin-of-the-day on their respective lapels. I’d recognize Secret Service agents anywhere.

  In the seconds it took for me to wonder why they were swarming my apartment building, Agent Scorroco had rushed up and grabbed my arm. “Back in the car, Ms. Paras.”

  I didn’t fight him.

  One of the agents came over to talk to Agent Scorroco, but with the door closed, I couldn’t hear what was going on. I tried rolling the window down, but they were electric and Agent Scorroco had taken the key. All I could make out were muffled voices—very muffled, because they both talked so low. The three other agents were talking among themselves near the front door. From their body language, I could tell they’d all been looking for something. Or someone.

  My phone rang. Gav.

  “What is going on?” I asked.

  “Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

  Again he hung up.

  The four agents and Agent Scorroco surrounded the car, st
anding in a rough circle with their backs to me. I was surprised not to see James peeking out the front doors to see what was going on. A quick stab of panic. I hoped nothing had happened to him.

  A few minutes later, just as I thought I might go stir-crazy, I spied Gav coming out. He spoke briefly to the agents, then waved them back.

  He opened my door. “Ms. Paras,” he said, without changing the expression on his face. “You can come out now.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk and stared at the agents flanking the front door. “What in the world is going on?”

  Gav gestured me forward. “I’ll explain inside.” As we passed the five, only Agent Scorroco made eye contact with Gav, who released him for the day. “You can go back. The rest of you gentlemen remain here until I brief Ms. Paras. I’ll give you further orders momentarily.”

  James at the front desk looked like a five-year-old who’d just been given a pony for his birthday. He practically danced from foot to foot as we approached. “Ollie,” he said, “they wouldn’t tell me what was going on, just that there might be someone after you. Is that true?” He pointed to Gav. “I’ve seen this fellow before, but those other guys are all new.” Still pointing, he said, “I let him into your apartment. That was okay, wasn’t it?”

  “You did the right thing, James.”

  The worry lines faded as he smiled. “Thought so. You always have some excitement going, don’t you, Ollie?”

  “Seems so,” I said, trying to keep my tone upbeat, but there was nothing light about this situation. Gav’s expression was unreadable.

  “There was a ruckus here earlier,” James said in an effort to help.

  I knew how much I was about to disappoint my elderly doorman, but I resisted the urge to ask him any questions. “Several of Special Agent Gavin’s agents are waiting outside,” I said. “He needs to debrief me upstairs before he can release them.” James’s face fell. “I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.”

  Gav and I were silent as we walked to the elevators, but once we were out of earshot, he turned to me. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “Maybe I’ll have an idea after I find out what’s going on.”

  “It could be nothing,” he said, “but we like to be careful. After Wednesday night’s encounter on the Metro, we don’t want to take any chances.”