Affairs of Steak

by Julie Hyzy

“This wasn’t a random attack, was it?” I asked.

  “With the tire shot out like that? No.” Gav worked his jaw. “They’re getting bolder.”

  I sucked in a breath. With the danger past, my entire body trembled with relief. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make it stop.

  “What can I do?” I asked, hating the way my voice wavered. “I haven’t been doing any investigation. I haven’t even gotten involved this time.”

  “You saw Brad. We know he’s involved. You might have seen the killer—the one you call ‘bump guy.’ To them it doesn’t matter if you’re poking your nose in or not. They’re afraid you can identify them. That’s all the reason they need.”

  “Great.”

  He stared straight ahead. “What would you think about going to visit your mom? Just for a week or so? I’m sure if I talk to the chief usher I can convince him…”

  “Can you guarantee they won’t come after me in Chicago?”

  He shook his head. “And if Ethan Nagy is involved—I hope to God he’s not—he has government resources at his disposal. He could probably find you, and quickly. Forget it. It was a bad idea.”

  “Let’s not even go there,” I said. “I’m safer here. Safer around you.”

  He turned to me. “You saved yourself. Again. Your instincts saved you. Always trust your gut. It serves you well.”

  Gav’s door opened. “Yes?” he said to the agent waiting out in the rain.

  “Finished here, sir. Agent Scorroco is being taken back to the office. I’m assigned to drive Ms. Paras home.”

  “Very good.” To me, Gav said, “I may have more questions for you, Ms. Paras. Agent Lawrence will see you safely home. Good night.”

  I was surprised to see Agent Scorroco the next morning when he came to pick me up. For some reason I expected he might have been replaced. The Secret Service pins were purple today. Round.

  “How are you today?” I asked after we were settled and he began to drive.

  “I’m well. And you?”

  “The weather’s better than yesterday. By far.” Clear skies, and temperatures more suited to the spring.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you see a doctor yesterday?”

  “I did and you need not be concerned. I’m fit for duty.”

  “I’m more worried that you’re okay in general.” He didn’t respond, so I added, “Thank you for all you did for me yesterday.”

  He met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  “What happened now?” Bucky asked when I got in.

  “Why do you ask? What did you hear?” He had the newspaper open in front of him on the countertop. I came around to read over his shoulder. “I can’t believe it was in the paper.”

  “Whoa,” he said, “nothing in the paper. This isn’t even today’s. I’ve been saving food sections for the past few days and I’m trying to catch up.” Turning to face me, he asked, “Something really did happen, didn’t it? Spill.”

  This wasn’t making sense. “Why did you ask if you didn’t read anything?”

  “An agent stopped by twice this morning to talk with you. Wanted you to know there will be a meeting at nine. Your presence is required.”

  “Oh.” I pulled up a stool and sat.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  I thought about it. As long as I didn’t mention Ethan Nagy or the investigation itself, I could give Bucky the basics. So I did.

  His eyes were wide by the time I finished.

  “Please,” I said, “don’t—”

  “I know. Don’t say a word.” He put a finger over his lips. “Got it.”

  I pointed to the paper. “I was terrified that the media had gotten hold of the story.”

  He gave me a skeptical stare. “Terrified? Really? Terrified is what you should have been last night. This morning, if it had gotten into the paper, you should be angry, annoyed, infuriated. We need to work on your response levels. Your flight-or-fight kicked in for you last night. Don’t

  abuse it.”

  He was poking fun, but there was weight to his words. “Got it, Buckster.”

  “Hey, by the way, does any of this have to do with Sargeant?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Sargeant called in sick today.”

  “So?”

  “So the agent looking for you said that sick or not, they’re bringing Sargeant in for this meeting, too.”

  “Huh,” I said. “No idea what that’s about.”

  With breakfast to be made and parties to plan, I did my best to take my mind off matters, that is, until nine o’clock rolled around and Agent Edgar came to collect me. “We’re meeting in the Red Room,” he said.

  “Seriously?” I asked. One of the State reception rooms, it was rarely used for staff business. “Any particular reason?”

  “Agent MacKenzie ordered it.”

  “Good enough, then,” I said. Agent Edgar was a lumbering guy, wider than most of the agents I knew. I followed him up the stairs. “Any idea what this is about?”

  He spoke quietly. “The matter from the other day,” he said with a meaningful look.

  The meeting with Milton. “Got it.”

  We continued without further comment but I could tell from the way he squared his shoulders before ushering me into the Red Room that he was very proud to have been brought in as part of this clandestine operation. He grasped the handle, ready to close the door behind me. “You’re not coming in?” I asked.

  “I’m on duty out here.”

  Alone in the Red Room, I wandered past the fireplace to stare out the window. I hadn’t gotten more than a passing glimpse at the stunning southern view when the door opened again and Tom strode in. “Ollie,” he said by way of greeting, “you’ve heard, then?”

  “Heard what?”

  He didn’t get a chance to answer. Again the door opened, this time admitting two people: an agent I didn’t know, and Peter Everett Sargeant, who looked like death warmed over. For the first time I saw him in something other than a thousand-dollar suit. Sargeant was wearing brown corduroy slacks and a cream-colored sweatshirt. He looked vulnerable and weak.

  “Mr. Sargeant,” Tom said, “please have a seat.”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. The agent who had escorted him in gave a brief nod and left the room.

  I sat on the red empire couch next to Sargeant. “Are you okay?”

  The man was a wreck. Wringing his hands in his lap, he stared up at Tom with wild eyes and shook his head. “What is happening?”

  “You aren’t sick,” I said, realization dawning. “You’re terrified.” Bucky’s words reverberated in my brain. “What happened?”

  His voice was hoarse. “They came to my house. They tried to kill me.”

  “Who?” I asked. “Who?”

  Tom stood in front of us. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s not begin until everyone arrives.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “Look at him.” For the first time in my life, I felt the urge to put an arm around Sargeant, but he still managed enough of a steely reserve that I held back.

  Agents Scorroco and Rosenow—the woman who’d been guarding my apartment the day Milton came to visit—

  entered the room. Gav followed seconds later.

  “We’re all here,” Tom said.

  Before anyone could take control, I said, “I want to hear what happened to Peter.”

  Tom nodded acquiescence. “We all need to hear this.”

  “A man came to my apartment last night,” he began. “I don’t know how he got past the doorman, but he knocked at my actual door. I thought perhaps it was one of my neighbors, so I opened without looking and he barged right in. Told me to be quiet. But I shouted for him to get out. That’s when he pulled the gun.”

  I gasped.

  “Yes,” Sargeant said, his whole body shaking in the retelling. I could relate. “He pointed it at my face! I’m just l
ucky that one of my real neighbors heard me and came over to investigate.”

  “And?”

  “The guy ran out. I live on the first floor. He bolted out the back.”

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Peter.”

  “The minute he got into my apartment he said, ‘You just had to find those bodies, didn’t you?’ ”

  I turned to Tom.

  “And now you know why I called this meeting,” Tom said. “I want everyone in this room to take a look around. These faces are the only ones to trust with all further information regarding this investigation.”

  Tom explained everything I’d already learned about Brad, bump guy, and the abduction of Mr. Bettencourt. He conveniently left out any mention of Ethan Nagy, which didn’t surprise me. This meeting was called, no doubt, for my benefit and for Sargeant’s. I was sure this group of agents had already held their own meeting, deciding how much to share with the hired help.

  “At this point, neither you, Ms. Paras, nor you, Mr. Sargeant, are to be left unguarded outside the White House. You will both have Secret Service agents assigned to you around the clock. Don’t be afraid if you don’t recognize your daily guard. Because there are two of you, and so few of us, we will be augmenting with other trusted agents. They may not know the specifics, but they are there for your protection. I will also ask”—at this he shot a pointed look at me—“that you do not seek to circumvent this protection.”

  Yeah, like I would.

  “Of course not,” Sargeant said. His voice was getting a little stronger.

  “How did they find Peter?” I asked. “I mean, I know I’ve been targeted since my run-in with Brad, but why Peter? Why now?”

  The four agents exchanged a look I didn’t understand. “There was a leak,” Tom said. “Your esteemed colleague Virgil talked to a reporter about what it’s like working for an executive chef who also fancies herself an amateur sleuth.”

  “What?” I was beside myself. “What?”

  “He embellished by providing details the press hadn’t gotten hold of.”

  My shoulders slumped. I rubbed my head.

  “I always knew you’d get me into trouble with your nosing around,” Sargeant said.

  I didn’t have the energy to bite back.

  “Pointing fingers doesn’t help anyone,” Tom said in a rare display of support. “We have to play the hand we’re dealt. We have to assume that ever since the story hit they’ve been following you both. Think about that. Is there anything you might have said or done that could impact this investigation?”

  I started to shake my head. Sargeant did, too. At the same moment, we looked at each other. “Milton,” I said. “We met with him Tuesday. Do you think they were following us then? When did the news article hit?” Another thought occurred to me. “Has anyone spoken to Virgil about keeping his mouth shut?”

  Tom answered. “Short answer? Yes. Long answer,” he sighed, “because there is precedent set to overlook transgressions by certain members of the kitchen staff”—another pointed look at me—“he’s getting off with a warning.”

  “Even though lives are at stake.”

  Tom’s face was dark. “This wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Gav interrupted. “We’d like to get in touch with this Milton. It’s entirely possible Ms. Paras has been followed for days, and he’s in danger now, too. Mr. Sargeant, do you have a number where he can be reached?”

  CHAPTER 21

  “I’M SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T GO HOME FOR the day,” I said as Sargeant and I seated ourselves in the Library. A long folding table had been brought in; two workmen were in the process of setting it up.

  “That was my intention, but I think I’m safer here. I don’t want to leave. Not for anything.”

  “You’ll have to go home sometime.”

  Two agents carried in armloads of mug-shot books and set them on the newly placed table in front of us. “Take your time, folks,” the first one said. “If anyone looks familiar, even a little bit, let us know.”

  I gauged the pile of books they’d brought in. “Not too bad. We should be through these in an hour, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, there’s more, ma’am. They’re still coming.”

  Sargeant blanched. “This is like looking for a needle in a pile of needles.”

  The agent blinked. “Isn’t that supposed to be ‘haystack?’ ”

  “Haystacks are innocent,” Sargeant sniffed. “We’re looking for a guilty, harmful, painful needle among others of his ilk.”

  The agent raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “I’ll be back with more in a minute.”

  Left alone to sort through the piles, we decided to each take a book, then trade, then move on to two more books. The process would have been ideal except for the fact that I went through the photos a lot faster than Sargeant did.

  “You’re skimming,” he said. “How on earth do you think you’ll find these villains if you’re racing through like that?”

  “I look at every face. Recognition hits at a gut level. Not one has hit yet.”

  We were silent a little longer, the only sounds in the room the flipping of pages.

  The agent in charge came back to check on us. “You doing okay? Want to take a break?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Not until these dastardly criminals are identified,” Sargeant added.

  “All right then,” he said. “I’ll be right outside.”

  “Have you gotten in touch with Milton yet?” I asked as soon as we were alone.

  “Secret Service said they would do that.”

  Appalled, I pushed the issue. “Don’t you want to know, yourself, that he’s okay? Don’t you want to make sure?”

  Sargeant didn’t look up as he turned the page. He frowned. “I called him.”

  “And?”

  “He said he’s fine.”

  This was like pulling teeth. “Did you at least warn him?”

  Sargeant ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “I did. He said not to tell you, but that he followed one of the men again. The bump guy.”

  “Why didn’t he want you to tell me? Did he find out more?”

  “He didn’t want you to be worried for him, but he thinks the bump guy spotted him.”

  I stood up. “Oh, no! Did you tell Tom?”

  Sargeant gave me a look of disdain. “Sit down. Yes, I did. You aren’t the only one around here with smarts. I told Milton to be careful and I informed the Secret Service. Do you know what Milton said when I warned him?”

  “What?”

  “He said he would be sure to lay low.” Sargeant snorted as he turned another page. “He should have said ‘lie.’ Lie low. You see why he’s such a deadbeat? Can’t even choose the correct form of a verb.”

  “And to think I always considered you a priss.”

  He didn’t react.

  “Did the Secret Service say they’d keep an eye on him?” I asked.

  “They were on their way out after the meeting. With the two of us here safe, they can spend time watching Milton.” He waved a hand as though it was nothing to be worried about. “He’ll be fine. Somehow he always lands on his feet.”

  Hours later, I returned to the kitchen, my eyes pulsing and out of focus from poring over thousands of pictures. Not one reminded me of Brad, and I had no idea what my roadside attacker looked like, so I was no help there. Sargeant had come up empty-handed, too. During our limited conversation, I’d asked him about the man who’d broken into his apartment the night before. Though Sargeant’s description was sketchy and I couldn’t be sure, I thought it sounded like Brad. In a strange way, that made me feel better. If there were only two of them, and not an army of bad guys, we stood a chance. Maybe.

  “How’d it go?” Cyan asked. “Bucky told me where you were.”

  “No luck.” I was about to ask how lunch preparations had gone when Virgil came around the corner from the refrigeration area. “You’re back?”


  He glared. “Don’t throw a party or anything.”

  “What has you so angry?” I asked. I was the one with a right to be angry. He had shared privileged information with the media—information that had almost cost me and Sargeant our lives. Although I’d promised myself I would strive to better include him in all things kitchen related, I wasn’t about to take any of his guff. “Don’t you start with attitude with me. Not after—”

  He zinged an arm out, pointing at Bucky. “Then call off your pit bull.”

  “Time out,” I said, making the hand signal. “You will start at the beginning. And you will do so with respect.” Cyan’s eye were bright blue and super wide. She bit her bottom lip and took a step back.

  Still pointing, Virgil’s voice rose. “He came at me the minute I got back here. He attacked me.”

  Bucky was not one to stay silent when accused. He whipped a newspaper out from the side of the computer and held it up. “Did you know our prima donna chef here named you and Peter Everett Sargeant as witnesses to the double murder?”

  I closed my eyes for a count of three. “I just heard.”

  Virgil grabbed a pot from overhead and banged it onto the countertop with an ear-splitting clang. “Doug already told me I shouldn’t have said that, okay? The reporter asked if I knew any scoop.” He lifted the pot again and waved it around in emphasis. “Everybody always wants to know what you’re up to. They forget this is a kitchen, not a private eye’s office, and they keep asking what exciting things you’re doing. Like that has anything to do with running a kitchen. They forget it’s important to be a good chef. They want to find out what trouble you’re in this time!”

  “And you told them.”

  He shrugged. “What harm is there?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my anger building with sweet, delicious fury, “maybe your scoop is what got me attacked last night. Maybe it has something to do with the man who tried to kill Peter Everett Sargeant yesterday. You think?”

  The kitchen went deathly silent.

  I lowered my voice. “I know you’ve been reprimanded. I know that’s as far as they’re taking it—this time.” I advanced on him. “I warn you: Speak to the media one more time without permission and I will take you down. Permanently. That’s a promise.”