by Julie Hyzy
Her attention suddenly shifted to right over my shoulder. I twisted to see Wyatt Becker in the doorway. He was smiling—at least until I turned around—and then his face fell faster than one of Virgil’s soufflés. Wyatt was evidently just as startled to see me as I was to see him.
He raised a hand in greeting. “Um…I was just looking for…I guess I’m in the wrong room. Sorry.” He ducked out before I could say a word.
I turned back to Lynn, whose own expression was as easily read as if she had a neon pink sign painted across her nose. Disappointment, confusion, shock.
“Wyatt is your lunch date?” I asked.
“Yeah, he…” The question had come too quickly for her to lie. “Why did he leave?”
I had a guess. “Was it Wyatt who left you the sticky note?”
Her scarlet face answered that question. “I don’t know. Really, I don’t. He teased me about my guardian angel—”
“But you believe he left the note, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” Her denial bordered on shrill. “Maybe he wanted to help me out or something. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Not at all,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing. Her eyes darted to the doorway, as though she expected Wyatt to return any moment. “You know what, Lynn? Forget I asked.”
Still suspicious, she quieted. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I never said you did.”
“Then why do I feel like this?”
I had no answer. “Thanks for talking with me. I hope he comes back. Have you two been dating very long?”
“Not long…” She thought about it. “Just over a week.”
They’d started dating just about the same time Wyatt had been assigned to help us with the birthday party. Coincidence?
I stepped out of the calligraphers’ office to start back to the kitchen. At the first corner—surprise, surprise—Wyatt was there, ready to pounce.
“And how are you this lovely afternoon?” I asked.
“You’re probably wondering why I want to take her to lunch.”
“I think I know why.”
He looked at me shrewdly. “Oh?”
I scratched my temple, and glanced back to make sure Lynn hadn’t followed me. “Didn’t you mention a girlfriend? That one with the perfect name? What was it again?” Thank goodness for my memory. “Beverly Bronson?” He didn’t answer, so I pointed back toward the calligraphers’ office. “Lynn is that spare you mentioned, isn’t she?”
“What of it? I’m a guy. Can I help it if I’m lucky where ladies are concerned? She’s got a crush on me, is all. I’m just taking her out to give the kid a little fun.”
“You left that sticky note on Lynn’s lamp.”
Panic jumped into his eyes, but he tamped it down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You fiddled with that guest list but made sure it was corrected in time. All to make Sargeant look bad.”
Wyatt affected a bored look. “Sargeant doesn’t need my help to look bad.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I told you I didn’t know what you were talking about and I don’t. Don’t try to blame one of Sargeant’s screwups on me.”
“Then why did you wait here for me?”
“I promised a young lady I would take her to lunch. I wanted to make sure you didn’t spill the beans.”
“You mean tell her about your real girlfriend.”
He smiled. “I made no promises to either, so no harm done. But that doesn’t mean I want her feelings hurt, you understand. Just wanted to be sure you kept my confidence.”
“Illicit secrets are never safe with me,” I said, “or haven’t you heard?”
I walked away without giving him a chance to reply. Poor Lynn. She was clearly smitten with this buffoon.
I thought back to when I was her age and I wondered if
I would have listened to anyone who tried to talk me out of a boy I liked. Not a chance. With Wyatt being in the military and all spiffed out as he often was in official regalia, he cut a dashing figure. At least until he opened his mouth.
Until I could make a case against Wyatt, there was not much else I could do to save Lynn from the broken heart I knew she was in for. And until I had solid evidence, I couldn’t bring my suspicions to Wyatt’s camping buddy, Doug. But I was determined to dig. Reasons aplenty were piling up to get to the bottom of Sargeant’s problem.
CHAPTER 23
CYAN, VIRGIL, AND I WERE WRAPPING UP after dinner when Doug called, asking me to come upstairs. “Again?” Cyan asked. “You’ve been called to the principal’s office more times in the past few days than you have the entire time I’ve known you. What does he want this time?”
I had no idea. “I’ll find out, I guess. Will you two be okay here alone until I get back?” I glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. Don’t wait for me.”
“We won’t,” Virgil said over his shoulder.
Cyan rolled her eyes. “If you’re not back by the time I leave, enjoy your day off tomorrow.”
“Thanks, I plan on getting a lot done. It’s been too long since I’ve had time to myself.”
I untied my apron, threw it in the laundry, and headed upstairs. Even though it had been a long day, I wasn’t tired. Rather, I was antsy, jumpy, and wired. Like I wanted to run, though I had no destination in mind.
I knocked at Doug’s door and he called for me to come in.
“Peter?” I said when I saw Sargeant sitting there, dressed for work. “Why are you in today?” To Doug, I asked, “What happened now?”
“Sit down, Ollie. Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong. Other than what’s already happened, that is.”
I sat. “Why are you here, Peter? I thought you were taking a few days off.”
Sargeant waved my question away.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Doug said. “Fortunately for both of you, Mrs. Hyden’s team has finally assigned a member to take over the secretary of state’s birthday party preparations.”
“Excellent,” I said, clapping my hands. “That means we’re permanently off the hook?”
“Not yet,” he said. “The new assistant in charge wanted to meet you both at Jean-Luc’s on Monday morning to go over all the preparation you’ve done up until this point.”
I waited for the “But…”
“But,” Doug said, “Peter’s nephew’s memorial is scheduled for Monday morning. With that in mind, the assistant has agreed to come in on Sunday instead.”
“Sunday,” I repeated. To Sargeant I said, “You and I will need to coordinate our notes before we hand them over. If you like, you can give me whatever you have and I’ll put together a report for her.”
Doug shook his head. “This isn’t a hand-a-report-over situation. She plans to meet with you both and go over the entire affair—as much as you’ve been able to organize, that is—step by step.”
“We have dinner planned for forty people Sunday afternoon.”
“I’m aware of that,” Doug said, “which is why I called Peter in today. The two of you still have a lot of loose ends to tie up. I suggest you do that tonight and get it over with. This way you can get in and out of Jean-Luc’s early on Sunday, allowing you to be here to oversee the dinner.”
I was digesting this when he went in for the kill. “There’s another wrinkle,” Doug said. “Mrs. Quinones hasn’t been able to work with you up until now. This is, after all, a party for her husband. She’s available this evening and I strongly urge you both to meet with her at Jean-Luc’s.”
“When did this all come about?” I asked.
Doug had been talking to us with his hands clasped on the desk. Now he opened them. “I got word about the change in organizational duties this morning, but I only got word of Mrs. Quinones’s availability about an hour ago.” He cast a pitying look at Sargeant. “I’m very sorry to have called you in like this.”
Up unt
il now, Sargeant had sat so quietly, so immobile, staring at the window behind Doug that I wondered if he even heard any of the conversation. Evidently he had. “I’m not doing anything constructive at home. I might as well be here.”
“Wyatt will join you,” Doug said.
Oh joy of joys.
No reaction from Sargeant.
“Tomorrow is my day off…” I began.
Doug looked at me as if to say, “So?”
“Wouldn’t it be better if Peter and I met with Mrs. Quinones in the morning? I can make time.”
Doug was shaking his head before I could get the question all the way out. “Mrs. Quinones has a commitment tomorrow. No, it’s tonight or not at all.”
“Why not have the secretary’s wife meet with Mrs. Hyden’s assistant after she takes over? Wouldn’t that be more efficient?” I asked.
Sargeant was staring out the window again. Still as a statue.
Doug’s patience began to wane. “Ms. Paras,” he said, “in case you haven’t noticed, I’m juggling your availability as well as Mr. Sargeant’s, Mr. Becker’s and, most important, Mrs. Quinones’s. If I have to order you to work tonight at Jean-Luc’s, I will.”
I bit my lips tight, wanting to argue. Knowing I’d already lost.
Doug didn’t have to continue explaining, but he blathered on anyway. “This birthday party will be the first one under my watch. Coming off of such tragedies as we are, this event will have to be picture-perfect. You and Mr. Sargeant have been at the forefront of planning this from the start. Mrs. Quinones requested this meeting, and I will not disappoint her. Do I make myself clear?”
Cyan and Virgil were gone by the time I got back to the kitchen. Not that it mattered. I pulled up my notes on the computer and set to work, ensuring I’d covered everything before printing it out to take with me to Jean-Luc’s. Doug was right to have the two of us go over the list one more time before we handed it over to a new organizer, I just didn’t like the way he went about it.
Twenty minutes later, I was ready to go. I grabbed my notes and coat, and headed out. Sargeant, for all his bluster, wore the ravages of his loss on his sleeve. He met me in the Diplomatic Reception Room, moving and reacting like an automaton. No life behind his eyes.
“Time to go,” I said. He followed me outside, saying nothing. I tried again, as we got into the back of the sedan. “We have a new driver today, I see.” When the agent got into the driver’s seat, I asked his name.
“Frederick,” he said. “It will be a few minutes before we leave. We’re waiting on Agent Millcourt.”
“Two guards?” I asked.
“Two subjects to protect.”
Just as he said the words, Agent Millcourt trotted out from the back door and got into our car. “Evening,” he said without warmth. The two of them stared straight ahead. Sargeant stared out the backseat passenger window. I stared out from my side.
The two agents guarding us tonight weren’t part of the “trusted few” Tom had indicated, so I didn’t feel comfortable talking in front of them. But they were both wearing today’s golden rectangle pins. “Are you dropping us off at Jean-Luc’s, or are you staying there until we’re done?” I asked them.
“Staying,” said Millcourt. “We will be monitoring the door, making sure no one enters without authorization.”
“Who is authorized?”
Millcourt consulted notes. “You, Mr. Sargeant, Social Aide Wyatt Becker.” He rattled off several other names and explained they were Jean-Luc’s workers on duty at the site. “And Mrs. Quinones, of course.”
We arrived at Jean-Luc’s without incident, and I was struck by how different the place looked at night. Spotlights, strategically placed around the front, gave the building a sexy, warm glow. Very inviting, very chic. With these lights throwing attention at the lines and curves of the building, it was almost impossible to notice the structure’s unsightly neighbors. The adjacent dank alley had been rendered nearly invisible. I decided my initial misgivings were unwarranted. This would be a most beautiful place to host a gala birthday party with a sparkling guest list and top-notch entertainment.
“What time will Wyatt be here?” I asked Millcourt when I got out. Sargeant had alighted before me. He stared up at the building as though seeing it for the first time.
“He should be here already,” he said. “Let me escort you in to make certain the venue is secure.”
Sargeant followed me as Millcourt led us up the stairs. Agent Frederick followed. Once they’d seen us safely into the banquet area where Wyatt was chatting up the staff, they departed.
“Look who’s here,” Wyatt said with forced joviality. “I understand this is our last time working together.”
Sargeant stood behind me, saying nothing. “Guess so,” I said, “and the sooner we get started, the quicker we’ll be done.” I didn’t mention Mrs. Quinones’s visit. She was due to arrive in about a half hour. With any luck we might be able to dump Wyatt before she arrived.
“What’s left to be done?” Wyatt asked. “I thought we were very thorough last time.”
“Mr. Sargeant and I need to combine our lists and go over them, step by step, to make sure nothing’s been overlooked, nothing forgotten. I would appreciate any notes you have. Just in case we missed anything.”
Sargeant wandered away. I let him go.
“What’s wrong with him?” Wyatt asked in a stage-whisper. Then, as realization dawned, he said, “Oh that’s right. That nephew of his died, didn’t he?”
Wyatt was not one of our trusted confidants, nor did I like him very much. “How was your lunch with Lynn?”
He had the decency to avert his eyes, though only for a second. “Unfortunately, I was called away on another duty. I haven’t spoken with her at all. Beverly has been keeping me busy.”
“Too bad,” I said. “I think Lynn sees you as her guardian angel.”
He faked a smile.
“Your notes?” I asked again. “I assume you brought them.”
He tapped the side of his head. “I rely on my brainpower, not notes that can be lost or stolen. I prefer to keep all pertinent information here. And I do a fine job of it, if I do say so myself. I can’t think of anyone with a better memory than mine.”
“Let’s get started then, shall we?” I looked around. “Peter?”
Sargeant came around the corner. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Forty minutes later, we’d gone over every detail twice. I’d made notes about kitchen equipment we needed to have brought in from the White House. Although this place was well-equipped, there were a few items I relied on regularly—the jumbo immersion blender, for one. My knives, of course. Those would need to be escorted in via Secret Service. There was no way I’d be able to walk into this setting with my arms full of super-sharp blades.
Sargeant had a list of non-food-related preferences on his version of the guest list. The location was disabled-accessible, so no worries there, but he’d worked enough with guests’ requirements in the past that when he pointed out the need to replace the orange linens with blue, I didn’t argue.
So intent were we in our activity, I’d almost forgotten about Mrs. Quinones’s visit to finalize plans, until she showed up.
“Hello?” she called into the wide warehouse-sized ballroom. “Which one of you is Olivia Paras?”
I glanced up and waved. “That would be me. I’ll be right there.”
Wyatt grinned when he saw her. “One of my favorite ladies,” he said. “Did you know she and I went to school together? She’s way younger than Mr. Quinones. Maiden name was Bettencourt. We were in the same class lots of times.”
I started across the dance floor, hoping Wyatt would stay back with Sargeant. No such luck; they both followed me. Mrs. Quinones pointed off to her right, indicating she’d meet me out there.
“She’s here to talk about the party,” I said.
Wyatt was unfazed by my hint to shut up. “She studied ballet as a little girl. Did you know that?”
“A lot of girls do.”
Sargeant shuffled behind Wyatt, saying nothing at all.
“Yes, but she was supposed to go to Juilliard. Full-ride scholarship. But her parents refused to let her move away. Thought it would corrupt her. Shame.”
I figured if I kept quiet he might, too. We were about fifteen steps before exiting the ballroom into the vestibule, when he added, “Poor little Mandy.”
I stopped. The two men stopped with me. “Her name is Cecelia,” I said.
“First name, yeah,” Wyatt smirked, “but she always preferred her middle name. Cecelia Amanda. Went by Mandy to her friends growing up. Her parents hated it, of course, and once she was out of high school, they insisted she go by Cecelia. I think Quinones likes that better, too. Sounds way more classy, don’t you think?”
“Mandy?” I said. “Are you sure?”
He gave me a look like, “Am I ever wrong?”
The ringtone on Cawley’s cell phone had been playing the opening notes to “Mandy” when we found him. That information had not leaked to the press and no one, other than those present at the scene, and those investigating the double murder, would know that. I studied Wyatt’s face. He wasn’t making this up. Could this just be a weird coincidence?
“She’s waiting,” he said, breaking into my thoughts. “I thought you wanted to get out of here.”
“I do,” I said, “I do. Peter, come with me. Wyatt, stay here.”
Wyatt was obviously put out by my tone. He folded his arms across his chest. “Fine. But I think she would want to at least say hello to me. It’s been years since we’ve had a chance to talk.”
“Later,” I snapped. “Why don’t you go home? We’re just about done here now.”
Sargeant followed me out of the ballroom into the expansive lobby area. Carpeted, plush, and high-ceilinged, it made Mrs. Quinones, waiting by a distant pillar, look tiny. Her Secret Service guard nodded as we approached. He then stepped away to give us a modicum of privacy. I hurried over, glad to have Sargeant with me.
This was the first time I’d met Mrs. Quinones up close. She was a pretty woman, easily twenty years younger than the secretary of state, with a smooth, pale complexion, and enormous brown eyes perfectly set off by the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. She didn’t smile.