Affairs of Steak (29 page)

“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?”

“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.”

He banged the pot down again, turned, and walked out.

“Whoa, Ollie,” Bucky said. He high-fived Cyan. He knew better than to high-five me. As much as Virgil deserved it, I never derived pleasure taking someone to task like that. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I wasn’t ashamed, either. It had to be done. I did it effectively. Time to move on.

I waited until my breathing slowed to ask Bucky, “How come you didn’t show me the article before you went after Virgil with it?”

There was no remorse in his expression. “I found it this morning while you were busy. And,” he cocked an eyebrow, “if I
would
have told you first, you would have handled it yourself. What he did was wrong and I needed to take him down a peg.”

“Feel good?”

“I do.”

I took a breath. “Thank you, Bucky. Thanks for sticking up for me. But next time, it would be better if you let me handle him.”

He nodded acknowledgment but with a glint of triumph in his eye.

The rest of the afternoon moved quickly. Too quickly. I was beginning to feel the way Sargeant had earlier—I didn’t want to leave tonight. It was safe here. If he and I stayed within the confines of the White House, that freed up more Secret Service agents to keep an eye on Milton.

Virgil had returned, and not another word was said about his offense. Didn’t matter. The tension in the room was so thick you could taste it. Except for necessary conversation, we worked in silence. Four of us preparing a single dinner meant we were way overstaffed. “Why don’t you go home,” I said to Cyan. “You too, Bucky. Tomorrow is your day off, anyway; why not get an early start?”

“If you’re sure,” he said. Cyan mumbled a similar comment.

“Yeah, go ahead. We can handle this—right, Virgil?”

“Whatever you say.”

Now there was resounding support.

The minute they were gone he looked up at me. “Go ahead. You want to ream me out again. I can feel it. Let’s get it all out in the open.”

I sliced a carrot into thirds. “I have no intention of reaming you out.”

He barked a laugh.

“I did want to ask you about the interview the other day. That came just as the news hit about the murders. How is it that they held that privileged information for so many days? From what I know of the media, if it bleeds, it leads. Your feature came out…how many days later?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why the delay?”

Without looking at me, he pulled two onions from the nearby bin and sliced their ends off. “I didn’t tell them about that originally. It was part of their follow-up.”

“They didn’t get the whole story while they were here?”

He cut the onions in half. “It was a zoo here that day.”

“I remember being surprised you got clearance for the cameras.”

“I pulled a few strings.”

“Sargeant?” I prompted. I seemed to recall that’s who he’d said had greased the wheels.

“Yeah. He gave the okay.”

“I’m surprised. I would have expected him to know better. How did you convince him?”

“I didn’t have to. One of those social aides overheard and said he’d take care of it. He talked with Sargeant and got it all worked out for me.”

I stopped what I was doing. “A social aide handled this?”

“He cleared it through Sargeant. Said he had an in with him.”

“What’s the social aide’s name?”

Virgil sliced again. “I never caught it. He’s working here a lot these days nursing a broken wrist.” He shrugged. “Looked fine to me.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Why? What’s wrong with that, now?”

I didn’t want to say anything, but a thought ticked in my brain. Changing the subject back to my original question, I asked, “It’s just the two of us here. You can tell me. Why did the newspaper really call you for a follow-up? Was it about my involvement in the murder?”

He sliced the onions hard. “No.”

I waited.

“They were going to pull the story. They told me there wasn’t enough interest right now. Too much going on behind the scenes at the White House that was newsworthy. The timing wouldn’t be right to do a feature on me.”

Little pieces clicked into place. “By giving them that tidbit you made your story more relevant. Is that it?”

He made eye contact. “I deserve more attention than you. I’m better at what I do.”

“You may be right,” I said, “but I’m better at what I do.”

He glared.

I smiled. “Let’s not forget that.”