Affairs of Steak (6 page)

The crow’s-feet on either side of Paul’s eyes suddenly looked less like smile lines and more like the ravages of age.

“I’m…” He took a deep breath. “…leaving the White House.”

Total silence. I stared at him in disbelief. “Why?”

He fiddled with his pen. “My wife is having health problems and I need to be with her. It’s serious and sudden, but maybe with the right care…” Trying to muster a smile, he said, “The First Family is aware, and I have their full support. Time is of the essence, and I had planned to announce my resignation to the staff tomorrow and to the media the day after. This new situation makes that timing awkward.”

“Paul, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“There is. You both know Doug Lambert. He’s been an assistant here for several years. Until a permanent successor is named, Doug will serve as interim chief usher. I want you both to work with him as you would me.” He lifted his phone’s receiver and pressed an intercom button. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said into the mouthpiece before hanging up. “In a terrible way, today’s events are working in my favor. I’m leaving immediately—this evening—so that I can be with my wife. News of my resignation will have to wait for a few weeks. No one else on staff is to know I’m gone permanently—not until it’s decided the time is right for the announcement.”

“We have to keep this secret?” Sargeant asked.

“To the rest of the world, I’m just away for a while,” Paul said. “Doug will handle the fallout from today’s tragedy. I would have preferred a smoother transition because he isn’t quite ready. Doug’s going to need your full cooperation. Although he’s been briefed on most of what transpired today, I want to bring him in on your involvement.”

As though on cue, Doug Lambert knocked and entered. I’d worked with him a little in the past but hadn’t gotten to know him very well. About my age, he was dark-haired and tall, with a narrow, peninsula-shaped bald spot that ran from his forehead to the back of his head. Carrying about thirty extra pounds and with his persistently pink cheeks, he would have looked about twelve years old—if it weren’t for the lack of hair.

“You all know each other,” Paul said, standing up.

Doug pulled a chair from the corner and sat down to join us. “I’m sorry to have to take over under these circumstances,” he said, “but I understand we have a situation that needs to be handled discreetly. Let’s get started.”

After about an hour of discussion, our little meeting broke up. I came away feeling the same about Doug as I always had: He was eager and earnest, but lacked the polish and
confidence needed for the job of chief usher. I sure hoped he was a fast learner.

Paul had excused himself to talk with the Secret Service about Jorjanna, the security guard at Lexington Place. When he returned and after Doug had been completely apprised of the situation and our involvement, we were finally cut loose for the night. Sargeant murmured sympathetic sentiments to Paul and left, promising to get in touch with Milton immediately.

Paul grabbed his coat as Doug took the chair behind the desk. “I’m sorry to see you go,” he said.

Paul’s eyes grew bright. “I’m sorry to be going.” He shook hands with Doug, then crossed back to accompany me out. “Keep in touch. I’m always available by phone.”

Paul closed the door behind us. “Walk with me.”

We stepped into the darkened entrance hall and made our way toward the stairs, neither of us saying a word. At the room’s very center, just in front of the north doors, Paul took a long look around. “It’s quiet right now.”

I didn’t say anything.

“In a few hours this place will be a madhouse. Again.”

I thought about the press getting wind of the double murder. “Madhouse” was an understatement. “I know.”

He flashed a glance back the way we’d come. “I hope Doug is up to it.”

“I do too.”

Paul seemed to want to say more, but instead he gave the area an extended, loving look. I knew he was saying good-bye. In a moment he started again for the stairs. When we reached the bottom, where he would go east to exit and I west to the kitchen, I took his hand in both of mine. “I hope your wife makes a full recovery,” I said. “Let us know from time to time, will you?”

He promised he would. “Ollie,” he said, “of everyone on staff, you’ve proved to be the most…” He scanned the air for the right word. “…challenging. But the White House is better for having you here. Don’t ever forget that.”

Paul was taking the time to bolster
me
? I would sorely miss this man. “Thank you.”

“Ollie.” This time his voice held an edge. “I’m not going to tell you not to get involved this time because you already are. Just please, watch your back, okay? Doug doesn’t know you the way I do. Keep him updated. Regularly. Don’t do any end-runs around him. He’s a good guy and I’m confident he’ll do right if you do right by him.”

“I will,” I said, “but I don’t plan to get further involved this time.”

A small smile curled Paul’s lips. “You never do.”

“No, really…”

“Ollie, one more thing,” he said in a low voice, stopping me mid-protest, “about Sargeant. This is between you and me and…” He gestured toward the nearby protective case. “…the Remington sculpture. The Hydens aren’t too taken with our sensitivity director.”

“No?” This was news.

“Steer clear of him as much as you can. He’s been making…mistakes lately. Several of them. I think he senses the First Lady’s displeasure, and you know Sargeant. He’ll do anything to push blame on someone else. And he’s always kept a target on your back. Just be careful.”

I nodded.

“And be patient,” he added quickly. “They won’t cut him loose anytime soon. One more misstep on his part, however…”

“I get it,” I said. As much as I didn’t wish bad luck on anyone, I knew life would be much happier with a Sargeant-free White House. After all the bad news today, this was a little bit of a day-brightener. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You take care of yourself,” Paul said, giving my hand a squeeze. “And don’t be a stranger.”

“What’s wrong, Ollie?” Cyan asked when I made it back to the kitchen. “What did Paul say?”

“Same old, same old,” I lied. “Keep everything under
wraps. Don’t talk to the media. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Where’s Virgil?”

“Went home right after you went up. Bucky’s gone for the day, too. I stuck around to make sure you were okay. And before you ask, we have everything under control. There are literally hundreds of items that can be put together for snacks or even full meals. We’re good.”

“I knew we would be,” I said, “but I may just stay around to keep an eye on things.”

“After the day you had? No way. Jackson’s covering the night shift. And you know how good he is.”

I did. “Maybe it is better I head home. After today, I could use a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”

She eyed me critically. “You need more than that.”

I didn’t want to go down this road right now. “Are we in good shape for the morning?”

“Don’t change the subject. You need someone to come home to. You haven’t had a date since Tom.”

“Trying to forget that one you arranged for me?”

Cyan’s face colored. “I didn’t actually arrange it. That just sort of materialized while I was around. Anyway, I mean besides that one.” She pressed on, “You need to get out a little.”

“Thanks, but I’m very happy right now,” I said, “very happy.”

Again the critical look, but this time there was a sparkle in her eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I opened my mouth to discourage further discussion, but she interrupted.

“What’s his name?”

No way. Not yet. Indicating the computer, I asked, “Any further updates on the big news? Have they identified the victims yet or shared any details?”

“I haven’t checked. To be honest, I don’t want to hear it. I could tell by your face that Patty was one of them.” She put her finger to her lips. “I know not to say anything to anyone until I hear it on the news, but the idea that someone so young and so full of energy could have her life
snuffed out…” Cyan’s eyes teared up. “What’s wrong with people?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. “Tomorrow’s going to be crazy around here. When the news finally does hit, it’s going to be big.”

“Not just because of Patty?”

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tell her who the second victim was. “Believe me, it’s going to be a very bad day tomorrow. I plan to get in extra early.”

“Got it, Ollie. See you then.”

I resisted the urge to check updates online before I left. If the news about White House Chief of Staff Cawley and Patty Woodruff hadn’t hit already, it would soon. Coverage would undoubtedly go on all night.

Poor Doug Lambert, taking over for Paul in the midst of this chaos. I wished him the best and vowed to do whatever I could to make his job easier. Part of me seriously considered staying here through the night. And part of me was utterly relieved to be going home.

All of a sudden I craved quiet, though not solitude. Even though no one waited for me back at my apartment, I hoped to be able to talk about all the events tonight with the one person I knew I could trust and who—conveniently—possessed the clearance to hear it all. There were times I wished I possessed the clearance to hear everything
he
knew, but you can’t have everything.

I glanced at my watch and frowned at the little timepiece. At least another hour before he’d call. That is,
if
he called. Today’s events could drag him into meetings that lasted far into the night.

Thank goodness the days are getting longer, I thought, as I ducked my head against the freezing wind to make my way across Pennsylvania Avenue. Despite the unpleasant weather and dusk settling in, there were still several dozen tourists outside the White House fence, staring between the iron bars and posing for pictures.

There were also tourists taking pictures of the tent directly across the street from the White House. Connie was a fixture on Pennsylvania Avenue in Lafayette Park, where she maintained her steady vigil against nuclear arms. Our neighbor of sorts, Connie had occupied the same spot since the early 1980s. From what I understood, her campaign was one of the longest-running continuous political protests in history, if not the longest.

She had to be over sixty by now, but living outdoors had aged her beyond her years. I worried for her, particularly on days like this. Every so often I stopped by and dropped off a few dollars. It was the least I could do.

I hoped she was keeping warm inside her tent tonight. I also hoped that the last tourist, a hat-and-scarf-wearing man still reading her posters, would pull his hands out of his pockets long enough to drop a donation before he left. Whether he supported her protest or not, the poor woman had to eat.

McPherson Square station was a few blocks from the White House. Most days I found the walk enjoyable. Not so much this evening. The other pedestrians hurried along as fast as I did, fighting the chill that nabbed us in its icy grip.

As I made my way north on 15th Street, I became aware of a person walking quickly behind me. I turned to see the same man who had been outside Connie’s tent, hurrying as though to catch up. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Excuse me,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the street, “can you help me?”

I glanced around, slowing my pace. I was ever suspicious of strangers, but there were plenty of other people around and he looked harmless enough. “What do you need?” I asked.

Wearing a brown fedora, dark jacket, and red plaid scarf across his mouth and nose, he puffed out a dramatic breath. “Thank you. I may be lost.” Nothing about him set off any alarms, but when he took a step closer, I stepped back.

“I’m supposed to meet someone at a restaurant around
here.” He stretched his left arm out and tapped the watch on his wrist. I’d expected a Rolex, but it looked more like a department-store Swatch. “I’m late and I can’t remember the name of the place. Which stinks, because I’m starving.”

He didn’t scan the street for potential meeting places, he stared at me—studying me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like that I couldn’t see his whole face. “There are a lot of restaurants around here,” I said as I inched away, “why don’t you call your friend and ask?”

He stepped closer. “Left my cell back at work. Hey,” he said as though the thought had just occurred to him. “Can I borrow yours? Just for a minute?”

There seemed to be far fewer pedestrians than there had been just moments ago. I was definitely getting the creeps from this guy now. As he took another half-step closer, I said, “It won’t do you any good if his number is in
your
phone’s memory.”

He blinked. “Right.” Switching gears, he continued, “You seem a little frazzled. Rough day at the office?”

This conversation was very wrong, and I needed to get away without making any sudden moves. I worked up a smile of my own and took a step back, making sure to memorize all I could about this weirdo, just in case. Twenty-five to thirty-five years old, by my limited best guess. Dark eyes. No moles, no birthmarks in the part of his face I could see. “I hope you find your friend,” I said, giving a little wave. I started away at a brisk clip.

Within seconds, he was at my side again. “Maybe if I describe the restaurant to you. It’s supposed to be famous for its gourmet menu. Do you know anything about food?”

I didn’t slow my pace, didn’t look at him. “Not much.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Instinctively, I glanced over. I couldn’t tell whether he knew who I was or whether he was just socially inept. He shrugged, said, “Women always know the best restaurants,” then studied the streets, as though looking for an opportunity. “Where do you work?”

Picking up my pace, I pointed east. “There’s a great steakhouse about a block from here.” I gave him the name. “On the next street. If that isn’t right, I’m sure they’ll be able to help you find the right one.” I tapped my wrist. “Gotta run.”

“Wait—”

I didn’t. I flat-out ran the rest of the way to McPherson and reached the entrance to the station panting. My hungry friend didn’t follow, thank goodness, but when I peered back around the corner, I swore I saw him pull out his left-at-work cell phone and make a call.