Buffalo West Wing (28 page)

“My job here is too important for me to leave it ... to spend time away ... at ... at a grammar school, for heaven’s sakes. What do they expect me to do? Answer a bunch of boring questions from kids who have no idea what a real chef does for a living?”

“This is your chance to enlighten them,” I said.

“I still think you should take my place. You’re better with kids.”

Chopping shallots while Cyan kneaded bread next to me, I shook my head. “Not a chance. This one is all yours.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Well then, if I’m stuck spending the afternoon at school, I’m taking tomorrow off.”

“Whoa,” I said. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean? Bucky wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Don’t even go there,” Bucky said. “This is our sand-box. You have to learn to play by our rules.”

“Yesterday was Bucky’s regular day off, Virgil,” I said in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anger in the room. “We
planned
for him to not be here. We’ve got this week scheduled down to the minute. All days off need to be requested ahead of time. Paul went over this with you when you first started, remember? Except for regular days off, we require a week’s notice. In a pinch we can probably work with less time, but not on a day when we’re hosting a state dinner.”

His mouth agape, he tightened his arms. “You’re just playing favorites now.”

“Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t sorry at all. “If you would have told us last week, we might have been able to work it in.” I snapped my fingers, feeling a little justifiable meanness take over where my good sense usually resided. “But wait, you
did
take an extra day off last week. You were playing golf ... in Florida.”

“With the president,” he added.

Like I didn’t know that. “No matter. You have to live by the same rules we all do. We’re going to need you here all day tomorrow.”

“You mean until it’s time for me to go be Josh’s show-and-tell project.”

“Yeah. Until then.” I looked up at the clock. “Are you going to have everything done in time for lunch?”

Virgil pouted, but went back to work. I was getting used to his little hissy fits. Maybe one of these days he’d start acting like an adult.

Cyan stopped kneading as though she suddenly remembered something. She hurried over to the computer. Consulting our schedule and then checking e-mail, she looked at the clock, then turned to me. “Secret Service hasn’t gotten back to us about that extra order I placed. I probably should have followed up sooner, but they’re always so reliable. Do you think they forgot?”

“It’s worth checking,” I said. “Let me call over there now.”

I asked for our regular contact, Agent Flora Scott. She wasn’t in. I tried a couple other agents, but came up empty. “Argh,” I said.

Cyan looked on in sympathy. “Always something, isn’t it?”

“I’m going over there to see who’s around. We have to make sure this gets done.”

I walked over to the nearby Secret Service office where Bost and Zeller had attempted to corral and question me, but the only person on duty had no idea about any grocery orders, nor where Flora might be. He apologized profusely. I told him I’d check with the other office.

On my way to the West Wing, I tried Gav’s cell again. Still no luck. If he was ignoring my calls, I was going to be pretty angry when he finally answered. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. I also kept reminding myself that he and I had no commitment to one another. He had made that clear. There was no reason why I should expect him to check in with me. None whatsoever.

My brain waged war with itself. Half of me argued that after our conversation, Gav would keep in touch. If he wasn’t answering, there had to be a really good reason. The other half of me argued that I just wasn’t that important to him. That didn’t square with my feelings from the other night—or the feelings I believed I’d read from him—but it was still a possibility.

Tom was in his office when I got there, but the agent in the anteroom asked me to wait. “Agent MacKenzie is on the phone.”

I sat on the edge of one of the sofas, looking around the room, trying to keep my mind on preparations for Wednesday, yet fingering the cell phone in my pocket, just in case. I often turned my phone off because I couldn’t afford to have it ring at an inopportune time. Maybe that’s what Gav had done.

But he hadn’t had it on last night in his hotel room. That is, if he’d made it back to the hotel room at all. Maybe he’d gotten in very late and decided not to wake me. Or maybe he hadn’t thought of me at all.

“Agent MacKenzie will see you now.”

I stood and walked in to Tom’s office while the other agent held the door, and then closed it behind me. “New guy?” I asked, pointing toward the anteroom.

“One of many. What can I do for you, Ollie?”

I told him about the order we’d placed with Flora Scott, and he said he would look into it right away. “She’s usually very conscientious,” he said. “I’ll find out what’s going on.” He held up a finger and in moments had her on the line. He handed me the phone. “Tell her what you need.”

I did. “And I just wanted to be sure we’re on target to get those items tomorrow morning.”

Agent Scott apologized for not getting back to me sooner. “We had some trouble with a few ingredients.”

“Which ones?”

She named several items I hadn’t requested and I said so.

“Your chef Virgil added these to the list.”

“Oh, did he?” That man was a growing thorn in my side. “Thanks for letting me know. Would you be sure to get separate receipts for his purchases?”

She said she would.

“Thanks.” I handed the phone back to Tom. “I appreciate it. You saved me a lot of time.”

“Glad to help.”

I started to leave.

“You came all the way down here for that?”

I held up my hands. “No one in the other office had any idea. And I didn’t want to wait for an e-mail reply. Time’s tight and if we run late on this order, it could really throw us off. The sooner I was sure we were still on target, the more efficient we could be.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

I started to leave again, but just as I reached for the doorknob, I turned back. Casually, I said, “Gav hasn’t been around much the past couple days.”

Tom folded his arms. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Has he been reassigned again?”

The look on Tom’s face was at once, hurt, curious, and sad. “Wouldn’t you be the first to know if he was?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I don’t think so.”

He took a moment to straighten his blotter. “I’m surprised,” he said softly, then looked up again and met my gaze without expression. “I haven’t heard from Special Agent in Charge Gavin since our discussion in the hall Sunday.”

My face must have given away my reaction because he held up a hand.

“That doesn’t mean anything bad. I knew there was a chance we wouldn’t hear from him for a while.”

“A while meaning ...”

“A while.” Tom sighed. “Don’t push me, Ollie. This is hard enough.”

“I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

CHAPTER 24

UNABLE TO SLEEP, I GOT IN TO THE WHITE House kitchen early Wednesday morning. Ridiculously early, even for me. State dinners were among the most important events that went on in this house, and although we occasionally had to deal with unexpected mishaps, I was determined to be prepared for anything.

By 5:30 A.M., I’d gotten almost everything done that Cyan and I had slotted to have completed by 8:00. I was confident that this would be a magnificent state dinner and as I took a long look around the quiet kitchen—my kitchen—I felt a calm settle over me. There may have been issues I felt unsure about since the Hydens arrived, but one thing I knew how to do was throw a party at the White House. Over the years we’d gotten the process down to a science, and I looked forward to showing Mrs. Hyden exactly what the cook she’d inherited from the prior administration could do.

I thrust my hands into my pockets and my fingers encountered my cell phone. I still hadn’t heard from Gav. Maybe he’d felt awkward after the evening in my apartment. Maybe he preferred to maintain radio silence until he sorted things out for himself. Maybe I’d read him wrong and he wasn’t interested in me at all.

I felt a hard lump in my throat. Or maybe he was in trouble somewhere and couldn’t call. As uncomfortable as it might be, I decided that I would find time to ask Tom again about what was going on. Until I knew, I wouldn’t be able to fully concentrate. And I had to be at my best today of all days.

Gav once told me I had a sixth sense. Not ESP or clairvoyance, he’d explained, but an awareness that allowed me to anticipate things before they happened. Right now, I was feeling as though all the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were tingling, trying to send me a signal that I couldn’t quite make out. All I could determine was that today was make or break. For me, I wondered, or for Gav?

I couldn’t think about it.

“How long have you been in?” Cyan asked as she pulled off her jacket. “And where’s Virgil?”

“Not in yet,” I said with an absentminded glance at the clock. “He should be here by now, though.” I consulted the day’s schedule behind me. “Looks like he has breakfast going up at seven this morning for Josh and Mrs. Hyden. Abigail is at Camp David, and the Navy Mess is taking care of the president. He’s got time.”

“Whoa,” Cyan said, looking around. “Look at all you’ve gotten done already. Were you here all night?”

“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well come in and get started.”

Cyan touched my forearm. “What’s wrong, Ollie?”

I wanted to tell her, but speaking my concerns out loud would make them real. Keeping silent seemed like another way to offer protection to Gav. I wrinkled my nose. “Nothing, really.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, “but I won’t push you. Too many other pressures today.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bucky rolled in, but Virgil still hadn’t shown up. “Do you think he’s working from the residence kitchen?” I asked.

“Better call up there to find out,” Bucky said. “The guy said he wanted the day off. What if he doesn’t show?”

“He’s too much of a professional for that,” I said, but my stomach started to crawl with concern. I lifted the receiver and dialed the upstairs kitchen. A butler answered. “Is Virgil up there?” I asked, wishing my voice hadn’t risen two octaves. There was no reason to be nervous.

“No ma’am,” the butler answered. “I have not seen Mr. Ballantine this morning.”

“Thanks.” I hung up.

When I turned to tell Bucky, my heart sank. Paul and Valerie approached, looking somber. I could read it on their faces. “Virgil’s not coming in today, is he?”

Paul shook his head. “He called in sick. And you know the rules, Ollie. No one feeling under the weather can be allowed to work in the kitchen.”

I gritted my teeth. “Okay,” I said. “This puts a crimp into today’s plans. But it’s nothing we can’t handle.” I turned to Bucky. “Why don’t you get started on breakfast? Cyan and I will keep moving forward on tonight’s dinner.”

“Good thing you got in extra early this morning, Ollie,” Cyan said from behind me. “All that prework is really coming in handy now.”

She was right. “This is only a small setback,” I said to Paul and Valerie, feeling a certain joy in knowing we could handle whatever they threw at us. “We’ll cover Virgil’s responsibilities and still be in great shape to deliver a phenomenal state dinner tonight.”

I expected Paul to nod and smile. I expected Valerie to cheerfully check something off on the clipboard she carried, then pivot and run off to put out some other fire.

Neither moved. Neither smiled. In fact, they both looked a little pained.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

“Josh’s school project,” Paul said. “Virgil was supposed to go.”

“Right,” I said slowly. The creepy, crawly stomach bugs were back. “But if he’s sick, he can’t go.”

Valerie and Paul exchanged a look.

“No.” I held my hands up and backed away. “No, no.”

“This is very important to Josh,” Valerie said.

I held up a finger. “He wanted Virgil. Not me. I’m sure the teacher can reschedule him.”

“Do you have any idea how much work it is to coordinate an event like this?”

I shook my head.

“Security,” she went on, “is on special alert. There are plans and protocols and timing issues. If we cancel today, we’ll have to set all this up again another day.”

That really wasn’t my problem, though I refrained from saying so. “Every day Josh goes to school is a major security maneuver. Adding a chef shouldn’t really complicate matters.”

Valerie sighed. “You wouldn’t think so, but the Secret Service informs me that adding a second subject makes coverage more difficult. They strongly suggest you take Virgil’s place.”