Home Free - Fern Michaels [46]
In the common room, the fire was blazing. A cart with fresh coffee was being wheeled in by a steward. The college student was first in line to fill his cup. Jason Parker was sitting on one of the sofas, writing something in his little notebook. When he saw Maggie, he held it up triumphantly. “I found it!”
“Good for you,” Maggie snapped. What was he scribbling in that little book, and what did it all mean? Well, she didn’t have time to worry about Jason Parker and his notes.
“Maggie, hold on. I heard in the dining room that Mr. Sullivan is leaving early this evening. I’m going to find out if I can hitch a ride with them. I just wanted you to know.”
“I didn’t know that was possible. I just assumed everyone was leaving on Sunday morning. I think I might cut my own visit short if that’s the case. Thanks for telling me,” she mumbled.
“It’s not like you don’t know everything already. I can’t believe I one-upped you,” Jason sniped.
“Why couldn’t you just have quit while you were ahead, you schmuck?” Maggie slammed the door to drive home her point.
Gus was leaving this evening, if what Jason said was true. Why? Now if she tried to hitch a ride with him, he was going to think she was hot on his tail. Maybe she should play it cool and ride it out till Sunday. Damn, why didn’t things work out the way she wanted them to? Why did something always have to go wrong at the eleventh hour? Because it’s life, she answered herself.
When the golf cart was not waiting outside, Maggie started toward Aspen Lodge. She had taken only a few steps when she heard the golf cart before it came alongside of her. “You should have waited, Miss Spritzer. We have rules here.”
“Yeah, well, I needed some fresh air. I don’t mind the walk. But since you’re here, I accept the ride. Where you from, Marine?”
“Edison, New Jersey, ma’am.”
“I’ve never been to New Jersey, for some reason.”
And that was the end of that conversation.
Five minutes later, Maggie found herself being welcomed to Aspen Lodge by the president of the United States. Martine Connor started off the conversation with an apology. “I’m really sorry, Maggie. Is it okay to call you Maggie? We went through this once before, I believe.”
Maggie nodded.
“I had hoped to spend some serious personal time with all my guests, but some things came up that had to be dealt with. Historically, for some reason, Thanksgiving has always been business-free, with nothing going on. My luck that things changed,” the president said impishly as she guided Maggie into the dining room, where a small table was set for two.
A small glass fishbowl held four white roses with assorted greenery. Maggie thought it looked simple yet elegant. Much like the president herself, who was dressed in beige slacks, loafers, and a long-sleeved burgundy turtleneck sweater. A single strand of pearls and pearl studs were her only jewelry. As for makeup, she wore a little rouge, a pale pink lipstick. There was not even a hint of perfume on her person. Her hair was pulled back casually and piled high on her head. Simple but elegant.
“I wish we had time for a real hour of girl talk, but, unfortunately, I have a meeting after lunch that is . . . very important.”
Maggie relaxed. Sizing up the president, she thought she had hit the nail on the head and that the president was going to be doing all the talking, and that she would be doing all the listening. Maggie was reminded of the news anchors who talked so fast because of time constraints. Words per minute was all-important. She waited.
“Turkey broth, turkey croquettes, and if there was a way to make a dessert with turkey, my chef would have found it. Since he didn’t find one, we’re having mince pie. All leftovers,” the president said. “I hate to see food wasted, and it’s so American to eat turkey for a week after Thanksgiving. Don’t you agree, Maggie?”
Maggie