Home Free - Fern Michaels [63]
Gus thought about the question. “I didn’t get back here until June. I wasn’t in shape for six weeks or so to do much reading or anything else. By August I was reading nonstop. I don’t recall seeing anything that made me think about it or go back and reread the article.” He quirked an eyebrow in Maggie’s direction. “Maybe if you told me specifically what you’re looking for, it might trigger something in my mind.”
Maggie thought about it. Did she really want to involve Gus Sullivan in her work life? If she did, she knew in her gut she would be opening up a whole big can of worms. She waited so long before responding, Gus nudged her. What the heck. “I am trying to figure out why those guys were at Camp David over Thanksgiving. They have families. Not to mention the Europeans. I spent a few days researching past guests at Camp David over the holidays. There hasn’t been a guest list like the one you and I were on in the last twenty-five years. Does that answer your question?”
“Well now, that’s a rib tickler if I ever heard one. What are you thinking? You said earlier that you talked to the media guys while you were there. What did they think or share with you?”
“The same thing I shared with them—nothing, nada, bupkes. They were as much in the dark as I was. We kicked it around for a while, each of us trying to pick the other’s brains, but it was like picking strawberries in the middle of winter. Our yield was zip. The only thing we could agree on was that, as guest lists go, it was exceedingly strange. None of the media could figure out my last-minute invitation. Hell, I still haven’t figured it out.”
“Do you think, and this is just a wild guess on my part, but could it have something to do with your friends?”
Maggie felt a sudden chill on her neck. “What friends would those be, Gus?”
Seeing Maggie’s attitude change in a nanosecond, Gus retreated. “I think I should quit while I’m ahead. What I was referring to was your colleagues, your reporters who normally cover the White House beat. Since you are the editor in chief, you aren’t reporting anymore, right?” Even Gus knew his explanation sounded lame; she could read it in his expression.
That wasn’t what he’d meant at all, and Maggie knew it. She looked down at the oversize watch on her wrist. She still had plenty of time before her hour visit was up. “Would you look at the time! I have to go.” She shut off the minirecorder, jammed it into her pocket. A second later she was literally running from the common room and down the hall to the entrance. She didn’t even say good-bye or wave. Well, Maggie, if you stick your foot in someone’s mouth, be prepared to get bitten.
Maggie lucked out. Just as she reached the main door, a cab pulled up. Two men got out, and Maggie hopped in. She rattled off her home address and said, “Go!” just as Gus’s electric wheelchair collided with the two men entering the hospital. She didn’t look back. So much for going back to the Post. She’d never felt so alone. She realized she didn’t want to go home to an empty house. But where could she go on a Friday night? Everyone was a couple these days. Well, there was alone and then there was alone. Maybe she could take a stab at putting up her Christmas tree. How hard could it be to put a tree in a stand, turn the screws, and stand it upright?
When she stepped out of the cab in front of her house, Maggie saw her next door neighbor’s high-school-age son walking a gorgeous German shepherd named Pretty Girl. “Drew, hold on a minute,” she said as she paid the driver. “If you aren’t doing anything, I’ll give you fifty bucks to put up my Christmas tree.”
“Sure, Miss Spritzer, but you don’t have to pay me. Just let me take Pretty Girl in and tell my mom where I am. Where’s the tree?”
“In a bucket of water on the little porch. I’ll get the stand out. If you have a saw, you better bring it with you, or we’ll have to use a butcher knife to trim off the lower branches.”
“I’ll do that. Be over in a few minutes.