Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [52]
Had she been free to do what she wanted that morning, she would have climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up over her head. But people would be arriving in a half hour to discuss a fund-raising project and it was too late to call it off. And, she had her lunch date with Jeanine Jamison at the White House.
The meeting lasted until eleven. Mitzi thanked them for coming and called for her driver. After going through White House security, which had been tightened even more because of recent breaches of it, she was allowed to enter and was led by a member of the first lady’s staff to Jeanine’s office in the East Wing.
“Hi, Lance,” Mitzi said to Lance Millius, Jeanine’s chief of staff.
“Hello, Ms. Cardell,” he replied, looking up only momentarily from something he was reading.
Mitzi forced a smile and took a seat along the wall. It was ten minutes before the first lady bounced in, looking fresh and alive. “Mitzi,” she said, “sorry to be late. I’ll just be a minute more.” To Millius: “Are things straightened out with the rabbi about tonight?”
“Everything’s worked out,” he said. “No problem.”
Mitzi and Jeanine were about to leave when the first lady’s assistant in charge of flower arrangements came into the office in a state of near hysteria. “I need to talk with you, Mrs. Jamison.”
Jeanine shrugged and made a gesture to Mitzi that said it was beyond her control. They disappeared into Jeanine’s private office. Fifteen minutes later Jeanine returned, grabbed Mitzi by the arm, and waltzed her out the door to a small, private dining room one floor above, where two members of the waitstaff stood at the ready. “Hope what I ordered for us is all right with you,” Jeanine said as they sat at the nicely set and adorned table.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Mitzi said.
“It’s great to find some time together,” Jeanine said. “My schedule is insane these days.”
“So I read,” Mitzi said. “You’re going back to CVA next week?”
“Yes. I didn’t know how I’d ever squeeze it in but it’s hard to say no to Waldine when it comes to raising money.”
“She’s lucky to have someone in your position willing to do it.”
“All for the old alma mater, huh?” Jeanine said with a laugh. “So, how are things at the Cardell residence? John okay?”
“John is fine. He’s off to London, some business meeting. Jeanine, there’s something we have to talk about.”
They’d just been served cups of vichyssoise. Jeanine sat back and adopted a concerned expression. “Oh?” she said. “Sounds as though it’s serious. Are you and John—?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Mitzi surveyed the room. “Is this room secure?”
“‘Secure?’ Of course it’s secure.”
“I mean there’s no tape recorder running, anything like that?”
“Mitzi, don’t be silly.”
“I know there’s always a tape running in the Oval Office. Nixon and the tapes. Lyndon Johnson.”
“Mitzi—”
“I know I’m being foolish. It’s just that—”
A waiter delivered their salads and conversation ceased. When he was gone and the door was closed behind him, Mitzi said in a low voice, “My father called last night. I didn’t take the call because I was in the middle of a dinner party. I called him this morning. He told me that a private detective named—” She consulted a scrap of paper she’d brought with her. “His name is Robert Brixton.”
“A private detective?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“Daddy says he visited Waldine Farnsworth and asked her about a photo he had with him.”
“So?”
Mitzi drew a breath before continuing. “The picture was taken during one of those weekend retreats we used to have at the school. Remember?”
“Sure. But what does a photo have to do with anything?”
“I’m in the picture, Jeanine. So is Louise Watkins.”
The first lady’s dismissive tone changed now. Mitzi watched as her childhood friend processed what she’d just heard, lips pressed tightly together, eyes narrowed. Finally, she said, “Oh.”
“Daddy says this detective is working for Louise’s mother and trying to find out who shot