Affairs of Steak Read Free Page B

be out here on official business. Little did I know he would be, too.”
    “He seems tenacious.”
    Sargeant glanced at me, his eyes flashing with anger. “It’s unfortunate he never used his tenacity to make a better life for himself. We both started out in the same place, yet look at where I am as compared to—” When Sargeant cut himself off, I didn’t push it. His family issues were none of my concern.
    We slowed as we approached Lexington Place. Built in the late 1800s, the Romanesque building was set back from the street behind a wide driveway. Even I could tell this was perfect for limos to drop off occupants behind a screen of Secret Service lookouts. We climbed the half-dozen marble steps up to the giant glass entry doors that had been retrofitted into the façade.
    The green glass whispered open, allowing us entry. It was pretty quiet today. When not being used for black-tie dinners or other such illustrious affairs, Lexington Place served as a temporary gallery for fledgling artists. Free and open to the public during showings, Lexington Place had arranged for portable white walls to be set up cubicle style in its high-ceilinged, pillared lobby. Local artists—some classically trained, some self-taught—vied for spots inside. From what I understood, it was quite a coup to be featured here.
    Today’s bad weather and the early hour apparentlycombined to prevent art lovers from venturing outdoors and into this space. Too bad. Even a cursory glance told me I’d enjoy spending time here. We looked around, but it appeared completely vacant. “Hello?” I said.
    No answer.
    Other than the hollow, clicking noises our footsteps made as we ventured into the lobby, the place was quiet as a tomb.
    A female security guard came around one of the back cubicles. Wearing a wary look and a blue blazer two sizes too small, she ambled over. “We’re here to meet Patty Woodruff,” I said. “Is she here yet?”
    The guard sized us up. “You the two from the White House?”
    “We most certainly are,” Sargeant said, fussiness back in place. “Ms. Woodruff is expecting us.”
    The guard glanced at her watch. “Yeah, that’s what she said.” Waving absently to the east, she continued. “She’s been here all morning up on the second floor. Elevator’s over there.” She pointed to the south. “Or you can take the stairs. Whatever suits you.”
    “Is the kitchen on the second floor?” Patty wanted me to scope out the food preparation facilities. I intended to do that first. On my own, if possible. It was always much easier to focus and concentrate without one of the First Lady’s assistants or Peter Everett Sargeant breathing down my neck.
    “She said she’d be waiting for you in the kitchen,” the guard replied. “West side of the second floor. Through the wooden door that reads PRIVATE, then take a right.”
    There went the idea of exploring on my own. “Thanks,” I said and headed for the stairs.
    Sargeant glowered.
    “Take the elevator if you want.” I set off toward the wide marble steps at the very back of the lobby, resisting the urge to add, “I’ll beat you,” because Sargeant was not a playful man. To my surprise, he fell into step beside me.
    “Are we the only ones here today?” he asked as we madeour way up. With a noise of disgust, he added, “They call themselves green. How much heat do they waste keeping the building open all day? Not to mention electricity. Thousands of dollars wasted on the chance that some sightseers might drop in. It’s a shame.”
    Sargeant’s mood was always foul when I was around, but after our encounter with Milton, it’d gotten worse. I decided to ignore his complaint. I didn’t know enough about green technology to offer up an argument, but I imagined the building’s certification had more to do with the methods it employed than solely on how many hours it remained open to the public each day.
    The hallway at the top of the stairs was completely dark. I