Buffalo West Wing
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME, MR. PRESIDENT
BUFFALO WILD WEST WINGS WITH HOMEMADE RANCH DRESSING AND CELERY STICKS
SPRING GREENS SALAD WITH MANDARIN ORANGES AND BERRIES
KID-FRIENDLY RECIPES
WHITE HOUSE STATE DINNER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for
EGGSECUTIVE ORDERS
“The ever-burgeoning culinary mystery subgenre has a new chef-sleuth ... Olivia Paras, the first female White House chef, just wants to focus on her job: cooking for the president’s family, preparing state banquets, and getting ready for the annual Easter Egg Roll. However, when one of the guests at a state dinner dies, everything changes ... Hyzy does a great job of keeping us interested in all of these problems, and the backstage look at the White House proves fascinating. Recipes are included for Eggcellent Eggs.”—Booklist
“A quickly paced plot with a headstrong heroine and some recipes featuring eggs all add up to a dependable mystery.”
—The Mystery Reader
HAIL TO THE CHEF
“A gourmand’s delight ... Julie Hyzy balances her meal ticket quite nicely between the glimpses at the working class inside the White House with an engaging chef’s cozy.”—Midwest Book Review
“The story is entertaining, the character is charming, the setting is interesting ... Fun to read and sometimes that is exactly what hits the spot. I’ve found all of Hyzy’s books to be worth reading and this one is no different.”
—Crime Fiction Dossier (Book of the Week)
“[A] well-plotted mystery.”—The Mystery Reader
STATE OF THE ONION
“Pulse-pounding action, an appealing heroine, and the inner workings of the White House kitchen combine for a stellar adventure in Julie Hyzy’s delightful State of the Onion.”—Carolyn Hart, author of Laughed ’Til He Died
“Hyzy’s sure grasp of Washington geography offers firm footing for the plot.”—Booklist
“Topical, timely, intriguing. Julie Hyzy simmers a unique setting, strong characters, sharp conflict, and snappy plotting into a peppery blend that packs an unusual wallop. Hyzy’s research into the backstage kitchen secrets of the White House gives this series a special savor that will make you hungry for more.”
—Susan Wittig Albert, author of Holly Blues
“From terrorists to truffles, mystery writer Julie Hyzy concocts a sumptuous, breathtaking thriller.”
—Nancy Fairbanks, bestselling author of Turkey Flambé
“Exciting and delicious! Full of heart-racing thrills and mouthwatering food, this is a total sensual delight.”
—Linda Palmer, author of Kiss of Death
“A compulsively readable whodunit full of juicy behind-the-Oval-Office details, flavorful characters, and a satisfying side dish of red herrings—not to mention twenty pages of easy-to-cook recipes fit for the leader of the free world.”—Publishers Weekly
Praise for the novels of Julie Hyzy
“Deliciously exciting.”—Nancy Fairbanks
“A well-constructed plot, interesting characters, and plenty of Chicago lore ... A truly pleasurable cozy.”
—Annette Meyers
“[A] solid, entertaining mystery that proves her to be a promising talent with a gift for winning characters and involving plots ... Likely to appeal to readers of traditional mysteries as well as those who enjoy stories with a slightly harder edge.”—Chicago Sun-Times
“The fast-paced plot builds to a spine-chilling ending.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A nicely balanced combination of detective work and high-wire adventure.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Riveting ... A twisty, absorbing, headline-current case. First rate.”—Carolyn Hart
“A well-crafted narrative, gentle tension, and a feisty, earthbound heroine mark this refreshingly different mystery debut.”—Library Journal
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Julie Hyzy
White House Chef Mysteries
STATE OF THE ONION
HAIL TO THE CHEF
EGGSECUTIVE ORDERS
BUFFALO WEST WING
Manor House Mysteries
GRACE UNDER PRESSURE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
BUFFALO WEST WING
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with Tekno Books
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Tekno Books.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN: 9781101480878
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To everyone from Bouchercon 2009
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A big shout-out to Margie McGuire, who suggested this book’s title during one of our famous Blackberry Breakfasts. Thanks, Margie! And to Rene Baumgartner, whose famous chocolate chip cookies morphed into wings for this story.
Special thanks to my wonderful editor, Natalee Rosenstein, as well as Michelle Vega, Megan Swartz, Kaitlyn Kennedy, and Erica Rose at Berkley Prime Crime. Thanks also to the folks at Tekno, especially Marty Greenberg and John Helfers. I owe a great debt to the incomparable Denise Little, who keeps Ollie cookin’.
Every writer needs support and I’m incredibly fortunate to have my blog-sisters at MysteryLoversKitchen. com, and my cozy-mates at KillerCharacters.com to rely on for both morale-boosting and cheerleading. I’m very lucky to be friends with these amazing writers.
I would be nowhere without my family. It’s impossible to put into words how much they mean to me, but I know they know, so it’s all good. Love you, Curt, Robyn, Sara, Biz, Paul, Mitch, Grandma, Auntie Claudia, Kitka, and Violet. We miss you, K’Ehleyr.
Thanks to Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and Thriller Writers of America for camaraderie and support, and thanks especially to readers who are willing to take a chance on new authors. You’re the best!
CHAPTER 1
INAUGURATION DAY
“HURRY UP, OLLIE. IT’S ALMOST TIME,” CYAN called from the center hall.
“Go ahead, I’ll meet you there!”
I shouted back. I placed my inelegant creation on the oven’s center rack, gave it a final critical glance, and reminded myself there was a first time for everything. Especially in the White House. Shutting the oven door, I quickly washed and dried my hands, then hurried to join Cyan.
The musty fragrance of old papers, books, photos, and historic paraphernalia hit me the moment I stepped into the curator’s office. That familiar “library smell” mingling with the delicious aroma of fresh coffee caused me to slow down and take an appreciative breath. This was a room where I could get lost for hours at a time.
Like I’d ever have that luxury.
Stocky and bearded, our curator, John Weaver, maintained his office with loving efficiency. Archived materials were kept off-site, but in here he crammed as much as he could into every available nook. He was extraordinarily well organized; I’d seen him produce obscure artifacts within moments of a president’s request.
Right now, however, his office swarmed with people. Huddled around a tiny television, staffers jockeyed for position. I caught sight of Cyan’s red ponytail—she’d managed to claim a spot up front. My second in command, Bucky, stood directly behind her. Among the others present were our florist, Kendra, her assistant, and several new people. I was the last to arrive and stood on my toes, hoping for a glimpse of the TV screen. But everyone clustered in front of me was too tall.
John noticed. “Olivia,” he said, gesturing me forward, “you can’t possibly see anything from there.”
“I’m fine,” I said, but by the time I’d gotten the words out, everyone had shifted to make room for me. I removed my toque and took a position next to Cyan, turning to face the group that had closed in behind me. “Can everybody see okay?”
“There’s no problem seeing over you.” Bucky said, not unkindly. “You’re short enough.”
We were stealing precious minutes here. At our stations before dawn, every one of us had been rushing nonstop from the moment we’d arrived. Just as soon as our new president was sworn in, we would hurry back to resume today’s crazed timetable. Of all the busy days at the White House—and there were many—this was by far the busiest. Thank goodness it only occurred once every four or eight years.
From the instant President and Mrs. Campbell stepped out the south portico door this morning to head to the Capitol until our new president arrived here later in “The Beast,” his brand-new custom-fitted limousine, we would be hard at work, changing everything in the mansion to accommodate its new residents.
Housekeeping had swiftly transported all the Campbells’ personal items: pictures, notes, books, colognes, dresses, suits, and socks into moving vans, and were now in the process of scouring the already gleaming home before bringing in all new belongings and favorites to replace the old. Different sizes, colors, preferences.
Everything changed in what appeared to the outside world to take no longer than whispering “abracadabra.” But it was the endless rehearsals, the thick binders filled with detailed instructions, reams of notes, and the tireless work of ninety staffers that made the switchover look like magic.
“You’re just in time,” Cyan whispered.
One of the new Secret Service agents, Bost, shushed her. “Quiet,” he said. “The chief justice is about to administer the oath of office.”
Cyan rolled her eyes but returned her attention to the television where we all watched the young and handsome Parker Hyden become the new president of the United States. His lovely wife, Denise, held the Bible upon which he set his left hand. Accompanying them before an audience of millions—if you included those gathered in front of the Capitol building and everyone watching from home—were their two children, Abigail, thirteen, and Joshua, nine. The Hydens were a handsome family, bright with hope and determination.
What would the future hold, for him, for them, for us? As the oath was completed and President Hyden stepped to the microphone to deliver his first speech as commander in chief, I wrestled with the sadness I’d been fighting these past few weeks. I liked our new president very much. I liked what he stood for. But for the past four years, I had served at the pleasure of President and Mrs. Campbell, and I missed them already.
A bond forms between the White House staff and the First Family. It’s an unusual bond because it is, by definition, temporary. Every four or eight years the residents change, but the staffers largely remain the same. I had come to treasure my time with Mrs. Campbell.
With a new family moving in, I had no idea what the days ahead held for me or for others in key positions on staff. For those of us in the most visible posts, continued employment was not a given. So far, the Hyden family seemed willing to keep me around. After all, I was the first female in the role of White House executive chef, and it wouldn’t look good to cut me from the staff without giving me a chance to prove myself. But there were no assurances they would like my style. No guarantee I would bond with them the way I had with the Campbells.
President Campbell had served only one term and had not run for reelection due to health issues that threatened to hamper his ability to serve. After the news broke that he would not seek a second term, entertaining at the White House was severely curtailed. President Campbell had finished out his presidency in relative quiet.
By contrast, Parker Hyden, a junior senator from a Midwestern state, had taken the world by storm and had won the election over President Campbell’s former veep by a landslide. The new president promised to continue promoting a platform of unity. I was glad. But when it came time for the final good-byes in the Entrance Hall, I’d gotten choked up when Mrs. Campbell leaned forward to hug me. She’d whispered in my ear, “Life was never boring with you in charge of our kitchen. I hope you take as good care of the Hydens as you did of us.”
John interrupted my reverie as he stepped away from the television. “The next few weeks ought to be interesting,” he said. “Now that the election hoopla is over, the media will hound our new president relentlessly, hoping for an early misstep to get everybody all fired up again. Be on your guard, everyone.”
His warning was appreciated, but unnecessary. With the exception of the new people, everyone gathered here had weathered more media blitzkriegs than we could count. “Good reminder, John,” I said. “Thanks.”
The group around the television dispersed. Cyan, Bucky, and I followed the new staffers out the door with Kendra and her assistant close behind. As much as we would have liked to stay to hear what President Hyden had to say, we couldn’t afford the time. I planned to catch his speech online later.
Passing the kitchen, one of the new agents, Gardez, sniffed the air. “What’s that? It’s so familiar.” His faint Spanish accent and height—over six feet tall—combined to make for one very attractive Secret Service agent.
Cyan laughed before I could answer. “Bet it smells like home, doesn’t it?”
“Come on, Gardez. We don’t have time for this.” In contrast to his companion, Bost was muscular and trim, with a blond buzz cut, and an acne-pitted complexion. He fisted his companion’s arm. “We have to report in to MacKenzie in five.”
My heart gave an extra beat. MacKenzie. Tom. I hadn’t seen him very much since his promotion to head of the Presidential Protective Division. We crossed paths now and then—and worked together when situations required us to do so—but we hadn’t yet reached the level of friendship that had been lost when we’d ended our romantic relationship. It had been over a year now. I wondered if we would ever get back to that place.
Cyan waved to Gardez as the two agents headed toward the West Wing and I spotted a hopeful glint in her eyes. I wasn’t the only one suffering from a nonexistent love life these days. She and Rafe, one of our SBA chefs, had been an “item” in the kitchen until six months ago when Rafe had accepted a position as executive chef at a prestigious New York hotel. Like me, Cyan was “single” again. Unlike me, however, Cyan was ready for a rebound. I was happy to immerse myself in my job and forget about relationships for a while. Life was so much simpler that way.