“I’m pretty sure the chef would mind, Agent Todd,” Director Worcester said from the doorway leading to the foyer.
Both agents started.
“Chef,” the director continued, “I’ve come to return you to the White House.”
“Griff didn’t send word that Pillsbury should be moved,” Agent Todd countered.
“Pillsbury?” Marin squeaked.
The young agent shrugged. “It’s your code name.”
“Agent Keller’s instructions are being superseded here,” the director interjected. “By orders from the First Lady.” His gaze fell on Marin. “Little Arabelle is sick. And she’s asking for you. I’m to bring you back right away. Otto, too.”
Marin’s glimmer of hope that her tormentor had been captured was replaced by worry for the little girl. Aunt Harriett was a trained pediatrician. She wouldn’t have summoned Marin if something wasn’t terribly wrong with her granddaughter.
Once again, they rode in the decoy vehicle, Marin and Otto in the back and the director up front with the driver. Agent Groesch stayed behind at the safe house which meant she was likely to be returned there. While Marin was troubled that Arabelle was ill, she was relieved to be returning to the familiarity of the White House. Perhaps she could convince the director to let her stay.
The admiral greeted them at the North Portico. “Good to see you, Chef,” he said. “The child is distraught and demanding to see you.”
They took the elevator up to the third floor where the president’s son and his family lived. The First Lady intercepted them in the hallway. Otto darted past them into the little girl’s room.
“How is she?” Marin asked her godmother.
“Physically, I can’t find anything wrong with her.” Aunt Harriett was visibly frazzled. “But she’s been weepy and clingy all afternoon. She was fine this morning. Bita took her to breakfast before school. Of course, Farrah is in Santa Barbara at some charity polo event and Clark is in surgery. Neither one of them should have ever become parents,” she mumbled. “Arabelle just keeps crying and asking for you. She says you’re the only one who can make her better.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Eight years of medical training and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’m happy to help,” Marin said. “And even happier to be back in the White House.”
Her aunt hugged her. “They are going to find this guy, Marin.”
“Mrs. Manning,” the First Lady’s chief of staff prompted.
“Crap,” Aunt Harriett said. “I have a speaking engagement at the Girls and Boys Club this afternoon.” She glanced at Arabelle’s bedroom. “I should cancel and stay with her. Bita was supposed to, but she’s picked up some kind of bug. Which leads me to believe Arabelle is coming down with something, too.”
“I’m here now. I’ll stay with her until you get back,” Marin volunteered.
“Thank you.” The First Lady hugged her again. “If she starts to develop any symptoms, have the agent on duty alert me.”
Arabelle’s room was decorated like a castle, complete with vine-covered floor-to-ceiling turrets framing the low bed draped in crinoline. Otto was already snoring on the mattress, his big body curled around the small child.
“Marin!” Arabelle cried, jumping off the bed, startling the dog. “You’re here.”
“Hey, sweetie.” Marin wrapped her arms around the girl, inhaling the sweet smell of baby shampoo and cinnamon candy the head butler had likely snuck to her. “Your grandma Harriet says you aren’t feeling well.”
“I’m not sick,” Arabelle insisted with a shake of her head. “I just needed to tell you something ‘portant.”
“Well, perhaps we should sit down for such a serious discussion.” Marin eased into the upholstered glider, careful not to dislodge Arabelle from around her waist. “Is this about that boy, Charlie, in your class?” she teased.
“I don’t love Charlie anymore,” Arabelle replied solemnly. “I love Peter. But this isn’t about them. It’s about Grandma Bita. And you.”
A sense of unease crawled up Marin’s spine. “What about your Grandma Bita?”
“She gave me a very ‘portant job to do. But it’s a secret. Just for you.” Arabelle placed her chubby hands on Marin’s cheeks. “You have to listen to me and do just as I say.”
The unease was fast becoming a full-blown panic attack. Marin did her best to remain calm in front of Arabelle, however. She didn’t want to frighten the child any further. Bita had been in the pastry kitchen the morning Marin had seen the supposed art thief. Was Arabelle’s grandmother involved with the thefts somehow? Good Lord, why would the woman involve her granddaughter in any of this? Marin wrapped her arms more firmly around the child.
“I’m listening,” Marin said.
“The mean man who always makes Grandma Bita whisper in Farsi to him made her go somewhere with him. He said the only way she can come back is if you go and get her. She made me promise to tell you. Grandma Bita gave me a note to give you.”