Carolyn
Idid not want to wake up early the next morning after such a late night, so naturally the telephone rang at nine, Allison Peabody inviting me to join her for dinner at Daniel. What could I say? Several people had indicated that she might have sabotaged my turkeys, and the dinner would give me a chance to question her. And Daniel—a famous restaurant with two Michelin stars and a reputation for wonderful food, ambience, and service.
On the other hand, she extended the invitation by saying that if I hoped to write about “real” gourmet food, I did have to eat some, and that many of the restaurants I’d praised in New Orleans, if they weren’t already victims of Hurricane Katrina, weren’t what she considered “top drawer.” I owed it to Jason to avail myself of the Daniel opportunity when someone else was paying, but I got even for the mean remarks by pointing out that I had come to New York with a friend and—
“Oh, yes,” trilled Allison, “the unusual Lieutenant Vallejo. Do bring her along. Everyone should eat at least one good meal in her life, and I’m sure her reactions will be very amusing.”
I certainly hoped so. For once, I hoped that Luz would be in full foulmouthed, philistine mode.
“I do hope she has suitable clothes for an evening at Daniel.”
“She does.” Allison wasn’t getting out of paying for Luz’s dinner that way. “She has a lovely gown she acquired on a cruise we took on the Bountiful Feast.”
“Really? Well then, meet me there at eight. You do know where it is?”
“We’ll find it,” I purred. I didn’t think I’d like Allison, even if she turned out to be innocent of the attack on my turkeys.
“Waaa?” mumbled Luz from her bed.
“An invitation to dinner.”
She went back to sleep. Before I could, I had to take another call, from Janet Fong, who asked if we’d like to accompany her tomorrow night to an Asian fusion restaurant she wanted to try. “I have my book signing tomorrow night at 7:30,” I said, disappointed. Asian fusion sounded very interesting. No one had suggested that Janet might be the turkey tamperer, although, of course, I’d need to check her out.
“We can eat early. How about five-thirty? It’s not chic, but it will get you to Cooks and Books on time and me into bed by ten. My mother will be your friend for life. She thinks real sleep can only be had between ten and six.”
I had to laugh. “She sounds like a sensible woman. Between ten and ten is even nicer, but I can’t usually manage that.” I took down the name and address of the restaurant, thanked Janet for her invitation, and went straight back to sleep.
The next thing I heard was Luz’s voice saying loudly and angrily, “The feds are here to see you, Caro.”
Groggily, I stumbled out of bed and put on my robe. Two conservatively dressed men were standing in the doorway, obviously, as Detective Worski had predicted, from the State Department. In this case, I thought a good offense was in my best interest, and I certainly had a bone to pick with the State Department. I said, “It’s about time,” and they looked surprised. “It’s been…goodness I don’t know how long—since I sent you those emails asking for help, and you never answered when we needed you. My husband and the U.S. Navy rescued us. You should be ashamed of yourselves for waiting so long to come and apologize. And how did you know I was here?”
Luz had fallen onto the end of her bed laughing and gasped, “I don’t think that’s what they’ve come for, Carolyn.”
The two men looked rather befuddled, I must admit, but that didn’t pacify me at all. “You are from the State Department, aren’t you? What do you want? And whatever it is, you should have called first. We were out late at the opera and need our sleep. You’ll just have to make an appointment.”
One of them frowned and said, “If you’re Mrs. Carolyn Blue, who firebombed the limousine of Ahmad al Hafiz, the Benamian ambassador, we need to interview you.”
What was he talking about? I wondered, feeling befuddled myself. “I’ve never heard of Ahmad whatever or his country. What did you say it was? Bon Ami? That’s a household cleanser. I’m going to call hotel security.”
“May we come in?” asked the shorter of the two men. “I’m Special Agent Horace Figgis from the FBI.” He flashed an identity card. “And this is my colleague Special Agent Merton Holliwell.”
Now I was really embarrassed, but still…“I’m afraid you can’t come in,” I replied more politely. “This is our bedroom.”
Luz got off the bed, looked at their identification, and said, “We’ll meet you at the free breakfast downstairs.”
“We’ll wait for you in the hall,” said Agent Holliwell, “and if you try to get away, Mrs. Blue”—He gave me a stern look—“we’ll find you. Every police officer and agent in the city will track you down. Wouldn’t you rather talk to us now than—”
“I’d rather go back to sleep.” However, Luz quietly closed the door in their faces and suggested that we get dressed.
“If a turkey hit some diplomat’s car, it’s like bombing his country,” she said, “so we better get this straightened out.”
“Tomorrow should be soon enough.”
“Yeah, right. First you get us to shoot down a Moroccan helicopter on the cruise, and now you firebomb another Arab country’s limo. I’m surprised it wasn’t the State Department. You’re a magnet for international incidents.”
“Well, it’s probably a very small country,” I said as I started to dress. “I’ll bet you’ve never heard of it either.”
Agents Figgis and Holliwell stood waiting in the hallway and escorted us downstairs, where we headed for the free breakfast. Luz and I visited the buffet, then took a table to eat our rolls while the agents, when asked for their room keys by the woman who poured coffee, were told sternly that only guests of the hotel could eat here. They bullied the waitress into letting them sit, but they had to pay for their own coffee. As we passed through the lobby, I’d noticed the three Wise Dragon bodyguards waiting for me and looking perturbed when they saw that we were escorted by two obvious feds, as Luz had called Figgis and Holliwell. I rather hoped the Dragons would follow us and be lectured by the room-key checker, too, but I was disappointed in that respect.
However irritated, I decided to be polite to the FBI. “How can I help you?” I asked Agent Figgis. Although I did find the FBI visit somewhat intimidating, I had reason to be upset because Luz had told me on the way down that I was going to get fat again if we kept going out for big meals, while she, if she had to pay for any of them, was going to go home broke.
“I’ve lost all that weight from the cruise, and you haven’t paid for anything yet. I’m the one who’s going to have an angry husband complaining about my credit card bill.”
“Oh, stop bitching,” Luz had said, after which various respectable people on the elevator, including the agents, looked at her askance. “You’re here to write about eating ethnic, right? We should eat at some cheap ethnic places. Sooner or later I’m going to have to pay for my own dinner. Hey, Special Agent Figgis, do you know any ethnic places a retired cop like me could afford?” He had refused to answer.
At the table, instead of replying to my offer of help, Agent Holliwell asked, “What do you have against the Benamians, Mrs. Blue?”
“Would you mind if I had some breakfast first?” I replied sweetly, nibbling on my croissant and sipping my coffee. Then, as if I’d need time to think it over, I said “I’d never heard of the country before you mentioned it, and I’ve never met a Benamian. But I did hear that the ambassador was Arab, perhaps Muslim. There are Arab Christians, as well.”
“He is Muslim, but not a fundamentalist. Do you have ties to any fundamentalist Muslim terrorist groups?”
“You can’t be serious.” What a really silly question. They obviously knew nothing about me. “I write about food. I live in El Paso. All my friends—well, except Luz—are academics. My husband is a chemistry professor, for goodness sake.”
“So he helped you make the bombs?”
“He did no such thing. He’s back home in El Paso because there was a…a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. It was a chemical problem, something to do with metals.”
The two men exchanged glances as if I’d just said something significant. Well, I wasn’t going to tell them there’d been a lab accident. They’d assume it had something to do with bombs.
“Does your husband have terrorist ties?”
“Of course not. As I said, he’s a professor, and not of Islamic studies or anything even moderately political. We’re a very respectable, academic family.”
“Are you prejudiced against Muslims, Mrs. Blue, or are you going to tell us that you’ve never met a Muslim?”
I thought about that and answered truthfully, “Our guide in Morocco was probably a Muslim.”
“So you’ve been in an Arab country? How recently?”
“Last fall. We were in Morocco for half a day, and not a very pleasant one either. Our guide kept shouting at us and blowing his whistle. I was not favorably impressed. And some young men on the street in Tangier made offensive remarks, which the guide translated. Again I was unfavorably impressed and told them so. After all, I didn’t take off my scarf; it slipped, and calling me ‘the woman with the camel piss hair’ was very impolite.”
“Not to mention getting me to help shoot down that stolen Moroccan helicopter,” said Luz, laughing.
“We rescued the pilots,” I retorted defensively. She needn’t have brought that up. “And I believe that the chief steward on the cruise, Mr. Patek, may have been not just a Muslim, but also a terrorist, not to mention a thief and a hijacker. That is the extent of my experience with Muslims, less than ten people. One cannot form an opinion of a large religious group after having met so few, Agent Holliwell.”
“That’s Special Agent Holliwell,” said Special Agent Figgis.
Goodness, they were sensitive about their titles. “Very well, Special Agent. I’m sure there are many pleasant, respectable Muslims. I just haven’t met any. Does that answer your question?”
“Does your husband have Muslim acquaintances?” asked Agent Figgis.
“Not that I’ve met, but if Muslims go to scientific meetings, then he’s probably met some.”
“The ambassador whose limousine you bombed is claiming that American terrorists attacked him and his vehicle. We have an international incident on our hands, which will be very hard for our State Department to explain.”
“Oh, really?” Now I was too angry to be polite. “Well, as little as the State Department did for us when our ship was hijacked, I can’t say I care one way or another about their problems.”
“Just have them tell the ambassador it was a frigging turkey, not a bomb,” suggested Luz, laughing.
“And that its flaming condition was not my fault. Nothing I’ve ever flambéed continued to burn like that. If there was any plot against the ambassador, it was the work of someone else, and I intend to find out who that was. However, I am quite willing to visit the ambassador to apologize on behalf of our country, if the State Department is too busy ignoring the pleas of American citizens abroad to do it themselves. I’m sure the ambassador will understand when I explain the situation.”
“Ma’am, I’m sure he won’t,” said Agent Figgis. “You stay away from him. We’ll handle this once we find out what really happened. And you are to keep us apprised of your whereabouts. Furthermore, you cannot leave the city.”
I thought about how much trouble and expense that order might cause, not to mention the problem of trying to explain to Jason why I wouldn’t be arriving home on time. “I do hope you plan to pay for any extra days at the hotel and extra meals, should they be necessary, and the charges to change our airplane tickets.”
“Lady,” snapped Figgis, “you’re pissing me off.”
“And your language is deplorable,” I snapped back. That was really the last straw. “I’m going to make a complaint.”
“Oh, come on, Caro. Even if he is a fed, he’s a cop,” said Luz. “It’s a dirty business, isn’t it, Special Agent Figgis?”
She was laughing again, which I didn’t appreciate. Neither did Special Agent Figgis.
The FBI left after giving us their cards. I gave the bodyguards a little wave while heading for the elevator, and we went back to the room.