“Is it safe?” I asked.

Stanley made a so-so motion with his head. “You don’t want to keep this on for long,” he said. “Playing with neutrals is never a good idea. That’s why this is all mounted on a wooden board. You see how I’m being careful not to touch anything metal? I’m sure it’s not dangerous at the moment, but I like to take extra precautions just the same.”

He must have noticed me squinting, because he reached into the center of the board and flipped the switch to “on.” Immediately, the two bulbs resumed their normal brightness.

“Does that mean that all 240 volts were in this bulb?” I asked.

“Not quite. Can’t say for sure how much was feeding into here. Maybe 220, maybe a little less. But that’s the thing with neutrals. You gotta have ’em. Things are too unpredictable if you don’t.”

“So you think Gene was killed because of a floating neutral?”

Much to my relief, Stanley unplugged the contraption before answering. “Again, I can’t say for sure. Something got him-and I’d be willing to bet it was something he didn’t expect. If there were 240 volts flying through those lines, the man didn’t stand a chance.” He gave me a wistful look. “I’d know it if I got a look-see, but that isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“Doubtful.” I smiled. “The electricians on staff probably thought of this, right? I mean, this is something you’d look for in an electrocution.”

Stanley cocked a white eyebrow. “Might be worth talking with them just to be sure. Floating neutrals aren’t real common. People don’t think to look for them. And I could be wrong about this-could be something else entirely that shot all that voltage into your friend. But storms are notorious for wreaking havoc with your wiring, including unpredictable damage-grounds, neutrals-you get the idea. I think it’s worth a mention.”

MANNY JOGGED ACROSS THE CENTER HALL, his tool belt jangling to the beat of his pace. I called out to him, but he didn’t hear me. Even though it was still before eight in the morning, the White House was bustling with activity. No matter how much time we allowed to get the residence ready for the official opening, it never seemed to be enough.

“Manny,” I said again, this time loud enough to be carried across the hall.

He turned, his eyes narrowing when he realized it was me. I could practically read his mind. No matter what the executive chef was going to ask, he knew it wouldn’t be good.

Without closing the distance between us, he said, “I’m working on the setup,” jerking a thumb to the south. I knew he had a hundred tasks ahead of him, not the least of which was setting up the holiday lights for the massive tree that would be erected outside, but I needed only a couple minutes of his time.

I made my way toward him, wiping my hands on my apron. “I have a quick question.”

His attention was at once caught by something behind me. I turned to see Vince loping toward us. “It’s about time,” Manny said. “Where have you been?”

“Curly’s looking for you,” Vince said, half turning as though he expected the acting chief electrician to materialize behind him.

“Again? That guy has been on my case all morning.” Manny made a face, muttering in such a way that I knew if I hadn’t been present, he would’ve let loose with a string of expletives. “What’s with him anyway? He’s been-”

I was about to interrupt, to ask Manny and Vince about the floating neutrals, when who should turn the corner but the man himself. “Hey, Curly,” Vince said, hurrying away from our minigathering. “I’m heading out now.” He pointed. “Found Manny for you.”

Curly harrumphed. “What the hell are you doing still inside? I thought we were supposed to have the power up and running out there an hour ago.”

Manny opened his mouth, but I interrupted. “I stopped him to ask a question.”

“Go,” he said to Manny, who took off like a shot. When Curly turned to stare at me with furious contempt, I nearly took a step back. He practically snarled. “What do you want?”

“It’s about Gene.”

“He’s dead.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks. “I have a question about how he died.”

Curly’s jaw worked. I jumped in before he could dismiss me.

“Listen,” I said. “I just want to ask if you’ve considered the possibility that Gene was killed by a floating neutral?”

For the first time in my life, I could tell I caught Curly by surprise. He was dumbfounded. “What?”

“I said, I was wondering-”

“I heard that. How the hell do you know about floating neutrals?” His flabbergasted expression was replaced by the surly look I was used to. “Why are you pushing your nose into my business? Don’t you have a kitchen to run?”

Though not entirely surprised by his reaction, I was still taken aback by his vehemence. I forced myself to hold my ground. “Have you considered the possibility?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been reading, or think you know, missy, but floating neutrals don’t just pop up out of thin air.”

“But the storm-”

He snorted. “What, you think you’re some sort of expert on our system now? Here, tell you what.” With a flourish, he unfastened his tool belt. Removing it from his waist, he held it out to me. “Juncture number sixty-four is out. And we have a low-voltage issue at K-thirty-five. You take care of those while I go bake cookies, how’s that sound?”

I fixed him with my most pointed, angry glare. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Gene’s dead,” he said again. “Nothing you can do can change that.”

“But I thought if we found out why-”

“Tell you what, missy,” he said as he replaced his tool belt around his waist. “You get yourself a journeyman electrician’s card-then I’ll talk to you. But for now, I’ve got a White House to keep hot.” He started down the same path Manny and Vince had taken. Two steps away, he turned and spoke to me over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “Don’t bug me with this crap again.”

RAFE TOOK UP A POSITION NEXT TO ME AT THE kitchen’s center counter. “What did those chicken breasts ever do to you?”

I looked up, realizing I’d taken out my aggression by pounding the meat so thin, the breasts could’ve been served as high-protein pancakes. “Geez,” I said, embarrassed, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s your first holiday season in the executive chef position,” he said. “You’re bound to be a little stressed.”

If he only knew. I glanced at the clock. “I think there should be a law against aggravation before nine in the morning.”

Rafe laughed. “Not going to happen. Not around here at least.” He flicked a fleeting look across the kitchen, where Bucky was preparing a new salad dressing of his own concoction, and separately, stirring beef stock we would need later in the day. My second-in-command was murmuring, apparently having an argument with himself.

I took in the rest of the kitchen. Cyan was uncharacteristically silent, and even as Agda rolled dough out, I noticed veins in her arms standing out, and a crease on her forehead.

“How come you’re so chipper?” I asked Rafe.

He shrugged. “Stress manifests itself differently in each of us.”

I thought about Bindy’s tendency to giggle. “Too true.” The phone rang. I was closest, so I wiped my hands with one of the antiseptic towels we kept just for that purpose, and answered it.

Jackson informed me that the First Lady would be out all day, meeting with relatives to make arrangements for Sean’s funeral. His parents lived nearby in Virginia, and Mrs. Campbell was not expected to return to the residence until after dinner.

“The president is returning this evening as well,” he said.

“For dinner?”

“No. He’ll be joining Mrs. Campbell at his sister’s home first, and the president and his wife are expected back here after eight o’clock.”