“Any port in a storm?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. That. While he is willing to put in many hours, he is not trained in methods nor in kitchen procedure. He has much to learn.”

Conversation from behind caused me to turn. Yi-im had drawn out the electrical staff. Curly, Manny, and Vince were following the small man; Curly looking ever unpleasant, and Manny and Vince sharing a joke.

Yi-im nodded, gesturing the other men forward. He’d snagged only three. We clearly needed four. Marcel, I knew, had no intention of helping carry the house, and Yi-im was just too small. I chewed the inside of my lip. I was strong for my size, but I had doubts about my ability to hold up my end of the structure. The last thing we needed was for the house to crash to the ground. And the very last thing I wanted was for it to be my fault.

Before I could step forward to lend assistance, however, Yi-im grabbed the corner nearest me. He grunted some imperative and the three other men took corresponding positions at each end. Marcel covered his eyes. “I cannot bear to watch.”

The four men, with set expressions, wrapped their fingers around the curved ends of the platform, and as one, lifted the board into the air.

Marcel moaned, turning his back now. “Ollie, you must oversee this. Tell me when I may look.” Hands covering his eyes like horse blinders, he started back to the kitchen.

“Marcel,” I called.

He turned, but only enough to face me. “Take the cart in the elevator,” I said. “We’ll need this as soon as we get up there.”

With pain twisting his aristocratic features into a horrified frown, Marcel quickly stepped forward, grabbed both handles, and maneuvered the cart out from beneath the men’s pole positions.

Within moments, Manny and Vince were four steps up the staircase, Curly and Yi-im still on the floor, raising their end high to keep the house level. Marcel chanced a look back, let loose another groan of total despair, and practically ran the cart to the nearest elevator.

I hated accompanying the four men on their painstaking crawl up the stairs, but I sensed they hated my presence even more. They had all obviously carried cumbersome, heavy items up staircases before, because they used minimal conversation to guide the collective group effort. Although I had faith in the strength of these men, I sweated out my position, low on the steps as they climbed up. If, heaven forbid, the house did topple, I could just see myself now, crushed below it, my feet sticking out like those of the Wicked Witch of the East.

I scampered up past them and breathed a little easier.

Curly, Manny, and Vince labored against the project’s weight, grunting as they inched up each individual step. Yi-im’s face showed no such strain. All four were careful to keep the board level. Too late, I thought about borrowing an actual level from the carpenter’s department; I could have monitored the progress up the stairs.

One look at the contorted expressions on these guys’ faces, however, and I realized my coaching and calling out levelness might have tempted them to dump the house smack on top of my head.

Marcel met me at the top of the stairs, cart ready.

Several long, sweaty minutes later, Manny and Vince cleared the top landing, holding their ends low until Curly and Yi-im were able to join them. Relief washed over every one of their faces when the board was settled softly atop the cart. We wheeled the house into the center of the Entrance Hall.

“Merci, er, thank you,” Marcel said to the men, but he clearly didn’t care whether anyone heard him. Walking around the giant confection, Marcel slowly examined his masterpiece, inspecting every inch. If I would have had a magnifying glass on me, I would have offered it to him.

Curly was just starting back toward the steps when Paul Vasquez called out to him to wait. Our chief usher hurried across the hall, his shiny black shoes clipping in sharp measure. “I just left a message for you. I didn’t realize you’d be up here.”

Curly scowled, looking at me with contempt. The fact that he was helping us out instead of doing his own work needled him and I could tell he blamed me. I smiled innocently.

“We’re having problems in the Red Room again,” Paul continued. “Did you cut the power there?”

Manny and Vince were about to head downstairs, but Curly stopped them with an unintelligible command. “What did you two do to the Red Room’s power?” he asked.

Manny looked at Vince, who shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vince said.

Manny lifted his hands. “No idea. But we’ve got a lot to do, so…”

They were almost to the steps. “Hang on, there,” Curly said, his voice raised. He swore under his breath. The scar that stretched across his head reddened and a vein throbbed at his temple. “Listen,” he said to Paul, “I’ve been at this all day. I checked the Red Room, everything’s hot. You tell me something’s wrong. I check it again, and there’s still nothing wrong. You think maybe your staff don’t know the difference between the on and off switch?”

Ever unflappable, Paul shook his head. “I checked it myself, Curly. In fact, I just came from there. We have no power in the Red Room.”

Curly raised a hand to his two assistants, then pointed down. “You go see what’s what. And I want a complete report.”

“Hold off on that a minute,” Paul said, preventing the two men from leaving yet again. “I’m also here to inform you about a change in plan. I’ve just gotten word that the First Lady will not be entertaining here this afternoon. We will not have the traditional decorator tour after all.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Not just for my team’s sake, but for that of the First Lady. She needed a break, and it seemed that finally she’d be able to get one. “We aren’t serving, then?” I asked.

Paul shook his head. “Today is off. Completely.”

Pulled from his mesmerizing study, Marcel straightened. “The house is not needed for today?” he asked. With an indignant tug of his tunic, he shot blazing eyes at Paul. “Why was I not told sooner?”

Paul raised his hand in a placating gesture. “I just found out. There have been… developments… in Mr. Baxter’s funeral arrangements.”

My hand immediately flew to my pocket, where I’d stowed the letter from Sean. “Developments?”

I knew Paul was reluctant to share any information he didn’t deem necessary. “Mrs. Campbell has opted to spend more time with the president’s family. She’s needed there.”

“Did they say anything more about whether they’re investigating this as a homicide?”

Paul looked away. “We’ll let you know more when we can, Ollie.”

Curly had lowered his chin and now sent us piercing looks as he rolled his head back and forth between us, his eyes wide with boredom. “And this affects the electricity how?”

Marcel muttered to himself about being left out of important decisions, but he’d gone back to studying the gingerbread house and was mostly quiet. Yi-im stood away from us, his hands clasped at his waist.

Tiredness settled around Paul’s expressive eyes as he addressed Curly’s concerns. “I’m bringing you all up to date right now. A memo will go out shortly. Please plan to have everything ready for display on Tuesday.”

I piped up, “The day we reopen to the public?”

Marcel muttered. Paul nodded. “We plan to tie the opening ceremony for the holiday season with the decorator tour. The only difference between the two events is size. And once we put both together, don’t be surprised if Tuesday turns out to be a wild media event.” He relaxed his features. “Curly, you’ll see to the Red Room?”

“These two will see to it right now. And I guarantee I’m going to check it myself when they’re done.”

Only too happy to get the heck out of there, Manny said, “Okay, thanks.” He looked to Curly. “We good to go?”