The Scarlet Pepper

by Dorothy St. James

  “Did those memories change you?” Jack took my hand. “Or did they force you to see the reason why you are afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” I pulled away. “I’m…”

  Confused? Oh, so terribly confused.

  “Have you ever had a long-term relationship with a man?” Jack asked.

  “That’s an abrupt subject change.”

  “No, it’s not. Have you ever had a long-term relationship with a man?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, in college.” But after a couple of semesters the engineering student turned cold toward me. He pushed me away. Hadn’t he?

  I couldn’t remember.

  “A few years later another boyfriend ended the relationship after about a year and a half. He complained I was emotionally unavailable. But he doesn’t count. He’d been seeing a therapist who, I’m sure, totally turned him against me.”

  “Okay. Have you ever broken off a relationship first?”

  I thought back.

  “I’ve never had the chance.”

  “Interesting,” Jack said.

  “What’s interesting about that? That I’m totally dumpable? Is that even a word? It’s the guys who are too picky. Always looking for something wrong. They can’t be trusted to stick around for long. But that’s okay. I don’t want a long-term relationship. I just want to have fun.”

  “I’m sure that’s it. I’m sure your past relationships with men weren’t influenced at all by your father leaving you and your mother at such a dangerous time in your lives.”

  He let me stew about that for a while.

  “Okay, perhaps I have always been afraid.”

  Jack took my hand again. “I’m sure your father didn’t intentionally—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” The memory of him killing a man was too fresh in my mind. The pain too raw. “Jack, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I’ve been having trouble trusting you. You’re not the problem. I am. Trust me, I’m working on that.”

  “Trust you?” He smiled.

  It was infectious. I smiled back.

  The moment stretched out for miles, but then I remembered the reason I needed to talk with Jack in the first place.

  “Remember the threatening phone call I received two nights ago?”

  His smile faded. “The one you didn’t tell me about until this morning?”

  “I told Manny about it.”

  “What about the phone call?” Just like that, his bad feelings faded away and he was ready to help.

  “He—I think it was a he—told me to stay out of the garden or else I’d end up at the bottom of the compost pile. If Frank had made that call, why would he want me to stay out of the garden? He needs me here if he ripped out the First Lady’s plants to discredit me.”

  “We don’t know that Frank’s the killer.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “He stood up for you and the harvest. If not for his fast thinking, Bryce would have canceled everything and ripped out the plants.”

  “That confused me at first, but I think I’ve figured out why he did that. I want to know what you think.”

  “Go on.”

  “Frank has arranged for me to be grilled by the press this afternoon. He said it was so I could discredit the rumors that the garden is a fake.”

  “So you think Frank sabotaged the First Lady’s garden to make it look as if you’ve been fooling everyone, volunteers included, into thinking the garden was actually producing vegetables?”

  “Exactly. See, I knew you’d agree with me. Frank is up to no good.”

  “No, I don’t agree. Taking you apart professionally would hurt the President and the First Lady. Why would Frank want to do that? If he killed Parker, wouldn’t you think he did it to protect the President? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

  “Yes, President Bradley or Bruce Dearing, but—”

  “Then why would he turn around and dig up the kitchen garden? Why not simply focus on framing you for murder?”

  “So you don’t believe me.” I started to walk away. “I have work to do.”

  “Why do you have to be so pigheaded? All I’m saying is that I’m not going to form any opinions until I know more about what happened in the garden last night. Bryce is putting all his available men on this. We’ll know who sabotaged the garden before the schoolchildren arrive. But remember, we don’t know if the garden joker is connected to Griffon Parker’s murder.”

  “Isn’t the Secret Service worried that the murderer could be a member of the President’s staff?”

  “Of course we are. Trust me, if there’s a killer walking the White House halls, the Secret Service will find him. We’re not sitting on our hands waiting for the D.C. Police to follow the clues. We’re taking an active role in the investigation.”

  “You are? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “No, what I want is for you to spill the details. What do you know that you’ve not told me? There’s a gourmet iced coffee in it for you.”

  He chuckled. “I wish we did know more. I could use an iced coffee right now. Look. No one liked Griffon Parker. Several staffers and reporters had good reasons to dance on his grave. But where’s the evidence? Who had the motive? The means? And the knowledge?”

  “Francesca Dearing. But she has an ironclad alibi.”

  “And what about you?” Jack asked. “You had just as much motive as Francesca and you don’t have an alibi.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

  —FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT, THE 32ND PRESIDENT OF

  THE UNITED STATES

  “YOUR murder mystery dinner that turned into a real murder makes you look guilty,” Jack warned as he walked beside me back to the kitchen garden.

  “It wasn’t my charity dinner.”

  “That’s what people think, though.” Jack held up his hand to keep me from interrupting him. “All I’m saying is that it’s easy to jump to the wrong conclusion.”

  Jack was right. Everyone I talked to seemed to know about that damned murder mystery dinner. And blamed me for instigating it.

  “Don’t forget that I heard Frank Lispon and Bruce Dearing plotting against me. I didn’t make that up.”

  “I believe you, Casey. Because of you, Manny has asked those two some difficult questions. But at the same time William Bryce and Mike Thatch are both wondering if you made the story up to protect yourself from further scrutiny.”

  “But—”

  “I believe you,” Jack repeated. “But remember, it’s dangerous to jump to conclusions. Damn, I’m being called. I’ve got to go. Be careful, Casey. Frank and Bruce are powerful men with powerful connections. It’s only a matter of time before they discover you’ve been telling people that you think they murdered a reporter. They won’t think twice about pointing the finger back at you with a great deal of force.”

  HAD I MADE A BIG MISTAKE BY CONFRONTING Frank?

  I hoped not.

  The schoolchildren were going to arrive at any moment, and we were still waiting to hear from the Secret Service about whether the children would be allowed into the garden and whether anyone would be allowed to eat the vegetables.

  I hoped the Secret Service cleared us soon. I didn’t want Frank to win this one.

  “It’ll work out,” Gordon said as he rolled up a hose. I couldn’t figure out how he could remain so calm when I felt as if someone had stuck needles into my neck. “Look at Gillis entertaining the volunteers. Isn’t he a wonder?”

  “Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. As much as I hated to admit it, I appreciated Gillis’s help repairing the garden this morning. “He knows his stuff and isn’t afraid to work.”

  My volunteers were just as valuable. They had to endure the heat and humidity while we waited for the buses to arrive. I owed Francesca, Mable, Pearle, and Annie—

  “Annie! Gordon,
when did Annie get here? I’ve been trying to get in touch with her since yesterday.”

  “She must have just arrived. I haven’t seen her all morning. Is there a problem?”

  “There might be. Annie!” I jogged over to the white tent where the volunteers had gathered. “Annie!”

  She turned toward me with a look of surprise.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “Why haven’t you answered your phone? Why haven’t you been home?”

  She took several steps back. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset. And why are my whereabouts any of your business?”

  “I’ve been worried about you. I saw you arguing with Frank Lispon the other day at his house. I was worried that he might—”

  “Annie, you went to see Frank?” Francesca paled. “Why? What did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything.” Annie’s bright red hair bounced with agitation. “I didn’t! I went to him to demand he rein in those nasty reporters.”

  “Is that all?” Francesca asked warily.

  Annie nodded, sending her hair bouncing again.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded. “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” I’d left an embarrassing amount of messages.

  “I’ve been with Francesca.” She looked surprised that I’d even question her about this.

  “Yes, she’s been staying with me,” Francesca said.

  “With Bruce so busy right now, poor Francesca has had to fend off the press alone. She’s even had to buy a new cell phone with an unlisted number. Until this all blows over, I decided to keep her company.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked Francesca.

  She looked at Annie and then nodded. Annie patted her shoulder.

  “Do you think I shouldn’t have gone to Frank?” Annie asked and swallowed deeply. “Gracious, you don’t think he had anything to do with the reporter’s death, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Just be careful. Kelly Montague, another reporter for Media Today, was hit by a car yesterday. She’s in the hospital. And Simon Matthews—”

  “Kelly?” Francesca gasped. “No! That’s—that’s—”

  Annie looked ready to faint. “D-do you think I need police protection?”

  “It couldn’t hurt. What did you show Frank? Was it evidence?”

  “It was just a newspaper article that Parker had written. I wanted him to stop the reporters from attacking Francesca.”

  “Then why did he try to snatch it away from you?”

  She shrugged. “Did he? I don’t really remember. He was just so angry with me. I think he wanted me and the press just to go away.”

  “What happened to Kelly?” Francesca asked.

  “Do you think Frank will try to hurt me?” Annie said at the same time.

  “I honestly don’t know. As I was saying, the police found Simon Matthews dead this morning. He’d been poisoned, too.”

  “Simon Matthews? I believe he came to my house trying to get an interview yesterday. Will Kelly be—” Francesca started to ask, but Annie cut her off.

  “Perhaps I will call Manny. He was so kind to us the other day. I—I can’t believe I did something so foolish. I was just trying to protect Francesca. Oh, my. Look, the schoolchildren are here.”

  Two yellow school buses loaded with schoolchildren from the inner city entered through the outer gate.

  Several members of the President’s cabinet who had also volunteered to help arrived. Bruce Dearing rocked on his heels. He looked impatient as hordes of laughing children poured out of the buses.

  I checked my watch. We still hadn’t heard from the Secret Service. They were cutting things pretty close. I looked up at the sky. Not a cloud. If we had to cancel, we couldn’t use the weather as an excuse. We’d have to make do with the unvarnished, ugly truth. I was certain some members of the press would grab on to the cancelation as proof that the garden was a fake.

  “Jack, where are you guys?” I muttered as I started to pace.

  The chefs waiting under the white tents stood next to tables draped with white tablecloths that hid coolers of spinach and miscellaneous vegetables for the kids to eat if the Secret Service didn’t clear the garden produce for this afternoon. The chefs wouldn’t let any guest leave the White House hungry.

  I called the switchboard and was put through to Bryce’s office. The call went to voice mail.

  I called Jack’s personal number. It also went to voice mail.

  “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown before this day is over.”

  “Everything will work out, Casey,” Gordon said. He matched my stride as I paced. “It always does.”

  I swiftly turned, changing directions. “But we haven’t heard from the Secret Service.”

  “I have.” He nodded to the hill. The doors to the Palm Room opened and several agents started in our direction. “The vegetables are fine. We’re cleared to go.”

  “We are?” I hugged Gordon. “That’s wonderful news!”

  Most of the kids looked anxious to dash into the garden right away. The schoolteachers and chaperons herded them to stand near a podium that had been set up for the First Lady.

  Many of the kids had owl eyes as they gazed at the White House.

  Near the back, a skinny little girl with black curls clung to her mother’s hand. The child looked terrified. I started toward her with the intention of reassuring her. Today was about having fun. Gillis crossed in front of me and made it over to the girl and her mother before I could.

  “You look just like my wee lass,” he said loudly. “She’s just about your age and has curls, too. Thank you for coming out to my harvest.”

  The girl’s eyes widened to the point that they looked like they might pop. She huddled behind her mother’s legs.

  Gillis was having none of that. He reached down and lifted the child into his arms, swinging her wide into the air.

  I gasped. He was going to terrify that poor child, scar her for life.

  “There you go, my darling dear!” he sang and set her back on the ground. With a grand sweep of his arm, he kissed the top of the startled girl’s head and whispered something in her ear. Her face instantly brightened. She nodded as she released her mother’s hand and bounded off toward a group of children that looked about her same age.

  I was stunned.

  Gillis smiled widely and snapped his fingers in the air. Jerry and Bower rushed over. Both of them had stacks of Gillis’s book in their arms. Gillis grabbed a book from Bower and handed it to the blushing mother.

  “For you, lass,” he said to the mother and sauntered away, his colorful kilt swishing. “A signed copy.”

  Jerry and Bower, moving faster than I’d ever seen either move, followed Gillis like a pair of happy puppies as they helped hand out his books while Gillis worked through the throng of children, patting heads, handing out books to the adults, and winning everyone over as if he were the Pied Piper of the garden.

  “That Gillis is a wonder,” I found myself saying. Even if he did seem to be after my job, I had to admit he made a great spokesman for organic gardening methods. He’d even managed to inspire Jerry and Bower to look as if they wanted to be at work for once.

  “Could the two of you please come with us?” Special Agent Janie Partners requested of Gordon and me. She and Special Agent Steve Sallis were both dressed in dark suits and wearing the standard earpieces. They moved through the crowd of students and parents with the lazy grace of panthers.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Gordon as we followed the Secret Service agents.

  He shrugged and looked as surprised as I did.

  Janie went over to Jerry and Bower and spoke quietly to the two men.

  “Would you mind taking care of these?” Steve handed us the books the two lazy gardeners had been lugging around for Gillis.

  “I told you we’d find out who damaged your garden, and we have,” he said before helping Janie discreetly lead Jerry and Bower up to the White House. Gordon and
I watched with our mouths gaping. We were stunned.

  “Jack,” I called out when I spotted him stationed at the garden’s periphery, “what’s happening?”

  “They’re your garden saboteurs,” Jack said quietly after he approached.

  “What? Why?” Gordon asked.

  We moved away from the students and set Gillis’s gardening books on a table.

  “That’s what we plan to find out. Have you seen anything suspicious that we need to be on the lookout for?” he asked.

  “Annie’s here,” I said.

  “Really?” He spotted her in the crowd and nodded. “Good. This is the safest place for her and Francesca right now. If you see anything the least bit odd, don’t hesitate. Call me. I have permission from Bryce to keep my personal cell phone with me and on for the rest of the day.”

  “Thanks, Jack, but your concern is unnecessary,” Gordon said. “Now that those two jokers are gone, everything will go back to normal.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jack said and headed back to join his team fanned out on the periphery of the South Lawn. Soon the First Lady arrived.

  She stepped out of a black town car that had driven her to the bottom of the hill. Her flowered dress was tailored for her growing belly. The skirt swished around her legs like waves at the beach. She carried with her a large straw hat to shield her from the worst of the sun.

  Although her trademark serene smile grew wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes, her steps were slower than usual. Her complexion had lost much of its rosy glow.

  The stress from the budget talks and the budding scandals was clearly taking its toll. I worried about her health and the health of her babies. She needed to get away from the political beehive and rest. However, as soon as she saw the gathered schoolchildren, she seemed to come alive like an actor turning on for her audience. She stepped up to the podium and welcomed everyone to her garden.

  Her enthusiasm proved contagious. The kids were bouncing up and down, chanting that they were ready to eat their vegetables.