The Scarlet Pepper

by Dorothy St. James

  “If you don’t mind, Frank, I’d like to have a word in private with Casey,” Kelly said once the polite conversation had run its course.

  “I don’t know.” Frank hesitated.

  “Go on. It’s girl stuff,” Kelly said. “I won’t be a moment.” She reached back and squeezed her father’s hand.

  “Don’t let the wheelchair roll down the hill,” he warned me, even though there really was no danger that that could happen.

  “I am truly happy for you, Kelly. You found your father,” I said as I crouched down beside the wheelchair once Frank had wandered off to speak with Gillis Farquhar, who’d been cleared of all charges against him. The press coverage had pushed his book to the number one spot on the New York Times bestseller list, a fact he’d mentioned to me more than once that afternoon.

  “He’s quite a character,” Kelly said as she watched Gillis hand Frank a copy of his book. “He’s promised me an interview as soon as I’m healthy again.”

  “How are you doing? And how have you managed to keep the story about your father away from your colleagues?”

  “There are plenty of other stories to tell right now,” she said. “I’m sure most of it will come out at the trial. But for now, I’m glad to have Frank to myself without worrying about becoming the six o’clock news.”

  “That sounds funny coming from you.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She reached into a pouch hanging from the wheelchair and handed me a small white envelope. “This is one of the stories Parker was working on before he died. I found it in his desk.”

  She put the envelope in my hand, but held on to it as she added, “I would never pursue a story like this. You can trust me when I tell you that I won’t repeat what I read in there.”

  “Thank you.” I really didn’t think much about what was in the envelope. Ever since I had bested him that spring, Parker had made a habit of digging for dirt in the First Lady’s gardens. Irritating, but not earth-shattering.

  AS DAYLIGHT STARTED TO DIM, MY PHONE BUZZED in my purse.

  Finally, I thought.

  “Are you ready?” the text on the phone’s readout said.

  Did he really think he needed to ask?

  I typed my reply as I bid Gordon good night and made my way to the nearest gate.

  On the far side of the Ellipse, the large park sandwiched between the White House and the Washington Monument, crowds had been gathering throughout the day to find the best spot for watching the evening’s fireworks show. I stopped and searched the faces.

  “Looking for me?” Jack bumped my shoulder with his arm as he came up from behind.

  I almost didn’t recognize him in his casual khaki shorts and white button-up shirt, a woven picnic basket slung over his arm. He looked so domestic. “I hope you’re not stuffed from the White House picnic. I made one for just the two of us.”

  I held the basket as Jack spread out a classic red-and-brown plaid picnic blanket underneath a nearby streetlamp. Once we were settled, he reached into the basket and pulled out a spread of wine, bread, and various cheeses. He sliced a piece of the bread and handed it to me.

  “The bread’s still warm.” I moaned my delight at the rich flavor and hearty texture of the artisan bread as I ate it.

  “I’m glad you’re pleased. I baked it this afternoon.”

  “You did? This is delicious.” I reached for another piece.

  “My mother worked two jobs. If we wanted to eat something other than takeout, we had to learn how to cook.”

  I feasted on the bread and that rare personal morsel from his past that he’d shared with me.

  When we finished sipping the wine and nibbling on the bread and cheese, it was nearly dark. The fireworks would soon begin. I dug the envelope out of my purse, explaining to Jack how Kelly had given it to me.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said as I broke the seal.

  An old newspaper clipping fell out and fluttered to the picnic blanket. I caught it. The paper had yellowed over the years, but was otherwise in good shape. Someone had written “April 1978” and “Phoenix Daily Record” next to the headline.

  I frowned. Phoenix was the last place I’d seen my father. And April 1978 was the month and year my mother had died.

  The headline screamed, “Murderer Escapes Police.”

  I shifted so the streetlight above us shone directly on the paper. “James Calhoun, wanted for the murders of at least six people, including his wife, was nearly apprehended yesterday afternoon. During a struggle, Calhoun killed the arresting officer, Blake Douglas, father of two young boys. Calhoun is still on the loose and is considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

  A weight pressed down on my chest so hard I couldn’t breathe. Had I blocked out a memory of seeing my father one last time? Had he been there when I watched those men shoot my mother? Had I blocked out the memory that my own dad had pulled the trigger?

  And what about that other memory (or had it been a dream?) of that time when we had lived in France? The sight of my father shooting the man who had charged through our cottage’s front door replayed in my head in slow motion like a scene from a horror movie.

  “What is it?” Jack asked with a note of concern.

  “Nothing.” I crumpled the newspaper clipping and stuffed it back into my purse. I didn’t need to read the rest. “Nothing at all.”

  The sky exploded with a blaze of red, white, and blue as the William Tell Overture began to play over a distant loudspeaker. I grabbed Jack’s hand and leaned back on the blanket.

  Behind me the lights shining on the White House gleamed like a beacon of hope. In front of me a sea of revelers had gathered on the National Mall to celebrate being part of something bigger than themselves. And above me the sky danced in vibrant colors.

  This was my life. This was my future. Jack was my future.

  “It’s time,” I said. “It’s time I let go of the past and live in the now.”

  Jack turned toward me. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  Not one to drag my feet before acting, I rolled over and met Jack halfway. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

  He took the hint and kissed me breathless as the world exploded into brilliant colors.

  A Page from Casey’s

  Summer Gardener’s Notebook

  June

  Week 3

  PLANTING: Replanted mysteriously uprooted heirloom tomatoes using trench method—burying most of the stem in a long, shallow hole to promote a healthy root system.

  SOWING: None this week.

  CULTIVATING: The chefs are gleaning the vegetables as needed for their recipes. We’ll be harvesting the spring crops and planting more summer crops next week.

  FERTILIZING: Fertilized the vegetable and flower gardens with a complete organic fertilizer that contains seaweed, fish emulsion, and compost tea. The vegetable garden is fertilized every two weeks. With this heat, the fescue grass is turning dormant. Won’t need to fertilize until sometime in the fall. In two weeks, we’ll give the roses their final feeding of the summer.

  PRUNING: July Fourth is the last call for pruning spring-flowering trees and bushes, which will soon be setting buds for next year’s spring flowers. Conducted a pass through the North and South lawns and gardens. Shaped up the azaleas, rhododendrons, and especially the President Lincoln and Dwight D. Eisenhower lilacs so they will produce a showy blue flower display again next spring.

  Over the next couple of weeks will prune chrysanthemums back to about half their height and cut back the impatiens to about an inch high. Doing this now, leading up to the Fourth of July holiday, will encourage new growth and blooms well into the fall.

  Constantly deadheading the annuals to keep them blooming.

  WEATHER: Hot! Heat wave has hit D.C. The First Lady’s favorite bell pepper plants love it and are thriving. The lettuce is starting to bolt. I’ve covered part of the lettuce plot with a tarp to k
eep it shaded from the worst of the heat. This has kept the plants from bolting and turning bitter before next week’s harvest. Pop-up afternoon rainstorms are keeping the flowers and vegetables lush and green.

  NOTES: A new mystery for me to puzzle out. If not Milo, I need to figure out what’s digging up the vegetable garden. Whatever it is, it’s not eating the vegetables. Will install netting to protect the plants from four-legged pests, especially the fruits that will be starting to set and the tomatoes.

  Keeping on top of weeding, as always.

  Recipe for Quick and Easy

  Sheet Composting

  Sheet composting, also known as lasagna gardening, is a quick method for creating a rich planting medium for your vegetable or flower garden. Don’t have a yard? You can sheet compost in planters and pots. As the plant grows, it breaks down the compost ingredients, which in turn feed the plant. Great for the lazy (or busy) gardener who is unwilling or unable to commit to the time and effort needed to tend a compost system.

  No matter the condition of the soil in your yard, you’ll end up with a planting bed filled with nutrient-rich, fluffy soil.

  Water from a hose

  Newspapers or cardboard

  Greens (fruit and vegetable scraps from your kitchen, grass clippings, tea leaves/bags, coffee grounds—ask at your local coffee shop for their used grounds)

  Topsoil

  Browns (leaf litter, hay)

  Determine the size and location of your planting site.

  Spread a layer of newspaper or cardboard over the planting site, overlapping the sheets. There’s no need to pull grass or weeds or till the soil, just layer the newspapers over the existing ground.

  Using a hose, soak the newspapers or cardboard.

  Add a layer of greens (see list above). Wet with a hose.

  Add a layer of topsoil. Wet with a hose.

  Add a layer of browns (see list above). Wet with a hose.

  Continue adding layers of greens, topsoil, and browns until you have a mound/planting bed that is at least two feet high. Wet each layer with a hose.

  Finally, top the mound/planting bed with three to four inches of topsoil. Wet with a hose.

  Plant your garden. (There’s no need to wait. The roots will help break down the compost material as your plants grow, in turn providing your plants with nutrients.)

  Add a thick layer of mulch.

  Enjoy!