Cherry Blossom Capers

by Gina Conroy

  “Inside job?” Now he was making her cranky again. “The idea is ludicrous. I’ve been here for three years, and the staff is almost like family to me.”

  “Well, they’re not family to me,” said Jack. “Right now, only you and Chief Usher Kanaday and the Secret Service know about this threat. No one else is to know.”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” Tara shook her head. “A threat? On the White House dinner?”

  “What time are you off tomorrow?”

  She had the Governors’ Lunch, but after that she was free. “About two, I believe.”

  “Come to the bureau, and we’ll talk.”

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Tara.” He gave her a nod accompanied by a half grin, and he walked off down the hallway.

  Chapter 2

  Tara detested that dimple now, as much as it used to drive her crazy way back when. Its memory followed her home that afternoon. She nibbled on her lip, exited the Metro train car, and entered the white-and-gray world outside. January snow held little of the magic of Christmas snow. After the latest snowstorm, Tara was ready to book a plane ticket to Florida for a good week. Or two. Maybe she’d job-hunt in the Sunshine State.

  Then she thought of her dream job, right here in the DC area. She remembered the first day she’d walked the halls, feeling the weight of history made and still being created. And how proud her parents had been when they learned about their only daughter’s appointment to the White House kitchen.

  Back in Bastrop, Texas, they ran a legendary diner, the Blue-bonnet Café. Tara still remembered the pride in Daddy’s voice when she told him about her new position in Washington, DC.

  “Baby girl, God has rewarded your hard work. Like in Proverbs, where it says, ‘Do you see someone skilled in their work? They will serve before kings.’ And so, now you are. For such a time as this. What an honor.”

  She’d been nervous then at the idea of preparing food eaten by leaders from around the world, as well as her own country’s president and his family. She smiled at all the “helpful” letters she received from relatives, begging her to give the president advice on how to set the country right.

  Her cell phone buzzed as she crossed over the pavement and headed for the Metro parking lot. A text, from her neighbor Ciara Turner. WE STILL HAVING MOVIE NIGHT?

  Ack. Movie night. She’d forgotten, sort of. She had some leftover salmon puffs, an experimental recipe she planned to run by Adelaide for a future White House event. Plus, she had enough hot chocolate mix and tea for the three of them. Every day, she thanked God for her neighbors Ciara and Susan Holland. Her parents had never liked the idea of a young woman living alone and working in major cities like New York, where she attended culinary school, then Paris, and now DC. Each time, God had answered their prayers by sending Tara friends who made her feel as if Texas weren’t fifteen hundred miles away.

  She found her car, started the vehicle, and let it warm up. She peeled off her gloves before she replied to Ciara’s message. YES. IS 6 TOO EARLY? ASK SUSAN, TOO. THX.

  During the wave of snowstorms they’d had since Christmas, the three women had taken to having a movie night each week, classic films of the silver screen. They would take turns scurrying across the courtyard lined with cherry trees and over to one of their condos. Tonight’s movie was a surprise, Susan promised. Last week’s treasure from the film vault had been North by Northwest, starring Susan’s heartthrob, Cary Grant.

  Her phone buzzed a few seconds later. SIX IS FINE. SUSAN SAID THAT’S GREAT, TOO.

  Tara’s fingers flew over the smartphone keyboard. GOOD. I’VE GOT TO TELL Y’ALL SOMETHING.

  OOOH. BIG NEWS?

  YES. NO. NOT REALLY. DEPENDS ON HOW YOU LOOK AT IT. JACK’S IN TOWN.

  YOU MEAN PARIS FBI JACK?

  YUP.

  OH WOW. TELL ME MORE WHEN YOU GET HOME.

  K.

  Tara looked at the simple words on the phone screen. It was a simple thing Jack asked of her, really. Help him with a case. Nothing about getting back together. No explanation of why he never showed up for their last date. Of course, she’d looked like the fool bringing it up in the first place.

  She set her phone on the console between the front seats and put her gloves back on, the steering wheel still chilly to her fingers. Cherry Blossom Estates was a short ten-minute drive from the Metro station. On days like today when temperatures hovered in the twenties, her car barely warmed up by the time she reached her condo.

  Six o’clock came soon enough and Ciara and Susan arrived at Tara’s townhouse. Ciara wore an apologetic look as she carried a plastic box of cookies from the grocery store bakery. Susan brought a plate of scones, still warm. They shed their coats and exchanged hugs.

  “Paris FBI Jack is here?” Susan asked as she set the plate of scones on Tara’s kitchen counter.

  “Yup. Never thought I’d see him again, and here he comes, strolling down the hallway toward the kitchen.” Tara shook her head. “Oh, Suz, I put the kettle on if you want tea.”

  “That would be lovely.” Susan’s brown eyes sparkled but held a measure of concern. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the DVD I did.”

  “Why not? You always pick good movies,” Ciara said. She set the cookies on the counter beside the scones.

  “I brought Casablanca. It’s such a romantic classic, star-crossed lovers, him sacrificing his love for her safety. Sometimes a real hero steps back, when he knows he’s not the one.” Susan shrugged. “We can watch something else if you’d like, Tara.”

  “I’m okay with that. Really.”

  “I can’t help but think of that one line, ‘We’ll always have Paris.’” Susan frowned.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind watching,” said Tara. Maybe tonight, she could purge these surging emotions and be done with them.

  “So.” Ciara put her hands on her hips, as if beginning her cross-examination. “Jack must be in the Washington bureau if you say he’s in town. So why was he at the White House? Did you even get to talk to him?”

  “One question at a time, Counselor Turner.” Tara grinned at Ciara’s stance. “He’s working on, um, an investigation. And yes, we talked. In fact, after we saw each other in the hallway, he came to the kitchen and asked to talk.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” Ciara’s gaze probed Tara’s face.

  Tara sighed and glanced at Susan, then back to Ciara. “I thought I was over him a long time ago. And then when I saw him, it all came back to me. All I want to know is… why? He could have just told me it was over back then, and I would have accepted that. It would have hurt, yes. But for him to disappear, without a word?”

  “Maybe there’s another explanation,” said Susan. “Maybe he was called away by the FBI and couldn’t call you.”

  Tara nodded. “I thought of that, back then. But to hear nothing at all? I mean, ladies, it’s been four years.” She was fine. Just fine. Tears stung her eyes.

  “Oh, sweetie, you go ahead and get him out of your system for good.” Susan enveloped Tara in a hug. She smelled like lavender, and the scent brought Tara back to her parents’ porch in Bastrop, sitting on the porch swing and telling her mom about her first crush. Susan wasn’t nearly as old as her parents, but Tara found her sweet, warm nature a reminder of home.

  Tara blinked until the stinging in her eyes went away. She pulled back from Susan and gave Ciara a grin. “Sorry. I’ll be okay. I don’t want to put a damper on our night. C’mon. I made these salmon puffs I want you to try. They have a texture like a meringue. I put them on a crostini, but maybe they’re better on their own. You tell me.”

  Tara went to the oven and pulled out the tray. She inhaled. First Lady Franklin would love these. The woman ate fish so often, it was a wonder she hadn’t sprouted gills. Or so she herself said.

  “You’re avoiding the issue,” said Ciara. “Are you going to see him again? That’s the next big question.”

  �
�Yes. Tomorrow after work.” Tara held up her right hand. “But strictly business. Like I said, he asked for my help on a case. If it wasn’t important and if he could get someone else to help, I’d say no.”

  “What’s the case about? A matter of national security?” Ciara asked.

  “I believe so. I really don’t know much about it.” Tara shrugged. “I know the White House gets threats from time to time, many of them blowhards spouting off, but this is the first time I remember the FBI coming in. That I can remember, anyway. Maybe I haven’t really paid attention.”

  “Well, we know how you are when you’re in your chef zone,” Susan teased.

  “Thanks for listening. Enough about Jack, though.” Tara smiled at her neighbors. She’d deal with Jack tomorrow. Tonight, she’d bury herself in the movie and enjoy it. Casablanca might not have a happy ending, not happily ever after. Life often didn’t either.

  Jack stared at the text on the computer monitor as voices echoed around him in the office. They’d split up elements of the investigation, and house employee profiles fell to him, from Chief Usher Kanaday all the way to Estella Greene, one of the women who worked in the laundry.

  He had a stack of files to work through, so he and George started plowing through the names. Another set of agents worked on the staff appointed directly by the president and First Lady.

  Tara’s earlier irritation made him smile even now. Her Texas twang emerged as her temper rose. Life had a funny way of coming up and chomping you on the ankles with unfinished business. He should have called Tara back then. At first he’d had a good excuse, but then he kept putting it off.

  “So have you looked at that list of retirees?” asked George.

  “Retirees?” he parroted back.

  “We can’t rule anyone out.” George tapped the top of a file. “Not even your lady friend who works in the kitchen.”

  “She won’t be a problem on this case.” Jack glanced at the file. “In fact, she’ll be an asset.”

  “How?”

  “She can go where we can’t without arousing suspicion. She’s good with people, and she’s good at reading them. I plan to get her help on this.”

  “Are you sure that’s a wise idea?”

  “It is if it’ll help us catch these people. Like Kanaday said, we don’t want to scare them off. We want to get close enough to get enough evidence and snag them. If they even suspect that someone’s onto them, they’ll fold up and we’ll be back where we started.” Jack saved the file and closed it.

  “I’m cutting out. I’ll be working later from home, though,” said George. The lines around his eyes looked a little deeper.

  “You okay, man?”

  “It’s been a long day.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Sometimes I wonder if this is all worth it in the end.”

  “It has to be; otherwise we’re doing it for nothing. Someone has to keep up the fight.”

  “Sometimes I wonder how long we each have to fight. Marcus is graduating in June. I feel like I’m running out of time with my family.”

  “No. Marcus can’t be graduating.” Jack tried to think. “Isn’t he only in junior high?” George’s oldest was only twelve, right? He’d first met Clements back in the day. Jack was only twenty-four himself, a new recruit fresh out of the Academy. The elder agent reminded him of a grouchy old bulldog who already knew everything.

  “He was in junior high when you and I first met. It’s been that long. And I’ve missed it, lots of it.” George’s voice bore the weight of years, countless hours of flying, stakeouts, endless interviews.

  Jack didn’t have words for him. Truthfully, George’s own admission made him want to grab the nearest set of files and get to work.

  “Maybe you just need a good night’s sleep. A weekend off, even,” he said. Hollow words. Right now, this newest case at the White House would claim the bulk of their attention.

  “Maybe.” George sighed as he studied the file in front of him. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “You got it.”

  An hour later, Jack called it quits. He wasn’t a paper kind of guy. Never had been. Get him with people, talking face-to-face. He learned more that way than by reading the printed page. Maybe his idea of working his way up in administration wasn’t the best. Now, George, he was good with the facts. George was also one of the reasons Jack now called the Washington bureau his home office.

  He drove home along streets banked by heaps of snow pushed back by the snowplows. Darkness had fallen already, and Jack’s mood sank on a level like George’s had. He found his parking space empty tonight, for a change.

  Yellow squares of comforting light glowed in his neighbors’ windows. The young family that lived across from him was probably sitting around the table, finishing the last of their supper. He didn’t know their last name, but the mother had hollered at the kids enough for Jack to know they were Katie and Caden, little tykes not even in school yet.

  The father looked to be about Jack’s age. He usually had a loosened tie and a strain in his voice when they passed in the covered breezeway that blocked their front doors from the elements.

  Jack paused as he unlocked the door to his condo. It was a rental. He always rented, and this was his first rental since returning to the States six months ago. So far, so good. He scanned the hallway before entering the dark living room.

  He flipped on a light, ignoring the pair of cardboard boxes next to the built-in bookcases that flanked the fireplace. They’d sat beside the bookcases for almost six months, and they could wait a little longer. With a flip of the switch, the gas fireplace ignited and yellow flames danced, the only source of warmth in the room.

  Jack tossed his keys on the end table beside the phone and pushed the voice mail button. Maybe it was redundant having two phone numbers, a landline and a cell phone line, but if the cell phone towers ever went out, he’d still have a connection to the outside world.

  He could still hear his father’s voice: “Be wise, son. Be wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove.” The memory made him smile. He ought to call home tonight and see how his parents were. Now that he was stateside again, he knew the barrage of phone calls would come. When are you coming to Missouri for a visit? What about Easter weekend? Do they ever let you take a vacation?

  “Jack, it’s Momma.” His mother’s voice echoed off the bare living room walls. “I just wanted to hear your voice and see how you were doing. I wish you’d get on Facebook so we can keep in touch. I know all the younger ones are doing that now. Well, I hope to hear from you soon. Love you.”

  Nope, no way was he getting on Facebook. That was all he needed, another distraction and possibly a threat to his personal privacy and security. His parents exchanged photos and news with his brother and sister, and Jack was the solo family holdout.

  Something, though, in his mother’s voice made him play the message again. Her voice was usually energetic, lilting notes. But this tone was more forced, as if she’d practiced the words. Usually, too, his dad would pop in with a greeting in the background. He could usually picture his father hovering over Momma’s shoulder while she spoke.

  Something was wrong.

  He dialed their number in a flash, and his dad answered the phone. “Son, good to hear your voice. I’ll get your momma on the line—Bertie!” Dad’s voice boomed through the phone.

  “I got Mom’s message. I had a late night at the office.” The words tasted like an excuse.

  “I know you’re busy saving the world. Don’t worry about us. Sure hope you can make it home for a visit this summer.”

  Jack took off his jacket and loosened his tie with one hand. “I need to. Maybe in June or July I can come for a week.” He had no idea what he’d do with so much free time.

  “Jack! You called us back.” His mother evidently had taken the phone from his father.

  “I just got home.”

  “Listen, I need to tell you something.” Her voice kept cutting in and out, and Jack
pictured her holding it on her shoulder; he heard footsteps and a door closing. “I wanted to talk to you without your daddy on the phone.”

  “What’s wrong? I knew something had to be up.”

  “Your daddy—well, he’s going blind.” Mom’s statement ended with a whimper. “Maybe by fall, the doctor’s not sure.”

  Jack sank onto the leather couch and rested his head on one of his hands. “Why? How?” His parents had worked the land and now were enjoying a farmer’s “retirement,” which meant still farming, only smaller.

  “It’s degenerative. He had cataract surgery, but that was only putting off the inevitable.”

  “Oh Mom. I’m sorry. So sorry. Is there any possibility of more surgery, another procedure?”

  “No, the doctor said there wasn’t. I wanted your dad to tell you, but he kept saying he didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  “You two are never a bother to me.”

  “I know, but you’re so busy and we never hear from you.”

  “That’ll change, now that I’m here in Washington. Tell you what. This next case wraps up, I’ll be out there to see you as soon as I can.”

  “All right.” Her unspoken sigh echoed over the line.

  “I love you both.”

  “Love you, too.” The line was silent between them, but his mother still remained on the phone.

  “What is it?” Jack asked.

  “I’m so glad your daddy and I have each other.”

  “I am, too.” What was she being so philosophical about?

  “One day, you’re going to need someone, Jackson. What are you going to do when that day comes and you’re alone?”

  “I won’t be alone.” He figured he’d find someone, someday. But not now. Tara’s face flitted through his mind. “Don’t worry about me. You and Dad just take good care of each other.”

  “I can’t help it, son. I’m a mom. Well, I’m praying for you.”

  “Thanks.” Praying was something he hadn’t done in, well, way too long. The job sort of swallowed up his personal life. If he tried praying tonight, his words would likely not rise above the ceiling.