Flowerbed of State

by Dorothy St. James

  His nose pointed down like an arrowhead to the thin lips he had pressed tightly together. His gaze narrowed as he watched me.

  “Mr. Templeton is waiting for you at the restaurant.” He stepped aside and gestured that I should precede him down the stairs to the waiting car.

  I didn’t move.

  It wasn’t my feet that stopped me. It was his.

  His shoes, to be exact.

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to dinner,” I said to those black-and-white shoes with the lightning design that were becoming a very familiar sight lately.

  “Er, Ms. Calhoun, you are ready to go, aren’t you? Mr. Templeton is waiting.”

  “Am I ready?” I asked Alyssa.

  Alyssa must have noticed the shoes and recognized them. I’d described the design to her all the way down to the shoe’s white stitching enough times that she’d told me she’s been dreaming about them. But the fact they were on Clegg’s feet didn’t seem to bother her.

  She gave me a not-so-gentle push. “Get going already. You don’t want him to think you’re having second thoughts.”

  I suppose she was right. Besides, I’d seen those shoes all over D.C. lately. Apparently, they’d become an overnight hit.

  I grabbed my purse, a small beaded black clutch, from the console table beside the door. “I’m ready.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Alyssa called from the front door as I slipped into the town car’s dark interior.

  DINNER AT THE HISTORIC OLD EBBITT GRILL was exquisite. Richard had a sharp wit that kept me laughing as the courses were served. He presented a mighty fine view to boot.

  So why, at the end of the night after he’d walked me up the brownstone’s steps and to my front door, did I not feel those soft-winged butterflies fluttering around in my belly? And why, when he leaned in to kiss me, did I turn my head?

  He crossed his arms and frowned at me. “Okay,” he said quietly, as if he understood. “Good night.”

  “Wait.” I caught his arm when he turned to head down the stairs. “It’s not you. I’ve had a crazy day. First, my credit card was canceled. I still don’t know why. Then Senator Pendergast goes to the newspaper to attack my organic gardening proposal. You’d think I was suggesting that we pave over the South Lawn. And . . . and . . .” Tears welled up in my eyes. “And then there’s Pauline Bonde. I cannot get her out of my head. It’s not as if I know anything, but that didn’t stop someone from trying to kill me today. That is, if it’s the same guy. And Lorenzo certainly doesn’t know anything. So why would anyone want to hurt him?”

  “Wait a minute.” Richard grabbed my hands. “Someone came after you today?”

  “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “Don’t you think I’d have remembered it? What happened?”

  “It wasn’t my finest hour,” I warned.

  “I don’t care. What happened?”

  Richard listened patiently as we stood under the lamplight on my front stoop. I told him about the man stalking me at the greenhouse facility and how he’d attacked Lorenzo. I even admitted to how I’d attacked Jack Turner . . . again. When I finished, Richard cursed under his breath.

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  I shook my head. “No. Hopefully Lorenzo saw something. I haven’t been able to talk to him yet.”

  “God, this is terrible.” His hold on my hands tightened. “I’m going to stay here tonight to protect you.”

  Exactly where was he expecting to stay? The apartment I shared with Alyssa had only two bedrooms. I certainly didn’t want to spend the night sleeping on a lumpy sofa. I’m sure Richard wouldn’t want to sleep on a lumpy sofa.

  And he wasn’t going to stay in my—

  I wasn’t ready to go there.

  Not yet. Not this quickly.

  “I’ll be fine.” I freed my hands from his grasp. “I’ll lock the door and sleep with the phone under my pillow.”

  “No, that won’t work. I’m not going to leave without providing you some degree of protection. Here’s what I’ll do, I’ll send Clegg back here to watch the place after he drops me off at the hotel.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. I don’t know why, but Clegg, with his nervous twitches, gave me the willies.

  “You will do this,” Richard said rather sharply. He then held up his hands and smiled. “Otherwise, I won’t get any sleep and will be in a fog tomorrow morning. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about letting a strange man into the apartment,” I admitted. “I’m sure Clegg is capable and trustworthy. But I don’t know him.”

  “You don’t have to let him in. I’ll have him watch the place from outside. He’ll be more effective that way. And I won’t listen to any more arguments.”

  He caressed my cheek. “Don’t you worry about your credit card or the senator. I’m sure all of that will work out. Good night, Casey.” Richard kissed me on the cheek. This time that was the spot he’d been aiming for. And then, with a blazing smile bright enough to light up the night sky, he rushed down the stairs and back into the waiting town car.

  After Wallace Clegg closed the door for his employer, he turned to glare up at where I was standing. When our gazes met, his upper lip twitched.

  This was the guy who’d be standing guard outside my front door all night? Perhaps I’d sleep with the phone under my pillow after all.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE next morning I poked my head out the front door to find Wallace slouched in the driver’s seat of a black sedan parked at the curb. He grunted when I tapped on the passenger-side window.

  “Coffee?” I held up a steaming cup.

  “No, thanks. It’ll only make me have to pee.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “Do you need to come inside?”

  “Yeah, for like about the past five hours,” he grumbled. “And it’s cold out here.”

  I really didn’t feel comfortable letting him in, but what else could I do? According to Aunt Alba, hospitality was a cornerstone of society. “I’ll make oatmeal.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  While I wrung my hands and kept a close watch on Richard’s twitchy personal assistant, who looked as if he’d spent hours in a gym lifting weights, Alyssa flirted. She poured him several more cups of coffee and even suggested he try her gourmet vanilla creamer.

  “I really need to get to work,” I said after he’d finished his breakfast, hoping he’d take the hint and leave with me.

  “Okay, bye.” Alyssa waved at me without taking her gaze off Wallace’s squared features. He leaned back in the kitchen chair as if he had no plans of leaving . . . ever.

  I walked toward the door. “Alyssa?”

  “Bye,” she called.

  “Can I have a word with you?”

  Silence.

  “In the living room?”

  After a few minutes Alyssa came out of the kitchen with her hands on her hips and a cross expression on her face. “Since when did you become so selfish?” she demanded.

  “Selfish?”

  “You have Richard Templeton and that hunky Secret Service agent. What do you need this guy for?” She gestured back to the kitchen.

  “I don’t need him for anything.”

  “Then leave him here with me.”

  “I can’t!” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I don’t,” I continued in a softer voice, “I don’t trust him. I don’t want him in our apartment. I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

  “You don’t trust Wallace? He’s Richard’s right-hand man.”

  “I know. I know.” Was it fair that I didn’t trust him because of the shoes he wore? And was that really the only reason? “Richard wanted to stay the night last night to protect me. I—I wasn’t ready for you know. That’s why he parked Wallace outside our door.”

  “Have you lost your freaking mind?” Alyssa shrieked. “You turned down a night of passion with the Richard Templeton. So, yes, th
at must be it. You’re certifiable.” She waved her hands in the air for emphasis. “Cer—ti—fi—able. Get the net, boys. We’ve got a live one this time.”

  “Are you done?”

  Alyssa nodded.

  “I need to get to work. So do you.”

  “I suppose.” She headed for the stairs. “Tell lover boy in there that I would have rocked his world.”

  Yeah, right. I could so see me telling someone that. Instead, I told him that Alyssa sent her regrets, but she remembered that she—wonder of wonders—actually had a job to get to.

  “A shame,” Wallace grumbled. But he left the house with me.

  “Good-bye,” I said to him at the bottom of the town house steps, and hurried down the sidewalk. Because I’d had to feed and care for Wallace, I was running late. The sun was already up and so were most of my neighbors. I waved to Mrs. Coomby, my elderly neighbor with the silverblue hair, as she puttered among her roses next door.

  “Aphids,” she complained, shaking her head.

  “Try washing the leaves with dish soap and a sponge,” I offered as I passed by her small front yard. “That should take care of them.”

  “Thanks, doll.” She waved her garden-gloved hand. “I’ll give that a go.”

  I started to continue down the sidewalk but noticed Wallace standing beside Richard’s town car, glaring at me.

  “Is something wrong?” I called to him.

  He glanced at my neighbor and shrugged. “I’m supposed to drive you to work,” he said, making it sound like he’d rather do anything of the sort. “Richard will be upset if I don’t.”

  I was going to tell Wallace he didn’t need to bother, but I didn’t want to get him into trouble. Besides, I needed to get to work as soon as possible. Seth Donahue had called me at three this morning raging about some sprigs of crabgrass he’d found popping up in the Rose Garden flowerbeds.

  He’d made it sound as if the free world wouldn’t survive the shock of spotting a weed poking out from behind a rosebush during this afternoon’s press conference to introduce Milo to the world. I’d promised him I’d handle it first thing in the morning.

  “Very well,” I said to Wallace. “But I need to stop at the Freedom of Espresso Café.” I wanted to do something nice for Turner by bringing another mug of gourmet coffee. Perhaps this time he’d accept my gesture of goodwill. And if, as a consequence, he happened to share some details about the investigation, so much the better.

  When the town car pulled up at Lafayette Square, I quickly got out of the sedan. “Thanks for the ride and for stopping at the coffee shop.”

  Wallace wasn’t listening. He was staring at the group of banking protesters setting up in Lafayette Square.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” he said. “Unbelievable. I should have known she’d follow us to D.C.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Joanna Lovell!” He spat her name.

  There must have been over fifty banking summit protesters gathered in the square that morning. Joanna stood in the center of the crowd. I almost didn’t recognize her. She’d exchanged the pale blue housecoat for a steel gray power pantsuit and looked every inch the lawyer this morning. She pointed to the North Lawn, and someone in the group started a steady tempo on a drum. The protesters chanted to the beat, “Financial regulation, financial legislation. Put the crooks in jail,” with the last part getting a shrill note.

  “You know her?”

  “Who doesn’t? She’s been trying to stir up trouble for every banker east of the Mississippi. It’s a personal vendetta for her.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Joanna used to head up the legal department at BLK Investments. That was until Lillian wandered into Brooks’s bedroom one night and found Joanna in bed with him.”

  Richard had mentioned that Brooks had been involved with a scandal. I watched Joanna as she led a cheer with enough vigor to turn her cheeks red.

  “Lillian not only fired Joanna on the spot. She made it her crusade to ruin the woman. All sorts of vicious stories about Joanna’s personal and professional life have surfaced since the affair went public.”

  “Out of those ashes rose a firebrand set on destroying the industry she once loved?” I asked.

  “Something like that. I’d bet my entire portfolio that she’s the one we can thank for the senator’s renewed interest in financial reform.”

  “Renewed interest? What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard? Senator Pendergast announced yesterday afternoon that she was reopening the banking hearings.”

  I wondered if my little chat with her yesterday had anything to do with that. “I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do.” He started to walk away.

  “Thank you for watching my apartment last night, Wallace. You must have been very uncomfortable. I do appreciate it.”

  “Don’t thank me. I did it for Richard. I’d do anything for him. He’s going places in this world, and I intend to go there with him.” He reached over and slammed the town car’s passenger door closed, barely missing my side as I jumped out of the way.

  A shiver traveled up my spine as I watched him drive away. I knew it was wrong of me to hold a grudge against someone simply because of the shoes he wore. But I couldn’t help it. Wallace made me uneasy.

  I wound my way through the crowd of protesters to get to the White House gates, skirting between Joanna Lovell and a large cutout of Lillian Brooks, but then stopped and turned back around.

  “Joanna, do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.” She walked alongside me. “Keep them going,” she said to a young man with shaggy blond hair who was dressed in overalls with holes in both knees. “I’ll be back in ten.”

  We ended up at the same park bench where I’d comforted Pauline’s roommate, Isabella.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I saw you talking with Brooks Keller a couple of days ago.” I sat down on the bench.

  Joanna remained standing. Her lips compressed to a tight line.

  I rushed to finish. “I also heard what happened between the two of you and what his sister did afterwards. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you can.” She started to pace. “No law firm in New York will even take my calls thanks to the lies Lillian has spread about me. I can’t get a job. I’m teetering on homelessness, but neither of the Wonder Twins cares what happens in their wake. They just take, take, take. Look out if you dare get in their glorious way, because they’ll roll right over you.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  “If that’s all you wanted to know—” She started to walk away.

  “When you were talking with Brooks the other day”—Brooks had also handed her an envelope—“what was that about?”

  “You saw that?”

  I nodded.

  “I suppose we weren’t being discreet. Well, I’ll tell you what the sticky bastard was doing. Why shouldn’t I? I’m sick of everyone thinking he’s so squeaky clean and honest. He was trying to pay me off. Can you believe him? He wanted the protesters gone, especially me.” She gave a throaty chuckle. “I took his wad of cash. Oh, yeah, I took it. But I’m not going anywhere. Now if that’s all—”

  “There is one more thing. It’s about Pauline,” I said, hoping to channel some of Miss Marple’s smooth questioning style. “The news had reported that the FBI had questioned Brooks Keller about her death. Was Pauline involved with Brooks, too? Is that why the press is trying to draw connections between him and her murder?”

  Joanna sat down beside me. “Pauline, Pauline . . . that unsophisticated fool. She craved attention like a neglected puppy. And Brooks, you know, was only too eager to provide it.”

  “But wouldn’t getting involved with him be considered a conflict of interest? Pauline was auditing BLK’s financial records.”

  Joanna shrugged. “They’re bankers. Do you think ethics ever enters into their greedy minds?”r />
  “I would hope—”

  “Then you’re as naive as Pauline. She should have kept her nose in those bank books. I wish I’d never introduced her to Brooks and the like.”

  “Wait a minute. You introduced them?”

  “That was before my downfall.” She sighed wistfully. “Seems like a lifetime ago. Once a month I’d host an intimate salon at my Manhattan apartment. Pauline was gorgeous, smart, and ambitious. Of course I invited her. In order to attract the best sort of men, I had to invite the most interesting and eye-catching women. I didn’t realize how ambitious Pauline was until after that party. It was the last one I ever held.”

  “And that’s where she met Brooks?”

  “She had her eye on Richard Templeton, but he only dates celebrities with boobs out to here.” She demonstrated with her hands.

  “Really? I heard she had lunch with Richard while in New York City.”

  “Impossible.” She repeated her demonstration of his preference for large-breasted women. “At the party, when she’d tried to start up a conversation with him, he’d crinkled his nose and looked as if he’d spotted a cockroach. Believe me, he wasn’t interested and she knew it. That’s when she turned her sights on Brooks.”

  “Your Brooks.”

  “I knew going in that monogamy wasn’t his thing.”

  “Still, that didn’t bother you?”

  She waved her hand and looked away.

  “So if she was sleeping with Brooks and found something in the BLK account books, something that might make the Wonder Twins look bad, do you think she might have mentioned that to him?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Do you think he would have killed her to keep her quiet?”

  “Not Brooks. Lillian, perhaps. She’s the shark in the family.”

  But the shoes I saw, they were the same shoes Brooks was wearing. Still, everything seemed to be pointing me back to my original theory that Pauline had been murdered because of something she’d found in those audits of hers. It might have been something damaging enough to win widespread support for Senator Pendergast’s proposed legislation.