The newspaper had been folded open to the editorial page.
My heart sank as I read the title of the op-ed piece: ORGANIC GARDENING AT THE WHITE HOUSE, written not by Media Today’s star reporter Griffon Parker, but by Barney Vetters, the chairman of the Grounds Committee.
“I don’t need to read this to know I’ve got a lot of repair work to do.” I tried to hand the newspaper back to Gordon.
“I think you should read this one,” he said.
Holding my breath, I scanned the first paragraph. And then the second.
The article compared my seven-point organic lawn care proposal to Harvard University’s sustainable landscape management program. Over a series of years, the university had transitioned away from chemical fertilizers and pesticides to a holistic and natural approach that my proposal echoed. Barney lauded Harvard’s Facility Maintenance team for spearheading a program that he called a stunning success.
“The program produced healthier grasses with deeper roots that thrive with less water and less intensive care,” Barney had written. He’d concluded the article by saying, “I believe the time has come for the White House to follow in the footsteps of the most prestigious of institutions in the adoption of organic lawn care. It’s not only good for the environment, it’s good for the nation.”
I looked up at Gordon. “You did this?”
“Barney wrote it. He sought and received approval from the First Lady’s office for the article, of course.”
“Right, of course. But did you prod him to write it?”
Gordon kept his attention on Milo, who was trying his best to jump up and bite the head gardener’s ear. “I may have talked with a few members of the committee.”
“Are there any new articles written by Griffon Parker in here?” I couldn’t bring myself to look.
Gordon shook his head and smiled. “He’s moved on to greener pastures. The President and First Lady’s connection with Wall Street has grabbed the rabid reporter’s interest.”
“Oh dear, Mrs. Bradley doesn’t need this kind of stress, especially not now.”
“What do you mean?”
I’d forgotten I was among a small circle who knew of Mrs. Bradley’s pregnancy.
“Nothing. It’s just a bad time for this to happen, what with the banking summit coming to a close and Senator Pendergast on a rampage.”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
“What else would I be talking about?”
He clearly sensed that I was holding back on him, but he didn’t push the matter.
“Ambrose is looking for you,” he said, changing the subject.
“I heard. Apparently a package arrived for me?”
“Curious, isn’t it?” Gordon took Milo’s leash and, rising from his crouched position, followed me to the chief usher’s office located up the stairs on the main floor.
Not only was it curious, it was unheard of. Packages didn’t simply show up at Ambrose’s office for the White House staff. The usher was responsible for a great many things that happened at the White House, but deliveries and mailings weren’t among them.
“I suppose I can’t return it,” I heard Margaret Bradley say, her generally gentle voice growing tight with tension as we approached Ambrose’s office.
Ambrose responded in that deep, steady voice of his, too low to be clearly heard.
“Thank you, Ambrose. That’s a wonderful idea.”
The chief usher’s door stood open. Still, since the First Lady was obviously engaged in a serious conversation with Ambrose—it was extraordinary enough that Mrs. Bradley would come down to his office, instead of the other way around—I didn’t feel as if we should stroll in unannounced. I rapped on the white painted wooden door.
“Ms. Calhoun, Gordon,” Ambrose said in greeting. If he shared any of the First Lady’s anxieties, he didn’t let it show. “As you can see”—he gestured behind him—“I’m in a meeting. But I do have a package for you, Ms. Calhoun. Let me get it.”
“Is that from him as well?” Mrs. Bradley asked.
“It is,” Ambrose confirmed.
“He’s been busy,” she quipped. She spotted Milo. A smile brightened her cheeks. She bent down and clapped her hands. She was casually dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve turtleneck sweater with blue and aqua stripes. The puppy, excited to see his owner, bounded over to her, his tail wagging like a flag caught in a gale storm.
Ambrose disappeared behind the door for a moment and retrieved a garment bag.
“What’s this?” Gordon asked with a sparkle in his eyes.
When I unzipped the bag, a river of champagne silk poured out.
“It’s lovely,” both Gordon and I crooned.
“So Richard is trying to control everyone, is he?” Mrs. Bradley asked between puppy kisses.
“I don’t understand.” The floor-length silk gown, the kind one would see on fashion runways and worn by the most glamorous celebrities gracing the red carpet, shimmered in the light. “Richard picked this out for me? How thoughtful of him.”
I checked the tag. He’d even gotten the size right.
Mrs. Bradley gave an inelegant snort. “You’ll have to forgive me, but any gift from that man has a certain taint about it.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
Mrs. Bradley sighed. “Richard is a control freak. He uses his power and his money to get what he wants. He’s ruthless, really. Did you know John and Richard were roommates in boarding school? They came from a similar background. According to John, they were once inseparable friends.”
I nodded. “That’s what Richard told me.”
“Did he also tell you about how he became the captain of the lacrosse team? In school, everything had to be about Richard. Once he got an idea in his head or saw something he wanted, he’d stop at nothing to get it. Their senior year, John and Richard were both competing to become lacrosse captain. In the end, the coach picked John to lead the team. Not a half hour into the first practice session of the year, Richard’s play turned aggressive. He slammed into John during a long run down the field. John went down hard, his ankle broken. The injury sidelined him for the rest of the season, and Richard ended up captain.”
“But Richard was just a boy at the time,” Gordon pointed out. “Boys are apt to do stupid things.”
Ambrose nodded in agreement.
“John thinks the same thing. He’d hoped to rekindle his friendship with Richard. That’s one of the reasons my husband spent so much time with him this past week. He’d hoped things could be different between them. But all I see is tension and competition between them. And these gifts.” She gestured to a large box behind them. “It feels like he’s trying to buy my husband’s friendship and manipulate the banking reform package.”
“But he speaks so highly of President Bradley,” I said. “I’m sure it’s a gesture of friendship, not some calculating game.”
“I hope you’re right.” She stood and placed her hand on my shoulder. “I’m telling you this so you’ll know to be careful tonight. Once Richard leaves, I’d be surprised if he’s ever invited back.”
I wondered if hormones were making the First Lady overly suspicious. Richard appeared to be the best of the group. After spending a week with the bankers, I was quickly learning that they were all ruthless in one form or another. Just take a look at the Keller twins. Lillian had ruined Joanna, pushed the poor woman into something dangerous, something that might get her killed.
And Brooks.
He had the shoes. The motive. And I planned to find out tonight if he had had the opportunity to kill Pauline.
Chapter Twenty-six
“WHAT’S wrong with you, Casey? You seem more excited about questioning potential murder suspects than you are about your date with America’s most eligible bachelor,” Alyssa accused that afternoon while she tamed my blond locks into large, soft curls.
I sat at a dressing table in her bedroom facing a mirror while she stood behind me, wieldin
g her curling iron like a weapon.
“I’m not more excited about . . .” I started to protest, but she was right. Beyond the initial excitement over the dress, I’d barely thought about Richard. He was my entrance to the party, my way to get direct access to Brooks and Lillian, not the main attraction for the evening.
“You want to know what I think?” Alyssa asked. I ducked as she waved the hot curling iron for emphasis.
I didn’t answer, since I knew she’d tell me whether I wanted her to or not.
“I think you’ve got the hots for that sexy Secret Service agent of yours.”
“If you believe that, you’re the one who’s crazy,” I told her. “Turner is arrogant, he follows me around like some deranged stalker, and he lacks any kind of a sense of humor.”
He also knew my deepest, darkest secret.
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” I said, hugging my arms across my chest. “I don’t even want him as my sidekick anymore.”
“That’s good to hear, because I don’t think you could handle him.”
“What?” I twisted around to face her. “Why?”
“Hold still.” Alyssa turned my head back toward the mirror. “You’re going to get the curling iron tangled in your hair.”
She did a little more work before declaring I was ready. I rose from the dressing table and slipped on the gown that Richard had sent over. It fit like a glove.
Varying shades of champagne-colored silk ribbons crisscrossed the bodice, enhancing all the areas around my chest that could use a little enhancing. The same silk ribbons that hugged my body in the bodice hung loose to create a full skirt that swirled like eddies in a stream when I moved.
I felt myself standing taller.
“You look like a fairy-tale princess,” Alyssa whispered.
“Thanks to you.” When I reached out to hug her, she threw up her arms in protest.
“Don’t get all mushy. You’ll ruin all that hard work I put into your makeup and hair. Besides, I didn’t do all that much. It’s the dress. Do you know how much an original design like that costs?”
The first thing Alyssa had done when I’d shown her the gown was to check the label. She’d shrieked the designer’s name, a name I didn’t recognize, and had swooned on my bed.
“No, I don’t know how much this dress is worth and don’t tell me. It’ll make me nervous and I’ll end up spilling red wine down the front.”
“Have you ever done that?”
“No, but considering the week I’ve had, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up wearing an entire bottle tonight.”
Or mud. Between the unruly Milo and being stalked by a killer, just about every outfit I’d worn this week was mud stained to the point of ruin.
I would hate for something to happen to this gown. “It really is a work of art.” I swished my hips, enjoying how the gown seemed to flow over my legs. “It was thoughtful of Richard to pick it out for me.”
In the short time that I’d known him, he’d been nothing but attentive and thoughtful. He was every woman’s dream. So why didn’t I feel more excitement about spending time with him?
It had to be because of my obsession with finding Pauline’s murderer. Once I knew the killer was locked behind bars, maybe then I could move on with my life and enjoy the attentions of a handsome man without fretting.
“Don’t get all emotional on me, Casey,” Alyssa scolded.
A knock on the front door broke the tension. Alyssa squeaked with excitement and took my hand as we hurried down the stairs. “A man like Tempting Templeton doesn’t do his own shopping, no CEO would. He has staff to handle tasks like that. He most likely called his secretary, who called a designer dress shop, who directed a knowledgeable clerk to select a dress. So you don’t have to feel overly indebted or nervous. Just have fun tonight.”
“You’re right. I will.” I drew a deep breath and opened the front door.
Richard smiled when he saw me. A few inches taller than me, even with the ridiculously high heels on my feet, he made quite an impression in a jet-black tuxedo. His dark brown hair, slightly long and untamed, made quite a contrast with the tuxedo’s perfect lines. He blended rock star rogue with clean-cut billionaire with polished ease.
“You look lovely, my dear.” He took my hand and brushed a kiss on my knuckle that turned my mouth dry.
Alyssa sighed loudly in the background.
“Thank you.” I invited Richard inside and introduced him to Alyssa, who despite her excitement, acted aloof and dignified, as if she met handsome billionaires every day.
I wasn’t feeling nearly as composed. My mind buzzed with excitement. Brooks would be at the party, which meant this would be my best chance to force his hand, to catch him in an unguarded moment. I was sure I’d be able see it in his eyes and know what evil he hid. It wouldn’t be easy, or without danger.
To keep from fidgeting, I clutched with both hands the cream-colored beaded purse Alyssa had loaned me .
Alyssa had turned to one of her favorite topics, fashion. She gushed over the gown, praising the designer. “She is a genius when it comes to evening wear. Just look at how naturally the lines fall.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, embarrassed that I hadn’t thanked him right away. “As you can see, it fits perfectly.” I twirled around for him.
“I’m glad you like it. Oh, before I forget.” He patted his pockets. He smiled when his hand touched the inside pocket of his tux. “I brought a small gift for you.”
From his pocket he produced a small golden box, which he held out for me to take. That size box might hold a necklace or earrings or jewels.
“You didn’t need to do this, Richard. You’ve done too much already,” I protested, although common courtesy and, hell, good old curiosity had me lifting the box from his hands.
Alyssa leaned over my shoulder, her breath quick and hot on my neck, as I opened the lid. Inside, nestled in a soft bed of black velvet, I found a platinum credit card with my name emblazoned in raised letters on it.
“It’s to replace the one that had been canceled,” he explained. “I had my bank issue you the best card available. It gives you cash back and has an impressive interest rate.”
“Thank you.” I turned the card over in my hand. “Now I’ll be forever in your debt.”
He chuckled politely. Alyssa, not as polite, nudged me in the side with her elbow. She never did like my puns.
“If you’re ready”—he held out his arm for me to take—“we should be going.”
Alyssa, cautious of my makeup, air-kissed me on the cheek and told me to be daring tonight.
Instead of the black town car, a two-door silver Italian Maserati, with low, sleek, sporty lines, sat parked at the curb.
When Richard opened the passenger-side door for me, I realized Wallace wasn’t along to chauffeur. “What happened to the town car?”
“Nothing happened to it. It’s Wallace. He’s back at the hotel, said he’d throw up all over my suit and your dress if he had to go out tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it’s simply a stomach bug and nothing too serious.”
“Personally, I suspect he got carried away at the minibar.” He sighed before adding, “Again.”
“At least you get the chance to drive this beauty. Is it a rental?” The car shimmered so brightly it had to be off the showroom floor new.
“Why rent when you can buy?” He ran his hand along the roof’s sporty line. “I had a local dealer deliver this, their latest model, to the hotel. Shall we go?”
“Yes, of course.” I slid into the Maserati’s luxurious leather seat, an updated version of Cinderella’s carriage, to rush me off to the ball.
And to my date with a killer.
Chapter Twenty-seven
CASEY, if you go running off like a headless chicken, that’s how you’re likely to end up, Grandmother Faye used to warn me when I was in high school. I rarely listened to her back then and more often than not land
ed in heaps of trouble because of it.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now and come up with a solid plan for the evening.
I hadn’t.
It wasn’t for a lack of effort, mind you. I would have thought a lifetime of reading mystery novels would have prepared me for this, but life wasn’t anything like a mystery novel. There was no guarantee that justice would be served at the end of this tale.
I pondered this as Richard and I waited at a security checkpoint. Because the President and First Lady planned to attend the event, it took nearly fifteen minutes standing in line in front of La Pasta Ria, the restaurant in Dupont Circle hosting the Wildlife Diversity Preservation League charity dinner, to pass through security and get inside.
As soon as we entered the quaint Italian restaurant’s banquet room with frescoed walls covered with murals depicting southern Italy, candles flickering on the tables, and tiny white lights that shimmered like stars hanging from the ceiling, all thoughts about my quest to find proof of Brooks’s guilt faded away.
I fought an urge to pinch myself. Standing next to Richard, who looked as if he belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine, and with me dressed in such a beautiful gown, I felt like a princess who’d just found her glass slipper. Heads turned to watch us, while gentle strains of chamber music provided by a string quartet seemed to float through the air all around me.
The wildlife event had brought out many of Washington’s power players. I spotted Alyssa’s boss, Senator Finnegan, having a conversation with Senator Pendergast. Other congressmen were mingling with lobbyists from various nonprofit organizations. Every now and then I’d recognize a celebrity from the Discovery Channel.
The only group noticeably absent were members of the press.
Richard was clearly in his element. Keeping me at his side, he worked the room, shaking hands with everyone he encountered. I was surprised at how many people he knew. It wasn’t as if D.C. was his hometown.
A hush descended over the crowd, signaling the President and First Lady’s entrance. The President matched all the other men in the room, who were similarly dressed in tuxedo and black tie, but he seemed to stand taller, prouder. Margaret Bradley was dressed in a silver gown that accentuated her graceful figure. They greeted the event organizers, who’d been waiting near the entrance. One of the organizers, a gray-haired man wearing a tuxedo that was too tight in the arms and too long in the legs, broke away and hurried up to a podium that had been set up on the far side of the round room and started to explain what the Wildlife Diversity Preservation League had accomplished over the course of the past year.
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