Suspect Red

by L. M. Elliott

  “Between the two boys in cowboy hats and fringed vests.”

  “Abby, honey, all the boys are wearing cowboy hats.”

  “Right in the center, dear. Oh, oh, look at her smile. She’s a natural on camera. I think I might cry.” She put her white-gloved hands to her face.

  Don frowned, squinting at the small TV monitors. “Why can’t we just be next door in the studio with the kids?”

  “They’re afraid parents might talk during the airing. Or try to prompt their kids. You know how some parents are, dear, trying to direct from the sidelines.”

  “Sssssshhhhhh,” the voluminous lady next to him shushed. “It’s about to begin.”

  Vladimir leaned forward to point over Don’s shoulder. He and Richard were sitting together directly behind. He spoke quietly into Don’s ear. “See the kid who’s got his hands on top of his head and is wiggling his elbows, Mr. Bradley? Probably so he can find himself in the camera monitor? Right under the h in the word ranch.”

  Don nodded.

  “Ginny is down and to…”

  “Aha! I see her! Aaaaahhhh, ain’t she purty.”

  “Sssssssshhhhhh!” the lime-green lady hissed.

  Don looked back at Vladimir and winked. He mouthed the word thanks and then faced forward.

  Richard squirmed a little, both inside and on the bleachers. His dad being all casual-friendly with Vladimir felt so…so…He wasn’t sure of the right word….So…fake? He was pretty sure he’d noticed Don flinch when Vladimir touched his shoulder to point out Ginny.

  Of course, Richard was feeling a little like a fraud himself these days. He’d been double-dealing with Vladimir ever since getting back from New York. Vladimir was his best friend, and yet Richard had sung out to his dad all the strange stuff he’d seen up in Brooklyn Heights, just like a stool pigeon, as soon as he got home.

  Don had been real interested, too, and asked him to repeat the story of Teresa and the man a couple of times. No, Richard hadn’t gotten a good look at him. The man’s hat was tugged down, covering a lot of his face. No, he hadn’t seen what she put in her purse. No, he hadn’t heard the guy’s voice. But he was of medium height, medium build. And Don looked like his eyes were going to pop when Richard told him about the hollow nickel.

  He’d ruffled Richard’s hair, saying, “Fine work, Junior Agent Bradley.” It was half joke, half serious. But the next thing out of Don’s mouth was all gravy. “I’m proud of you, son. Those kinds of observation skills are real important to a man out in the world. You might even make a fine undercover agent.”

  Richard was dying to ask, “Like you, Dad?” But Don left the room abruptly, and then the house.

  A man. Out in the world. Undercover agent. This is swell, Richard thought.

  Still, for a while after that, Richard had a hard time looking Vladimir in the eye, especially as Vladimir worked on different saxophone tunes for Richard’s lyrics. He’d named the Dottie song “Strawberry Blond Perfume.” Richard kept reminding himself of something Philbrick had said about leading a double life. He’d written the quote down in his notebook. “Sometimes…in fighting to preserve what is worthwhile, you are forced to do things which are not in accordance with the very principles to which you are dedicated.”

  Like telling the truth. Friendship. But which was more important? Being loyal to his friend or to his dad? Plus, sharing stuff about Vladimir was definitely getting Don’s attention. Conversations that were guy-to-guy. Talks Richard had longed to have. And maybe they’d be helpful to Don, too. Get Mr. Hoover’s attention.

  Finally, Richard made himself feel better by realizing he hadn’t said anything bad about Vladimir. He’d simply passed on some interesting things he’d observed about people in Brooklyn Heights and Teresa’s oddball friends. Don was the G-man. He’d know what to do with that information and whether any of it indicated a danger to national security. Richard’s job was done. He could relax.

  Now Vladimir was spending a couple of nights at Richard’s house because both his parents had gone back up to New York. His dad had business with the State Department’s United Nations office, and Teresa, well, she hadn’t really said why she needed to return to the city. Although Richard had his suspicions. Don’s eyebrow had shot up, big-time, when Abigail had described Teresa’s request. She was all excited about Vladimir coming, saying it would be a nice favor to pay them back for inviting Richard to New York City.

  At first, Vladimir had been pretty darn annoyed about his mother lining up babysitters for him, saying he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But then he had Abigail’s crab cakes and decided three dinners at the Bradley house was good news. That’s why Vladimir was at the Pick Temple’s Giant Ranch show. Don made a big deal of inviting him during that first supper, joking it was Ginny’s TV debut and Vladimir would be able to say years from now that he had witnessed it.

  Richard had been totally baffled by Don’s buddy-buddy attitude with Vladimir at dinner that night, given all the questions he’d asked Richard about the Whites and their New York friends. Plus, Pick Temple was for little kids. Richard was mortified to be sitting in those bleachers, surrounded by parents, watching a bunch of children dressed up like cowboys and cowgirls with toy six-shooters, each one hoping to be chosen to shoot at balloons on a hay bale target range. Vladimir should be as well. If the basketball team heard about his being there, he’d be toast. Jimmy would have a field day with it.

  Well, maybe that was why it seemed so important to Don that Vladimir go with them. Maybe his dad was just looking out for him, making sure Richard had protection in numbers. He could hope that, but who knew for sure? Richard was often confused by Don’s and Abigail’s reactions to stuff Ginny did.

  Take Ginny’s selection for the Pick Temple show. She’d been sending in postcards to WTOP for months, hoping hers would be drawn out of a drum—which was how the studio audience of kid guests was selected. Totally random. But Don had been bragging on her show appearance like she’d been personally invited to be on a celebrity interview program like Person to Person or something.

  Richard craned his neck a little to see her. Weirdly, Ginny didn’t seem that happy about it. He watched her for a moment and had a revelation. As gregarious as she was with adults, she wasn’t talking to any of the kids around her. He shifted in his seat, suddenly worried rather than peeved. A little girl being so all-fired smart might be as bad as a teenage boy loving books. He hated how their parents were always so impressed by her, but he’d hate it even more if his little sister had to endure some of the persecution he had.

  Twangy guitar music filled the studio. In jogged Pick, waving his arms in hello, his faithful collie named Lady dancing behind at his heels. “Heidi, pardners!” he called.

  The children went wild, bouncing in their seats and clapping furiously, with seeing-Santa-Claus exuberance. Except for Ginny. She smiled brightly, but kept a ladylike cool as Pick greeted them. “Thanks for coming to Giant Ranch. Are you ready to have some fun, Rangers?”

  “Yes!!!” the children squealed, clapping again and wriggling with joy, cued by two men who held clipboards and stood on the side out of camera view.

  “Okay, then. Let’s play Pass the Spinach!”

  While the children passed a box of frozen spinach between them as fast as possible so they weren’t caught holding it when the music stopped, Pick was handed his guitar. After the hot-potato game, he strummed the tune of “On Top of Old Smokey.” Practiced from hours of watching the show at home, the children sang along: “So let’s all eat Heidi’s, and before very long, all Giant Rangers will grow big and strong.”

  “Heidi’s?” Vladimir asked.

  “It’s a local bakery. It and Giant Foods sponsor the show. Pick goes to all the store openings. Hundreds of kids go to see him, like he’s Frank Sinatra or something. Ginny will get a big bag of Heidi’s cookies at the end of the show.”

  “Shhhhhhhhhh,” the lime-poufed lady hissed again.

  Next up, a little
boy was chosen to shoot at the balloons. The child was completely tongue-tied when Pick asked if he was a good target shooter. He couldn’t even say what his name was. He just stared—like a deer in headlights—at the monitor in which he could see himself.

  Richard noticed Ginny cross her arms and look down, shaking her head. He knew she was thinking the kid was a dope. Vladimir chuckled beside him. “Your little sister kills me, Rich. She’s way too sophisticated for this. She should go on Dr. I.Q. instead!”

  “Shhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Finally, Pick helped the boy by asking which balloon he planned to hit. The boy pointed to the far right and aimed. Pop-pop-pop went his cap gun. The balloon exploded.

  “Hey, did you see that long needle come up and pop that balloon?” Richard whispered. “There must be some guy hiding behind the haystack. If Ginny spots that, she’ll be furious. She always hates it when she catches us letting her win at Monopoly.”

  “Shhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  The shooting boy was jumping up and down now, shouting, “I did it, I did it, I did it!” Pick had to gently herd him back to the bleachers.

  At that point, Ginny stood up.

  Abigail gasped and grabbed Don’s hand. “What is she doing?”

  The lime lady was so taken aback, she didn’t bother to shhhhhhhhhhhhh.

  The two men on the side waved their clipboards frantically at Ginny to sit down. But she ignored them.

  “Well, Heidi there, young lady.” Pick smiled at her kindly.

  “Hello, Mr. Temple. My name is Virginia Bradley.”

  Pick grinned. A child standing up and taking control of the show was new, and its cameras were rolling, live, filling thousands of TVs in living rooms all across the East Coast. He played along. “Would you like to say hello to your family and friends, Virginia?”

  “Watch this,” Richard whispered. “Any kid who takes too long in her hellos gets mooed.”

  Vladimir looked at him sideways. “What?”

  “They play a loud cow moo to interrupt the kid, and then Pick helps the kid end with, ‘Hi, everybody else.’”

  “Oh, is that where that comes from? I’ve heard a bunch of kids at school say that and then laugh, like it was a tremendous witticism.”

  But Ginny was quick and precise. “Yes, sir. Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Hi, Richard and Vladimir. Hi, Mrs. Emerson.” She stopped there. “What I would really like, Mr. Temple, is to say hi to Piccolo. May I ride him, please? It’s time for a Ranger to ride Piccolo, isn’t it?”

  Sure enough, the Shetland pony one lucky child rode during the show, led around by Pick, was standing saddled and ready, nipping irritably at the guy holding him.

  “You are absolutely right, little lady! Come on down.” In an instant, Ginny stood beside Pick as Piccolo was led up. “Have you ridden a pony before, Virginia?”

  “No, sir. That’s why I want to. I plan to write a story about this. Brand-new experiences are good things to write about. I want to be an inquiring camera girl for newspapers when I grow up. Like Jackie Kennedy was. Maybe even a reporter for Edward R. Murrow. And then after that, when I get married, I want to own a radio station like Mrs. Lady Bird Johnson does, even though she is married to the senator. Not many people know that about her. Senator Johnson gets all the attention.”

  The children and the parents sitting next door were all silent, stunned at Ginny’s little speech. But Vladimir laughed outright. “I’m serious. Your sister kills me, Rich. She’s like Phoebe.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the little sister in The Catcher in the Rye.”

  Richard looked at Vladimir with surprise and then back to Ginny. Holden Caulfield had adored his little sister. He’d loved all her crazy quirks and how smart she was. “Chewing the fat” and “horsing around” with her was the one thing Holden could name that made him happy. And Phoebe was completely loyal to him. Even willing to run away with him.

  Suddenly, as Ginny was led in a circle around the studio on Piccolo, Richard felt ashamed of how jealous he could be sometimes about her. He’d never have the guts to speak up like she just did. And her persistence was actually something he wished he had. Maybe that was what made him feel envious sometimes—wanting to have her chutzpah, as Vladimir would call it.

  When Pick handed Ginny his microphone and let her end the show, Richard felt kind of big-brother proud as she led the other Rangers in Pick’s Pledge:

  “I will live up to the creed of a Pick Temple Ranger—to carry on the principles of good citizenship; to help the needy, the aged, and the sick; to respect my parents and teachers; to love my neighbors, city, and country….”

  On the drive home, Ginny doled out Heidi’s treats from her Pick Temple bag. “Thank you for coming, Vladi.” She smiled at him as she turned around to hand him a packet of mini cupcakes. Don was at the wheel, Ginny between him and Abigail on the long bench-like seat.

  They were passing Fort Reno, the highest ground in DC, where the Union Army had built a fort during the Civil War. The moon was rising, fat and glowing, spilling white-silver light onto the old stone observation towers. Richard used to love playing there, rolling down the green grass hills or sledding the slopes. But recently there’d been a lot of construction and fences put up around the nineteenth-century battlements.

  “Hey, Rich.” Vladimir elbowed him and talked through a mouthful of cupcake. “We should go poke around up there Saturday. My dad heard rumors that the government is thinking of building some secret bunker in case the Soviets nuke us. I guess the whole White House or Congress could end up squirreled away up there, like Hitler hiding at the end of World War II. Wouldn’t that be something? Hey, Ginny, you should come along. It’d be a great breaking story for an inquiring camera girl!”

  “Oh my gosh! I’d love that. I could—”

  “Nobody in this car is going anywhere near the fort. Kapish?” Don’s voice was brusque. Abigail looked at him with some alarm—Richard knew the expression well. His mom’s face was such an open book. She’d never make it as a secret agent.

  Don glanced over at her and then back to the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. Richard also recognized Don’s way of steadying his hands if they were shaking.

  Clearing his throat, Don composed an easygoing voice. “A construction site is dangerous, that’s all.” He glanced at Vladimir in the rearview mirror. “You’ve got a vivid imagination, Vladimir. No wonder you and Rich are buddies. I bet your dad was pulling your leg. He’d know better than to talk at the dinner table about top secret things he might have picked up at the State Department if they were going on.” He put on one of those grown-up, thin-lipped, give-me-a-yes-sir kind of smiles. “Wouldn’t he?”

  Vladimir caught the rebuke—it was hard to miss. He was uncharacteristically slow and careful in his response. “Of course, Mr. Bradley.” But Richard could tell his friend was biting his lip to keep from saying more.

  Don gazed in the mirror for a few more moments at Vladimir before speaking again. “Here’s what’s up. You know how the old towers were converted into water tanks at the turn of the century? Well, they don’t hold enough reserve water anymore. The city’s grown that much. So they’re thinking of digging another water reserve, and they might add a tower for radio antennae and civil defense warning sirens. That’s all. There are guys taking measurements and ground tests.

  “Nothing to look at, sugarplum.” He smiled down at Ginny. “Just some holes you could fall into. So going there is verboten.”

  He flipped on his turn signal as an uncomfortable hush filled the car, pierced only by the mechanism’s click-click-click-click.

  Vladimir frowned, his face a little red.

  Abigail broke the silence, in that let’s-save-the-situation way of hers. “Soooooooo, Ginny, honey. I didn’t know Mrs. Johnson ran a radio station.”

  “Yeah, that’s swell, Gin,” Vladimir chimed in, trying to please. “What’s the scoop there?”

  Ginny twisted around to kneel facing backward. “Mrs. Jo
hnson is so interesting! One morning when I was over there, I saw her taking dictation from the senator as he ate breakfast. Fast scribbles. She told me she’d learned to do that when she studied journalism at the University of Texas. I didn’t know you could go to college for journalism!”

  Ginny got more and more animated as she talked. “Did you know that she bankrolled the senator’s first election campaign with a little inheritance she got from her mom? Then she purchased a rundown old radio station in Austin. She hired a new staff, and pretty soon she was making a profit. Eighteen whole dollars that first month. And now she says it makes thousands! Mrs. Johnson’s really smart. And she’s got gumption. That’s her word. She says I have it, too. And that I have brains. She also says people who do stuff without thinking are ‘the type to charge hell with a bucket of water.’”

  They all laughed. She was killing everybody, as Vladimir would say. “Everybody with any sense, anyway”—Holden Caulfield’s line suddenly rang in Richard’s ear. As Ginny gushed on, prompted by Vladimir’s questions and completely in the spotlight, they passed the Whites’ house.

  Teresa’s studio was all lit up.

  That’s weird, thought Richard. He turned backward in his seat to look again. Whoa, wait a minute! Two men in plain button-up raincoats were walking briskly down the sidewalk, away from Vladimir’s house. But that wasn’t what caught his eye so much. It was the fact that they both carried matching briefcase-size black bags. The guys looked exactly like the FBI agents who broke into the college student’s dorm room on I Led 3 Lives. Exactly! Down to the black bags that—on the TV show, anyway—carried tiny cameras and bugging devices!

  Richard sat up taller to look again through the back window. The men were gone. Vanished. Like they’d jumped into bushes or trash cans.

  With some excitement, Richard shifted back to face forward. He started to elbow Vladimir and tell him he should look out the window. But his friend was engrossed in Ginny’s story about the Johnsons’ barbecue recipe.