The Scarlet Pepper (21 page)

Some of the lettuce had bolted in all this heat. Dry seed pods hanging from the tall stalks rattled in the evening breeze. On Wednesday local schoolchildren would harvest those seeds and take them back with them to plant at their schools in the fall.

Like my grandmother’s garden had done for me, the First Lady’s garden would give several dozen children the gift of gardening that, if nurtured, could last them a lifetime.

I crouched down to stroke a downy eggplant leaf.

“Are you ready?” Jack asked.

Afraid my voice might crack like a nervous teenager’s on her first big date, I nodded and grabbed my backpack.

As we walked through the downtown, neither of us talked. I was close to bursting at the seams with everything that had happened, but Jack discouraged it. “Let’s go to your house, where it’s private,” he told me. “Then we can hash out what we know.”

He was right. The last thing my career needed was for me to talk about these things in a restaurant. The way my luck had been going lately, I’d probably be seated next to an investigative reporter anxious to find his next big story, like that young Simon Matthews. I’d heard rumors about such things happening from other members of the White House staff. Whether those stories existed merely to scare us into practicing discretion or if they were actually true, it didn’t matter. I had enough trouble on my hands. Lord knew I didn’t need to go and do something indiscreet.

“Are there any yew bushes?” Jack asked as we entered the brownstone’s small front yard.

“The European yew is actually a tree. And no, there aren’t any in my yard.”

He nodded, his gaze taking in the flowers crowding the twin beds that lined the walkway up to the front steps.

In exchange for a reduced rent, I’d agreed to upgrade and maintain the landscaping. I’d designed the small front yard to resemble the Victorian garden that might have flanked the front stairs when the brownstone was new.

I’d used a modernized version of the Victorian “Persian rug” planting that was popular on estates in the area during the late nineteenth century. Low-growing mondo grass formed the borders for a double interlocking diamond pattern. Within the diamonds, blooms created the fields of
colors for the “rug,” including pink and white dianthus and cosmos bursting yellow and orange.

“Are any of these poisonous?” Jack asked.

“Not particularly.”

“What’s in the back?”

“There’s a small fenced area. I’ve not had an opportunity to do anything with it yet. It’s mostly exposed dirt. I think the renters before us had a dog that liked to dig.”

After he’d taken a look around the front, I let Jack into the apartment. He immediately conducted a thorough search of the rooms on the first floor.

“Do you think Frank or Bruce might be hiding behind the curtains?” I joked.

“Not really,” he said with a smile, although he did peek behind the curtains in the living room once I’d mentioned it. “I’m looking for surveillance equipment…just in case. Better safe than sorry, you know? I’d like to see the backyard, too, if you don’t mind.”

The small backyard was accessed through a door in the small laundry room/pantry off the kitchen. We were losing what was left of the waning twilight as we descended the old wooden steps that led into the backyard. A streetlamp in the alleyway behind the brownstone flickered on. Soon, moths and other flying insects started to buzz around it.

The tiny backyard with bits of weeds popping up through the compacted soil looked as desolate as the last time I’d ventured out there. The small space didn’t get enough sun during the day to grow vegetables. When I had a free moment, I planned to create a raised-bed border along the fence where I would plant shade-loving grasses. A small wall fountain would go nicely on the brownstone wall. The trickling sound of water and the rustle of the breeze in the grasses would help transform the dreary space into a garden oasis. I planned to cover the rest of the bare ground with stone pavers where Alyssa and I could keep a couple of lounge chairs and there’d also be room for an outside dining area.

“What’s that?” Jack pointed to an untidy pile of branches near the wooden gate that led out to the alleyway.

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I took out the garbage yesterday.”

I followed Jack to the pile of branches. They couldn’t have come from the yard. Other than the few spots of weeds, the landscape was bare.

I picked a branch up and turned it over in my hand. The cut looked fresh—the interior of the branch still had a green tinge and felt soft when I pressed my nail against it.

“I don’t know where these could have come from,” I said.

“Can you tell what they are?”

I shook my head. “Someone peeled all the leaves off.” I smelled it. “It’s got a piney scent.”

“Like an English yew?”

I dropped the branch as if it had stung me. “You don’t think the leaves from these branches were used to make the poison that killed Parker, do you?”

“What I’m wondering is why these branches are here.”

“Jack, I didn’t kill Parker!”

He nudged one of the branches with his toe. “I never thought you did. You’re not a killer, Casey.”

I wouldn’t go that far. Jack would change his opinion about me if he knew about the violent dreams that had haunted my sleep lately. For months now, I’d been dreaming I found the man who murdered my mother and his companions. Sometimes I’d gouge their faces with my fingernails until there was nothing left of their ungodly smirks. Other times I’d blast them so full of holes with a gun their bones would turn to jelly. And other times…

I shut the door on those thoughts and fisted my hands to stop the trembling. The memories of my mother and that horrible night were ancient history. They had nothing to do with my life now.

Jack flicked a glance at my fists, but didn’t say anything.

I needed to focus. “These can’t be the branches used to poison Parker’s tea.” I picked up the branch I had dropped. “Look here. The cut is too fresh. Whoever pruned these branches did it today.”

“Then someone is trying to make you look guilty.”

“Perhaps. You know, Frank was in the First Lady’s kitchen garden this morning. He could have dropped that fake suicide letter. This could be his attempt to ‘handle’ me by making me look guilty of murder.”

“How? Why would the police find these? Will he call in a tip? That seems risky.”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I don’t, either.” Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “We need to tell Detective Hernandez.”

“Why? Didn’t you just say someone would need to report the branches in order to make me look guilty?” Jack, Gordon, and Alyssa had all warned that I needed to tread carefully around the police. Their advice had finally taken root. “Besides, what are we going to tell him? ‘Hey, Manny, someone left a pile of branches in my backyard’? I say we toss them in the Dumpster at the end of the alleyway.”

“That’s not a good idea. We need to report it.”

I grabbed the phone from Jack.

He sighed. “Someone is deliberately trying to make you look guilty. Is it Frank or Bruce? I don’t know. But I do know that we need to make sure Hernandez understands what’s going on here before the killer, whoever that may be, completely ruins your career.”

“Okay. Okay, I get that. Let me make the call. It’s my yard, my word, my future.”

MANNY HERNANDEZ ARRIVED ABOUT A HALF
hour later looking rumpled. Both his shoulders and his mustache were drooping.

“Casey said that these weren’t here yesterday,” Jack told him as we stood around the branches. Manny kept a flashlight beam shining on them.

“The cuts are fresh. I think someone must have put them here this afternoon,” I added.

“I wonder if it happened before or after you gave me that fake suicide note.” Manny stroked his salt-and-pepper mustache thoughtfully.

“Have you been able to find out who dropped that note?” Jack asked.

Manny shook his head. “The angle on the video is all wrong. We can see who walked through the garden, but we don’t see the note until you wrestle it out of the dog’s mouth.”

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“I’ll test these branches for prints, but…” He sighed. “It’s still early in the investigation.”

“I touched one of the branches,” I warned.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“There’s something else you need to know.” Ready the net, boys, I was about to prove to him that I’d lost my mind.

Manny clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for me to continue. Jack gave me an encouraging nod.

I drew a deep breath. “I know this will sound far-fetched.” Not the best way to build confidence. I don’t know why, but I cared about what Manny and Jack thought about me.

“Go on,” Manny said. “Out with it.”

“Frank Lispon and Bruce Dearing. I think they killed Griffon Parker.”

“Go on,” Manny said.

I repeated the conversation I’d overheard earlier that day. Manny listened. He nodded in all the right places. He even jotted several things down in that little notebook of his.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked when I finished.

I thought for a moment before saying, “I don’t think Francesca Dearing is involved, but she might know something. I think she tried to warn me this afternoon. And someone left a note that said ‘Lispon’s office’ on my desk. Perhaps it was a warning.”

He flipped the notebook closed and pushed it back into his jacket pocket. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have another talk with Francesca. If that’s all, I’ll make sure these branches get tested.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you overheard something,” Manny said.

“But you don’t believe Frank and Bruce poisoned Parker and are now planning to kill me,” I said.

“No, Casey, I don’t.”

“
T
HOSE
two men hold important positions in the government. They don’t have time to play games like this.” Manny pointed to the branches.

“But because I’m a gardener I have time for petty games and murder, so I’m a suspect?”

“You’re deliberately twisting my words around, Casey.”

“And you didn’t do the same thing to me earlier today? Frank was in the First Lady’s garden right before the photo shoot. The fake suicide note could have fallen out of his pocket,” I reminded him. “Frank has just as much motive as I do. Parker has been a thorn in the administration’s side from day one. You should have heard how the staff would curse Parker and his slanted articles. That’s motive. He had tons of it. More motive to get rid of Parker than you think I have.”

Manny shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right it’s not the same thing. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Calm down. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You didn’t?” Jack quickly jumped to my defense.
“Questioning Casey at the White House made damned sure everyone on the staff wondered whether she put the poison in Parker’s tea.”

Manny pulled on a pair of latex gloves and stooped down to shovel the branches into a plastic bag. “I was only doing my job.”

“You could have quietly asked her to come to the station to answer a few questions, and you know it. You made a point of singling her out.”

“So?” Manny grunted.

“So, your interest in Casey regarding the murder and then the bomb scare this afternoon made the top brass at the Secret Service sit up and take notice. They’re wondering if Casey is a security risk. If I hadn’t fought for her, she might have lost her security clearance this afternoon.”

“What? I almost lost my security clearance because of this?” If that happened, I’d miss the harvest. I’d be useless to Gordon and the First Lady. My White House career would be over.

“Yes. And if Hernandez keeps the investigation centered on you, your days at the White House will be numbered.”

“But—” I started to say.

“Someone wants you to look guilty of murder,” Jack said, “and is willing to use the police as a tool to ruin you.”

“But I’m not guilty of anything!” I flapped my hands in frustration.

“Look, Casey,” Manny said, “it’s not that I really believe you are involved in Griffon Parker’s death, but Jack’s right. Someone wants us to think you are guilty by using the details of the murder mystery dinner you and Francesca had planned as the method for murder, and then there are these branches. I put some pressure on you; these branches popped up. Makes me wonder what else the killer might do to keep the spotlight of suspicion on you.”

“I don’t like it. You’re playing with Casey’s future and her safety,” Jack argued.

“Manny, there has to be some other way I can help the
investigation. Whoever killed Parker has access to the White House gardens, which is my territory. If nothing else, I can serve as the eyes and ears for you there.”

The detective seemed to consider this before nodding slowly. “Maybe there is something you can do.”