The Scarlet Pepper (31 page)

“What did you mean when you said earlier that Kelly Montague has been searching for her birth father?” he asked.

“I meant just that, and you darn well know it. She believes someone in this administration is her father. Perhaps Bruce Dearing. Perhaps even President Bradley. Someone didn’t want the scandal to come out twenty-five years ago and that same person is now willing to kill to keep the story from coming out today.

“You’re the ever-loyal friend to both Bruce and John Bradley. You’ve long been the go-to guy they could count on to keep the public image and message on target. I suspect you’ve gone to extreme measures more than once to do just that.”

“Kelly believes either Bruce or the President is her father?” He shook his head. “Bruce can’t have children. Neither can John.”

“But Margaret’s pregnant.”

“Casey?” Francesca called from the garden. “Where did you want to plant the okra?”

“Excuse me,” I said to Frank. “I have a garden to repair.”

Why should I believe Frank? It was his job to promote the story he wanted others to hear.

“OH, DEAR, WE SHOULDN’T SPEAK ILL OF OTHERS,”
Mable Bowls protested. She waggled a replacement tomato seedling at me. “It’s wrong to gossip.”

The entire grounds crew and all the volunteers I could find were making quick work of tearing out the leggy, unhealthy vegetables that had appeared overnight and planting the crop I’d been growing in the greenhouses across town. Revised schematics would be handed out to the press within the hour.

Like a well-oiled machine, everyone was pulling together, even Gillis, and we were certain to accomplish what should have taken all day in just under a few hours. Standard fare for the White House staff, who regularly made major changes at the last minute for events of worldwide importance.

“Very wrong,” Pearle Stone agreed. Her hands moved with seasoned grace as she tucked a replacement pepper plant into the soft ground.

“Two men are dead,” I reminded them.

“Is this about that silly murder mystery dinner you and Francesca were planning? I heard Parker’s murder followed the details you devised to the letter.”

“You knew the details of the mystery dinner murder?” I asked.

“Darling, we discussed it at our weekly tea. Not very clever to leave a bottle of pills,” Mable said.

“It would have been better to keep the police guessing instead of giving them something to test for,” Pearle added.

“The two of you frighten me.”

They both smiled angelically.

“I do need your help,” I told them. “Kelly Montague is in the hospital. I was talking with her right before the hit-and-run attack. She was worried that she’d uncovered a long-forgotten scandal, a scandal someone has been willing to kill to keep secret. She thought the scandal dated back about twenty-five years ago. There was a baby—does that sound familiar?”

Both women shook their heads. “That was so long ago.”

“How about today?” I tried. “Do you have any idea what Griffon Parker found out about Francesca and Bruce Dearing?” I asked. “Was Bruce having an affair?”

“It couldn’t have been about Bruce’s philandering ways. Everybody knows about that,” Mable said.

“Really? Bruce? Does Francesca know?”

“Honey,” Pearle said, “that girl was never one to sit at home like a good wife. She has always lived an active side life as well.”

“If it works for them, who are we to criticize?” Mable said.

“News of an affair wouldn’t be news at all with either Bruce or Francesca. The way Parker was talking, he must have learned something truly explosive about those two,” Pearle said.

“Like a secret baby?” I asked.

“Bruce can’t have children.” Pearle moved down the row to plant another healthy bell pepper. “Poor Francesca. She wanted to adopt. Her friend Annie offered to help out.”

“Poor Annie, her husband mismanaged their money,” Mable added. “When he died, all he left her with was a pile of bills.”

“Francesca is overly generous with Annie,” Pearle said. “She pays for everything.”

“But what about Francesca? Why didn’t she adopt?” I asked, trying to keep the two on the subject.

“Bruce wasn’t interested in doing that.”

“He can’t have children? Are you sure?” I followed her. I have to admit, I’d stopped working.

“It was quite the talk back when it looked as if he might
get the presidential nomination. When was that?” Pearle asked.

“Nineteen eighty-eight,” I said.

“Ooh…” she replied and then moved on to the next plant.

Again, I followed.

“What happened back then? What was everyone talking about?”

“I suppose it really wasn’t a secret at the time, so it’s not gossip now. At Francesca’s urging, Bruce had gone to one of those fertility clinics. He was none too happy when everyone found out. He never went back. Never would talk to Francesca about children again, either,” she said.

“Did that hurt his political aspirations?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“His political aspirations?” I moved closer to her and repeated. “Did that damage them?”

“Oh, my, no. A little middling like that? Just made him red faced at some of the parties around town for a month or so.”

That seemed to be all she’d say about that, so I had no choice but to change course.

“Someone recently told me that President Bradley can’t have children, but the First Lady is pregnant with twins. Have you heard anything about that?” I asked, expecting to catch Frank in his lie.

“Poor Margaret.” Mable tsked. “No wonder she didn’t have time to attend any socials or teas. Someone did tell me that she’d been going to a fertility clinic for the past year and a half. I heard her biological clock was ticking and she wasn’t willing to wait a moment longer.”

“I heard that the babies are the President’s,” Pearle added, “but they had to work hard to make that happen.”

“I see.” So Frank had been telling the truth about that. “What about Frank Lispon? Has he ever been the focus of a scandal?”

“Now, Frank. What a dynamic guy. He started out all hot and heavy with the younger ladies, a real heartbreaking
Casanova, and then—” Pearle interrupted herself. “Don’t look now, that handsome Gordon Sims is coming our way.” She swept off her sunhat and fluffed her hair.

Once Gordon arrived, I couldn’t get either Mable or Pearle to leave the man alone long enough to tell me what they knew about Frank Lispon.

SO FAR ALL OF MY QUESTIONS ONLY LED TO
more questions. What dangerous game was Frank playing? Why would he sabotage the vegetable garden if his actions hurt the President and First Lady more than they hurt me? Most Americans didn’t know, or care, that I existed.

I doubted most reporters knew my name. By parading me in front of the press, did Frank really think he could turn the tide on the negative news reports? Was that even his goal? Or was he planning something else?

I couldn’t do this on my own.

“Jack, do you have a moment?”

Jack excused himself from the other uniformed Secret Service agents who’d stationed themselves around the garden’s perimeter in advance of the First Lady’s arrival for the harvest activities.

“The garden looks…healthy,” he said as the other agents watched us. It was unnerving having so many prying eyes on me when what I wanted to say to Jack felt so damned private.

“Um…” I tried to ignore their curious gazes. And failed. Miserably. “Must they stare?”

He looked over at his fellow agents as if only now noticing them. “It’s their job to keep a watchful eye. That’s how assassins and mentals are stopped before the gun comes out of the coat. We have a duty to notice things before bullets can fly and lives are lost.”

“Who wears a coat on a hot summer day like today?”

“Mostly mentals with guns in their pockets.”

“Ah.”

“Come on. Walk with me,” he said. He led us past
the First Lady’s vegetable garden, which had been patched back together quite nicely. We passed the South Fountain and walked toward a shady area beneath the South Lawn’s large white oaks. The leaves rustled above our heads as a couple of squirrels chased each other through the canopy.

“Sure, they’re cute now. Soon, though, they’ll be munching on the strawberries and raspberries,” I muttered to myself. “Netting. We’ll need to install netting next week.”

“What’s up?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. Jack, I want to apologize for how I’ve been acting toward you.” I grimaced. “I know the other day you told me not to count on you to be around to save me…or not save me, but…”

Jack kept silent as he watched me struggle for words.

I needed him to understand that I wanted him in my life. That I—this was difficult to admit even to myself—I wanted to trust him. I needed to trust him. But I couldn’t just snap my fingers and become the perfect, unbroken girlfriend Jack deserved.

“My father—” I started to pace. I didn’t want to think about that man. I didn’t want to think about how he could coldly take another’s life. “As you already know, he left my mother. He left me. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought I didn’t need him. He left. So what? He’s a jerk. He’s most likely a dangerous criminal who I wouldn’t want in my life. But…” But what if he’d stayed? Would he have been able to fight those men and save my mother?

It hurt too much to put voice to those thoughts.

“I had a wonderful childhood without him. It shouldn’t matter that he wasn’t there.”

“It does matter,” Jack said for me.

“Stupid, but yeah, it matters. It didn’t before. But this spring all those memories of my parents came flooding back. It changed everything. Those memories killed the carefree gardener you met this spring.”

I wondered how this most recent memory was going to affect me. Was it going to destroy me to know that my father was no better than the men who had killed my
mother? That he, too, had wrecked lives before slipping past the bonds of justice?

“Did those memories change you?” Jack took my hand. “Or did they force you to see the reason why you are afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” I pulled away. “I’m…”

Confused? Oh, so terribly confused.

“Have you ever had a long-term relationship with a man?” Jack asked.

“That’s an abrupt subject change.”

“No, it’s not. Have you ever had a long-term relationship with a man?” he repeated.

“Yeah, in college.” But after a couple of semesters the engineering student turned cold toward me. He pushed me away. Hadn’t he?

I couldn’t remember.

“A few years later another boyfriend ended the relationship after about a year and a half. He complained I was emotionally unavailable. But he doesn’t count. He’d been seeing a therapist who, I’m sure, totally turned him against me.”

“Okay. Have you ever broken off a relationship first?”

I thought back.

“I’ve never had the chance.”

“Interesting,” Jack said.

“What’s interesting about that? That I’m totally dumpable? Is that even a word? It’s the guys who are too picky. Always looking for something wrong. They can’t be trusted to stick around for long. But that’s okay. I don’t want a long-term relationship. I just want to have fun.”

“I’m sure that’s it. I’m sure your past relationships with men weren’t influenced at all by your father leaving you and your mother at such a dangerous time in your lives.”

He let me stew about that for a while.

“Okay, perhaps I have always been afraid.”

Jack took my hand again. “I’m sure your father didn’t intentionally—”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The memory of him
killing a man was too fresh in my mind. The pain too raw. “Jack, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I’ve been having trouble trusting you. You’re not the problem. I am. Trust me, I’m working on that.”

“Trust you?” He smiled.

It was infectious. I smiled back.

The moment stretched out for miles, but then I remembered the reason I needed to talk with Jack in the first place.

“Remember the threatening phone call I received two nights ago?”

His smile faded. “The one you didn’t tell me about until this morning?”

“I told Manny about it.”

“What about the phone call?” Just like that, his bad feelings faded away and he was ready to help.

“He—I think it was a he—told me to stay out of the garden or else I’d end up at the bottom of the compost pile. If Frank had made that call, why would he want me to stay out of the garden? He needs me here if he ripped out the First Lady’s plants to discredit me.”

“We don’t know that Frank’s the killer.”

“
I
know,” I said.

“He stood up for you and the harvest. If not for his fast thinking, Bryce would have canceled everything and ripped out the plants.”

“That confused me at first, but I think I’ve figured out why he did that. I want to know what you think.”

“Go on.”

“Frank has arranged for me to be grilled by the press this afternoon. He said it was so I could discredit the rumors that the garden is a fake.”

“So you think Frank sabotaged the First Lady’s garden to make it look as if you’ve been fooling everyone, volunteers included, into thinking the garden was actually producing vegetables?”

“Exactly. See, I knew you’d agree with me. Frank is up to no good.”

“No, I don’t agree. Taking you apart professionally
would hurt the President and the First Lady. Why would Frank want to do that? If he killed Parker, wouldn’t you think he did it to protect the President? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

“Yes, President Bradley or Bruce Dearing, but—”

“Then why would he turn around and dig up the kitchen garden? Why not simply focus on framing you for murder?”

“So you don’t believe me.” I started to walk away. “I have work to do.”

“Why do you have to be so pigheaded? All I’m saying is that I’m not going to form any opinions until I know more about what happened in the garden last night. Bryce is putting all his available men on this. We’ll know who sabotaged the garden before the schoolchildren arrive. But remember, we don’t know if the garden joker is connected to Griffon Parker’s murder.”