Flowerbed of State (14 page)

“President Bradley told you what happened yesterday?” I suppose when you have money and power and connections, those connections included access to state secrets.

Richard must have heard my frustrated huff. He turned all one hundred watts of his intense blue-eyed gaze back toward me. I could see why the tabloids called him “tempting.”

“He gave some broad details. What is this world coming to? A woman murdered across the street from the White House.” He shook his head. “And you were attacked.”

I suppose if the President considered Richard a confidant, why shouldn’t I? He obviously had more security clearance than I did.

Could a banking CEO work out as a gardener/part-time sleuth’s sidekick? It might work.

I decided to test the waters with one of the questions I’d wanted to ask earlier. “It must have been upsetting for you, too, hearing about what happened to Pauline. Were the two of you close?”

“Pauline? Who is she?”

“Pauline Bonde, the woman who was murdered yesterday. I’d heard that she’d been auditing your company’s books.”

“Had she?”

“So you didn’t know her?”

“No, I’m sorry. You say she’d been working in my office. That’s terrible. We have federal auditors in and out all the time. It’s a part of the banking business. It keeps our investors and depositors confident that their money is in safe hands. I assure you I have a team of employees who handle that end of things. I never meet the auditors.”

“Yes, of course you wouldn’t.” Had Pauline been lying about having dinner with Richard just to make Lorenzo jealous? “After learning about how intimately involved Pauline had been in the banking audits, I couldn’t help but wonder if someone killed her because of something she might have uncovered.”

“I’ve not heard anything about that.” He frowned as he considered the idea. “The Treasury Department audits were fairly benign. It’s the SEC guys that tend to go for the jugular. Even so, I can’t imagine anyone killing over anything an auditor might or might not have found.”

“Oh.” Turner had warned me that I was on the wrong track.

“I have to admit that you’ve got an interesting theory. With a killer lurking around the White House, I hope the Secret Service is investigating all angles,” Richard said. “At least they seem to be making progress. Right before the break, I overheard that the FBI had picked up a suspect for questioning.”

“They did?” Apparently Richard knew much more about what was going on than the few crumbs Turner had shared with me. “Do you know who?”

“No, but it sounded pretty serious. I mean, they might actually have their guy.”

“I hope so.” I touched my bandaged temple. My fingers were trembling.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s upset you.”

“No, it’s better that I know.” Still, I felt shaken.

“At least you saw the killer,” Richard said. “You can help the police identify him.”

“I—I think so.”

Richard’s brows furrowed. He tightened his hold on my hand. “You’re not sure?”

I closed my eyes, trying to remember. It felt as if some vital piece of information hovered at the edge of my consciousness. Every time I tried to grab it, the memory slithered farther out of reach.

I shook my head. “It’s still a little fuzzy. But the memories are there.” I hoped. “Give me a few days and I’m sure I’ll be able to give an accurate description of him.”

“That’s good to know.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better go before your anxious Secret Service friend over there decides to use force to get me back to the Roosevelt Room. Would you consider meeting me for coffee after I get done for the day with this interminable summit? Say, five thirty at Capitol Perks?”

“Actually, I prefer the pastries at the Freedom of Espresso Café over on K Street.”

“Why not? I’m always willing to try something new.”

“Great. It’s a date.” I smiled so hard, I think I strained a muscle.

I
rushed back to the grounds office underneath the North Portico anxious to find out what I could about who the FBI had picked up for questioning.

I was surprised to find Special Agent Cooper sitting at Lorenzo’s desk with the ever-proper Ambrose standing watch behind him, arms crossed over his chest. The FBI agent with the thick, bulldog-like jowls had the middle drawer open and was riffling through its contents. The organized stacks of paperwork that always graced Lorenzo’s desktop were spread across the floor in a messy jumble.

Loud whirling and banging noises could be heard through the thick concrete wall separating our office from the carpenter’s shop next door.

“What’s going on?” I demanded over the racket. “What are you doing in Lorenzo’s desk?” I glanced over to my desk to see if Cooper had sifted through my stuff. It was hard to tell if my disorganized mess of paperwork had been moved or not.

Cooper rose. “Good. You’re here. I need to have a word with you.” His tweed suit looked suspiciously like the one he’d worn yesterday, only more wrinkled.

“Casey,” Ambrose said. His frown deepened when he turned to me. The corner of his tight mouth started to twitch.

“What’s going on?” I asked again. “Does Gordon know about this?” I glanced pointedly at the paperwork that had been moved off Lorenzo’s desk.

“They could have brought an entire team in here,” Ambrose exclaimed. Tension put a squeak in his voice.

“We still might,” Cooper added.

“A team for what?”

Cooper glared at me as if I should know.

“They’ve taken Lorenzo into custody to question him regarding his involvement in that woman’s death.” Ambrose took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it. A White House employee being held under suspicion of murder. It’s unthinkable.”

I couldn’t believe it either. I suddenly needed to sit down. “Lorenzo is a suspect?”

“Not yet,” Cooper said, holding his stubby hands out. “You don’t need to get upset. We’re only talking to him. He’s not being held. No charges have been filed.”

Still, the fact that the FBI had been concerned enough about Lorenzo’s connection to Pauline that they’d sought a warrant to search his desk and to bring him in for questioning would be evidence enough to convict him in the eyes of many in the press. This could ruin Lorenzo’s career.

“You should have told me that Mr. Parisi and the victim had been intimately involved,” Cooper scolded. “I wasn’t happy to learn that you’d shared that information with the Secret Service and not with us.”

“That’s what this is about? You’re ruining Lorenzo’s life because of something I told Turner this morning? I wish I had called you, because I would have told you unequivocally that Lorenzo didn’t have anything to do with Pauline’s death.”

“I understand your loyalty to your coworker. I assure you that we’re following several lines of investigation. But to be honest, many of them are leading us to Mr. Parisi.” Cooper tilted his head and regarded me with close scrutiny. “Are there any other pertinent details you’d like to share with me?”

I pressed my lips together. I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him about Lorenzo’s shoes, although I seemed to remember Lorenzo had been wearing them this morning and presumably still had them on. But that wasn’t the point. I’d promised to help Lorenzo, not hurt him.

“Either you or Jack Turner have twisted my words around,” I told him. “It’s not Lorenzo’s affair with Pauline that’s suspicious. It’s her involvement with the banking audits and the timing of her death that was worrying me. Did you know she was supposed to be part of a Senate hearing today to present her findings?” I held up today’s paper. The cover story had provided that information along with some other interesting facts regarding her work with the Treasury Department.

“All avenues of investigation are being pursued. But as I’ve said, many of those avenues are leading to Mr. Parisi.” Cooper stood directly in front of the office chair I’d landed in. He propped hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, straining the button on his tweed suit coat. “I ask you again, are you sure you don’t know anything else? Have you remembered anything new about the attack?”

The door swung open as Gordon rushed into the office, his arms lightly coated with sweat, his face flushed from working in the gardens. The sweet scent of grass clippings clung to his khaki pants and white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I was told there’s a problem,” he said, his gaze darting from Ambrose to Special Agent Cooper and then to me. “Has something happened, Casey? Has someone tried to hurt you again?”

“No,” I assured him. “I’m fine. It’s Lorenzo. We’ve got to help him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” I bit my lower lip to keep it from quivering. “Apparently the FBI thinks Lorenzo killed Pauline and then attacked me.”

“We’re exploring several different—” Cooper started to say.

“Impossible!” Gordon exclaimed. “Preposterous! Who came up with such a crazy idea? What is this attack on my gardeners?”

“Ask Casey,” Ambrose said. The corner of his mouth twitching. “She’s the one who’s been discussing his personal life.”

“I didn’t—” But I had.

I don’t remember Miss Marple ever causing this much trouble for the friends she’d promised to help. Now what was I supposed to do?

 

GORDON, AMBROSE, AND I SPENT THE AFTERNOON
being grilled first by Special Agent Cooper, who was decidedly less friendly than yesterday, and then by Detective Hernandez, who’d arrived about fifteen minutes later and played the part of good cop. For a while
I
felt like a suspect. Acid burned in my stomach every time I thought about Lorenzo and how
he
must be feeling.

It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Cooper and Hernandez left. Gordon had answered the rapid-fire questioning like a seasoned trooper. Ambrose, after a moment of panic, handled the crisis with the calm finesse that had made him an invaluable part of the White House staff.

And I ended up with aching muscles, a throbbing headache, and feeling like a wrung-out emotional wreck.

“I don’t know how you held it all together so well,” Gordon said once we were alone in the office again. He tunneled his timeworn fingers through his silver hair. “I’m on the verge of collapse. If we didn’t have so much work to get done this week, I would call it a day and head straight home to bed.”

“I’d almost forgotten, the Easter Egg Roll, did you hear that Seth Donahue expanded—”

“I did,” Gordon said. “That shouldn’t cause us too much trouble. Despite everything, we have to stay focused. We can’t neglect the spring planting and pruning. This is definitely the busiest time of the year.”

Gordon was right. “They haven’t arrested Lorenzo, so he might be back to work tomorrow.”

“Of course he will be,” Gordon said. “He’s a hard worker. We need him here.”

Gordon’s phone rang on his desk. After answering it, he returned with a bewildered look on his face. “That was Louise Fenton.”

“The First Lady’s secretary?” I asked. My heart started to race. I hoped she liked the tropical begonia with bright yellow leaves I’d given her that morning. I’d selected a cheerful blue willow china pot for the plant, hoping the little gift would increase my chances that she could find an empty spot on the First Lady’s impossibly tight schedule.

“She thanks you again for the begonia.”

“And . . .” I glanced at the presentation boards propped against my desk, sadly unused.

“And she asked how you knew yellow was her favorite color.”

“She almost always wears yellow dresses. So I thought she might enjoy the bright yellow leaves of the tropical baby dress begonia to brighten her office.

“Was she pleased enough with the flowering plant to squeeze in another Grounds Committee meeting?” I pressed, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“With the banking summit and the Easter holidays, everybody’s schedule is tight.”

“I realize that.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “But it’s already spring. The program should have been implemented months ago.”

“Well then, we’d better get a move on,” Gordon said, and shook his head in amazement. “The First Lady is assembling the committee right now. We have thirty minutes to make the presentation.”

“Really?”

“No time to waste,” he said.

I quickly pulled my hair into a ponytail, tried not to worry that I was wearing my usual khakis with a green-and-white-striped sweater instead of a professional suit, and scooped up the presentation boards.

Last-minute meetings were typical for the White House, where schedules tended to change like the breeze. Over the past couple of months, I’d learned to pay closer attention to the news and world events. Surprisingly, something as far away as a coup in the Middle East could affect how my day was going to unfold.

“What about Senator Pendergast?” I asked as we hurried down the hallway toward the East Wing. “She wanted to sit in on the meeting.”