Flowerbed of State

by Dorothy St. James

  By the time I’d maneuvered back onto the sidewalk where I could see Joanna and Mr. Baseball Cap, Joanna had crossed her arms over her chest. Her muscles were tense. She looked ready to bolt.

  “Do it.” His deep voice caused several heads to turn in their direction. He lowered his head and turned more fully away from the crowd on the sidewalk.

  Joanna continued to shake her head, but she took the paper bag and clutched it to her breasts. Her lips moved rapidly.

  Suddenly, Joanna’s head snapped in my direction.

  Her eyes grew wide as we stared at each other.

  She said my name.

  Mr. Baseball Cap turned toward me as well. His shoulders jerked.

  The three of us stood frozen while the world seemed to move at a frenetic pace around us. With his dark sunglasses and baseball cap pulled low on his head, I couldn’t get a good look at the killer’s face. He could have been anyone.

  All of a sudden Joanna started to shake her head with agitation. She grabbed Mr. Baseball Cap’s arm again, shaking her head more furiously.

  “Hey!” I sprinted toward them, worried that Mr. Baseball Cap might hurt her.

  Before I could reach them, he shoved Joanna toward me and took off running toward the road.

  I caught Joanna’s arms as she stumbled. “Who was that guy?”

  She struggled against me, twisting and turning. The paper bag the man had given her dropped to the ground.

  “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.” She kicked my shin with enough force that my leg collapsed beneath me. I tumbled to the ground.

  “I’m trying to help you,” I said from the dirt. She was acting as if she thought I wanted to hurt her. Balancing on my hands and knees, I picked up the paper bag Mr. Baseball Cap had forced upon her. “Let me help you.”

  “You don’t understand.” She kicked my wrist.

  I toppled over, landing hard on a knobby tree root. For a petite woman, Joanna had incredible strength. I’d unfairly misjudged her in the same way others misjudged me based on my slender body frame.

  Before I knew what was happening, she snatched the paper bag from my hand.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated and took off in the same direction that Mr. Baseball Cap had gone.

  “Wait!” I scrambled to my feet and ran after her.

  She knew who’d killed Pauline. I had to stop her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  JOANNA sprinted through the trees weaving left and right with amazing agility. I barely managed to keep up, and I’m no couch potato.

  Excitement thrummed through my veins. Joanna held the key to catching Pauline’s killer. Hell, she’d been plotting with him.

  It had to be Brooks.

  The Tidal Basin was bordered on three sides by busy roadways and the Potomac River to its south, so as long as I could keep Joanna in view, she was trapped.

  Or so I thought.

  Joanna stopped at a busy crossroads and glanced over her shoulder at me. It’d be suicide to dive into rush-hour traffic. The safe route would be to run toward the riverbank.

  Hoping to close the distance between us or even get in front of her, I sprinted across the grass to cut her off as she rounded the corner. I was skirting around a park bench when I heard a car horn blare. Brakes squealed. Metal smashed. I spun around in time to watch Joanna slide across the hood of a car.

  “No!” She needed to tell me who killed Pauline. I needed her to end this. I ran toward the road.

  She hit the ground, landing on her hands and knees, but didn’t stay down long. She darted between traffic toward the bridge.

  I couldn’t let her get away.

  I dashed after her into the traffic and jumped back as a sedan approached, going faster than it should. The driver blared his horn at me.

  Joanna had made it across the four-lane road and kept running toward the Washington Monument.

  With my toes hanging off the edge of the sidewalk, I jumped up and down, desperate to keep her in view. But with the setting sun shining brightly in my eyes, if I didn’t do something soon, she’d get away.

  I waited for a break in the traffic. But the cars just kept coming and coming. If I was going to act, I’d have to take a chance. Hell, if Joanna could get across without getting killed, I figured I could, too.

  It was now or never. I drew a deep breath and tossed myself into traffic. I made it halfway across the first lane without getting hit and was about to sprint into the next lane when an arm grabbed me around the waist. With a sharp yank that knocked me off my feet, I went sailing through the air and landed back on the sidewalk where I’d started.

  “Hey! She’s getting—”

  Brakes screamed. A whoosh of air slapped my cheeks as a large delivery van skidded to a sideways stop several yards beyond where I’d been standing.

  If that arm hadn’t tugged me from the road, I’d probably be as flat as a pancake right about now.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Turner roared as he picked me up from the sidewalk.

  “Let go of me. She’s getting away!”

  I tried to twist out of his grasp. Turner tightened his hold, squeezing my middle.

  “Stop fighting me. She won’t get far.” He gestured to the Park Police descending in full force. A D.C. Police cruiser, its lights flashing and siren blaring, was winding its way through traffic.

  But was that going to be enough? I couldn’t see where Joanna had gone. I needed to find her, to keep her in my sights.

  Turner held firm his hold around my waist. I could feel his chest rise and fall in rapid succession.

  “You ran here?” I twisted around in his arms to face him. “That’s a long way.”

  “You were in danger.”

  “I had it—” I started to explain that I had it under control. I wasn’t ever in any kind of danger. I knew how to be careful. But Turner’s tense expression stopped me cold.

  He was frightened.

  Well, I was frightened, too. Frightened that I wouldn’t get the chance to find out what Joanna knew, frightened that Pauline’s murder, just like my mom’s, would forever remain a question mark branded on my heart.

  “Don’t you see? I have to stop her.” I gave his chest a push. “She knows who killed Pauline. She spoke with him. She saw his face.”

  He gripped my shoulders. “We’ll find her.”

  “But—” The officers were scattering, but there was no sign of either Joanna or Mr. Baseball Cap.

  “Casey, listen to me. You’re not alone in this. We will find her. This doesn’t involve your mother and you’re not responsible.”

  Angry tears sprang to my eyes as I twisted away.

  I hugged my arms to my chest and danced away from him when he tried to touch me. “You don’t have to protect me. I won’t charge out into traffic again.”

  He seemed startled by my angry tears. “Casey—”

  “Leave me alone.”

  His gaze searched mine. I made damn certain he wouldn’t find any vulnerability in them.

  He huffed and turned away. I watched as he walked over to confer with the officers and uniformed Secret Service agents gathering in the area.

  He was wrong.

  This wasn’t about my mother.

  It was about justice.

  LATER THAT EVENING I STOOD NEXT TO DETECTIVE Hernandez and gazed across the Tidal Basin, the reflection of park lights swirling in the dark water.

  “Why don’t you go home?” the detective asked.

  I shook my head.

  He rubbed his salt-and-pepper mustache. “We’ve issued a BOLO for Joanna, and officers are stationed at her hotel. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “A BOLO?”

  “Copspeak for ‘be on the lookout for.’ ”

  I nodded, but the longer Joanna remained missing, the more I despaired that she’d ever be found. The number of officers canvassing the park had dropped dramatically. Also, tourists still packed the sidewalks, making the s
earch that much more challenging. Joanna could be anywhere. This was a large city filled with unfamiliar faces.

  It would be easy to disappear.

  I should have been more aggressive with her. Perhaps if I’d hit her or kicked her when I’d had the chance, she wouldn’t have gotten away.

  Why had she run? How was she involved in all this?

  “It’s late.” Turner emerged soundlessly from the shadows. “I’m going to take Casey home.”

  “It’s not even seven thirty yet,” I protested.

  “Go on,” Detective Hernandez said and rubbed his stomach. “Get him to buy you some dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I didn’t want to leave. That would be admitting defeat, but I had to face the truth. “Joanna’s not in the park anymore, is she?”

  “I doubt it,” Hernandez said.

  I nodded.

  Turner stayed several feet away as he waited. Since he had the day off, he wasn’t wearing his uniform. It didn’t matter. Even out of uniform, he looked like a warrior. Tough. Dangerous.

  “If you’re not hungry, at least let me buy you a coffee,” he offered.

  “Go on, Casey. Give the guy a break.” Hernandez nudged my shoulder.

  “Better make it decaf. I think I’m nervous enough already.”

  Turner nodded.

  We walked in silence. From the Tidal Basin, it was a fair distance to the Freedom of Espresso Café. We were still at least three blocks away when Turner started to favor his injured foot.

  I slowed down. “Do you need to take a break?”

  “I’m fine.” His muscles tightened and the limp disappeared.

  At the café he opened the door and waited for me to walk inside before following. The barista at the counter flirted shamelessly with him as he placed an order for two decaf coffees.

  Once we had our mugs, he led the way to a small corner table at the back of the café that gave him a clear view of the door and the rest of the tables.

  “They’re going to find her,” he assured.

  “I hope so.”

  “They are.” He sounded so sure of himself.

  “What do you know that you aren’t telling me? Was Joanna the target of the Secret Service’s investigation?”

  “Ongoing investigation,” he corrected.

  “So?” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “Was the FBI getting ready to arrest her?”

  He sipped his black coffee.

  “She didn’t murder Pauline, you know. The man Joanna met at the Tidal Basin this afternoon was responsible for Pauline’s death. I’m sure of it. So I wonder where Joanna fits in with all this.”

  I waited.

  He continued to drink his coffee.

  “You’re not going to tell me what you know, are you?”

  “Sorry. No.”

  I added a little bit of nonfat creamer and a packet of sugar to my steaming white ceramic mug. “Joanna told me that Pauline was having an affair with Brooks Keller. I also know that Joanna was sleeping with Brooks, too. I asked her about it and she pretended that it didn’t bother her that Brooks had taken up with Pauline. But how could she not be jealous?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t a serious relationship?”

  “No. Even if Joanna didn’t care for Brooks, even if it was just sex, a woman’s pride would still take a beating.”

  I tapped my chin. “Alyssa had said the other day that most murders are crimes of passion, or something like that. I’d been thinking that Pauline had been killed because of something she found during the audit. But what if I’m wrong? What if this was a crime of passion?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Joanna told me how Pauline had met Brooks at the last party she’d held. Pauline had arrived at the party hoping to get her hooks into a powerful man. She went after Richard Templeton first. But he turned her down.”

  “Really? I wonder why. From what I’ve heard, he’s the kind of guy who has to have a new woman on his arm every night.”

  “I think that’s just his media image. I haven’t seen that.”

  Turner rolled his eyes.

  “For whatever reason, he turned Pauline down. Undaunted, she charmed Brooks. It wouldn’t be difficult. He seems like a shameless flirt and has a reputation of taking up with women in the workplace, much to his sister’s horror.”

  “Don’t you women follow something like the guy code, where you don’t hit on your friend’s girlfriend?”

  “We do. I’m starting to think Pauline didn’t care. From what I’ve heard, she seemed to like drama in her relationships.”

  “I’ve met a few women like that. They’re not worth the trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” I agreed. “Brooks either didn’t care or didn’t notice the trouble he was getting himself into when he started to sleep with both Pauline and Joanna at the same time. But I’m starting to think both Pauline and Joanna noticed and cared.”

  “Two strong women fighting over the same man. It could get messy.”

  “I think it did. Shortly after Pauline arrived on the scene, Lillian learned about Brooks’s relationship with Joanna. How did she learn about it? We don’t know. But Lillian exploded and did everything in her power to ruin Joanna’s career. I wonder if Pauline could have been the little bird whispering in Lillian’s ear.”

  “That would be a motive for murder.” He leaned forward. “Who was the mystery man with her in the park, though?”

  “It could be Brooks.”

  “Why would he kill Pauline? What’s his motive?”

  “Perhaps Pauline was threatening to go public with their relationship. Seducing the woman auditing his bank must be breaking at least a few ethics rules.”

  “That’s a possibility. But then why team up with Joanna? And why would Joanna agree to conspire with him? He and his sister ruined her career and her life.”

  My shoulders dropped as I slumped over my coffee mug. “I don’t know.”

  Turner reached across the table and tilted my chin up. The corner of his lips lifted. “You have good instincts. I think you might be on to something. We just need more information.”

  “Really?”

  “Have you known me to lie?”

  That made me smile. “My grandmother keeps telling me that reading murder mysteries is a waste of time. I keep telling her that it’s research and training.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, I do.” My back straightened and my heart picked up just a bit. “Every mystery I’ve ever read tells me that whoever Joanna met in the park was a regular at her monthly salons. Did the Secret Service compile a list of the men she’d invite to her parties? We could go through the list and see who’s in town.”

  “Now, Casey, you should know by now that I can’t talk about the investigation.”

  “What good is having a sidekick if—”

  “Whoa . . . sidekick?”

  I waved away his aggravation. “Every modern-day amateur sleuth has a sidekick.”

  “Sidekick?”

  “Pick up any mystery novel, and you’ll see that I’m right.”

  “I’m not a sidekick.”

  “It’s either you or Richard Templeton.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking about this case with Templeton. For all we know, he’s involved.”

  “He’s not involved. He doesn’t have the right kind of shoes.”

  “What?”

  “You know, the shoes that the man who’d attacked me was wearing. Brooks Keller owns a pair.”

  “How do you know Templeton doesn’t? Don’t tell me you’ve been so cozy with him that you were able to search his bags at his hotel.”

  “Of course not.” My face heated.

  “Then you don’t know. Be careful around him.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Turner. I prefer you as my sidekick over Richard. You have guns. Not that I like guns. I don’t. I think the world would be much better off if they’d never been invented. But—but—” I sighed. �
��But since there are guns in the world and there are people who see nothing wrong with hurting someone else, it’s nice having someone around who can handle himself in a fight.”

  “I’m not your sidekick.”

  “I know. You keep too much important information to yourself to be of any use.”

  He must have sensed my frustration. It wasn’t as if I tried to keep it hidden.

  “Listen, we don’t know much about Joanna beyond what you know. Not anything that would really help,” he said, pitching his voice low. He was probably breaking a half-dozen rules by telling me this. “If we had anything concrete on her, the FBI would have picked her up days ago. As you said, she didn’t kill Pauline. Is she involved? We simply don’t know.”

  “And does the Secret Service have a list of the men who attended her parties?”

  He refused to answer, which only increased my level of frustration.

  “Then we don’t have much to talk about, do we?”

  “I think we do.” His voice softened. “I think you should tell me about your mother and that night you lost her.”

  I stared into the creamy depths of my coffee mug. “I’ve never talked about her with anyone.”

  Not even Grandmother Faye. We’d work side by side in the garden for hours without speaking a word. Sometimes in the comforting silence, I’d let my thoughts drift back to the time before I came to live with my grandmother, to memories of my parents.

  I wasn’t about to discuss her now.

  Turner’s rough hands rested loosely on his coffee mug. His chest rose and fell in a slow, even pattern.

  Sure, he’d read my background check, a background check I’d been warned would be thorough and would include any major childhood incidents . . . like a murder.

  More than once he’d mentioned that he believed the ghosts from my past drove my need to find Pauline’s killer. He knew. He might not know the entire story. I doubt anyone did. But he knew what had happened that night.

  “I think my parents were criminals,” I said while watching the swirling eddies of steam rising from my coffee mug. I glanced up and met Turner’s steady gaze.

  There was no reading his expression.

  “They lived like criminals. Always moving from place to place. Always coming up with new names. They told me it was a game they liked to play. What did I know? I was only six.”