“Kids pick up on a lot of things adults are doing.” He sighed. “I know I did.”
I waited to see if he’d offer anything else about himself, about his background, his family. I’m sure he was waiting for me to do the same.
I went back to staring into my coffee mug.
“One morning I woke up to discover Dad was gone,” I said. “I clearly remember that morning. We were living in the United States for the first time in my life. Phoenix, Arizona. Mom wore this big, fake smile as she made chocolate chip pancakes—a treat reserved for birthdays and holidays. But it wasn’t my birthday, and Christmas was months away. Her smile never wavered as she tried to convince me Dad would return, but her hands shook when she’d flipped the pancakes. Looking back, I think Dad must have known trouble was coming our way and he fled.” I swallowed hard. “He deserted us.”
“Has he ever tried to contact you?” Turner asked.
I shook my head. “He was Grandmother Faye’s youngest child and only son. For her sake, I wish he would damn the consequences and reach out to her. As for me, I don’t want or need him in my life.” I shrugged. “I doubt he’s even still alive.”
Turner nodded. Did he know something? Did my background check include information about what had happened to my father?
I swirled the coffee in my mug. Some of it sloshed over the ceramic rim and splashed onto the table. I grabbed a napkin and wiped up the spill. “I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”
“So you were alone with your mom?”
“Not for long. The next night I was upset that Dad had left.” My insides clenched. I tried to stop the memories from replaying like a silent movie inside my head. Images of my mom flickered in and out of focus.
She’d been wearing a blue dress with little white flowers on the hem that morning. I’d forgotten about that dress. It’d looked so pretty on her.
“I’d whined and complained. I wanted ice cream. What a brat I was. Mom finally agreed to take me to the ice cream parlor I liked, even though it was on the other side of town. I manipulated her by using Dad’s abandonment as an excuse to get my own way. I did everything I could to make her feel guilty that he was no longer around for me.”
“You missed him,” Turner corrected. He reached across the table and unclenched my fist. His warm hand closed over mine. “You were just a kid acting like a kid.”
“But if I hadn’t . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that thought.
“On the way home from the ice cream parlor, your mother’s car was forced off the road?” he prompted.
“Is that what the police report said?” I nodded. “A car slammed into the side of Mom’s van. It jolted me out of the seat. We crashed into a brick building. Smoke poured out of the van’s hood. Mom told me to get down on the floor and to keep quiet. If I had obeyed . . .”
I squeezed my eyes closed.
“A man pulled open the driver’s-side door. He grabbed Mom and dragged her from the van. More men were shouting in a language I couldn’t understand. They sounded so angry.
“I was frightened. They’d taken my mom. I needed to know what was going on, so I disobeyed her. I peeked out the window to see what was happening. That’s when I saw the guns. They were pointed at my mother.
“I screamed. I screamed and screamed. One of the men, the one with stubble on his chin, reached back into the van and grabbed me. I kicked and squirmed, but he only squeezed me tighter. Holding on to my hair, he dangled me like a helpless puppy in front of my mom and laughed.”
Emotions as real and raw as when it had happened returned like a punch to the gut. The man with the stubble on his face frightened me more than the others. I had to open my eyes to get his face out of my head.
“I wanted to kill him.” My voice shook as I admitted it.
To this day, nothing had changed. I still wanted to kill him. How could I feel that way? Why cling to some childish and unhealthy desire to put an end to someone’s life? I abhorred violence. And yet all through college I’d taken one self-defense course after another. Had it been defense I’d been looking to learn or something else, something darker?
“You wanted to protect your mom and yourself. It’s nothing to feel ashamed about.”
If they had been simply feelings from the past, I don’t think they would have worried me as much as they did. But I knew if I met that stubble-bearded man today, I’d go for his throat. I’d squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until . . .
No, I couldn’t think about that.
“The men switched to speaking English. I think they wanted me to understand them. They shouted at Mom, demanding she tell them where Dad had gone. They wanted something he’d stolen from them and they wanted to know who had helped him steal it. Mom told them to go to hell. That was the first time I’d ever heard her swear. She was usually so gentle, so soft-spoken. I barely recognized this new tough lady.”
“A lioness fighting to protect her cub?”
“No. She was protecting him.” Tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away. “The man with the long face and stubbly beard hit her again and again. I screamed for him to stop, but he laughed at me and kept on hurting her. I was helpless to stop him.
“He told her that he’d let us go if she’d tell them where Dad had gone. But she refused. He demanded that she tell him what she knew and hit her until blood ran down her face. She still refused to talk, so he turned to me.
“He grabbed a fistful of my hair and caressed my cheek with his calloused hand. ‘So young,’ he said. ‘So innocent. I’d hate to have to hurt her.’ Mom didn’t say anything.”
I pressed a hand to my stomach and bent forward slightly, unable to save myself from drowning in a torrent of emotions. My own mother had refused to even look at me. I’d cried out for her. I’d needed her more than life, and she’d turned her head away . . . she’d turned away from me, her only child.
“The man roared with anger and frustration, screaming at her that he’d shoot me if she didn’t tell them what they wanted to know. I sobbed when he waved his big, ugly gun in my face.”
The words my mom had said next echoed like an unholy wind in my ears. “I’m so sorry, pumpkin.” I pushed her apology deep into the recesses of my memories where I wouldn’t have to hear them ever again.
“Her voice was cold as she told the man to stop stalling and go ahead and get it over with. She told him to shoot me. So he did. He shot me three times in the stomach.”
“God.” Turner’s eyes had grown dark.
“I was conscious long enough to watch him turn the gun on Mom.”
Mommy. Please, don’t leave me.
“He squeezed off just one shot.” My voice cracked. “The bullet hit her in the head.”
I touched the center of my own forehead.
“I know,” Turner said, his voice gruff. “I know.”
“She was dead. Even as young as I was at the time, I knew that she’d left me, that she’d never be around to tuck me in my bed or to hug me or to . . .” I shook my head and muttered, “Or to be there for me when I needed her the most.”
“What happened to you?” Turner asked.
“Those bastards left me there to die with her, but I didn’t. I used to wish that I had. Surviving can be harder than dying, you know? But a Good Samaritan found me and called the police. When I woke up in the hospital, I was all alone in the world, trusted no one, spoke to no one. The authorities only knew me by the false name my mom and dad had started using only a few days before Dad’s disappearance. I think it was Melissa Baker or something like that. It took over a year for my grandmother to realize what had happened and to rescue me from foster care.”
I pulled my hand from Turner’s and took a sip of coffee. The warm liquid burned in my tight throat. I set the mug back down.
Who were those men, and why did they want to find my dad so desperately? Those two unanswered questions still haunted me. No one should have to live like this, never knowing why a loved one had been taken so violentl
y. No one should have to endure this kind of pain.
“I’ve got an early morning,” I said and stood up so quickly the chair almost toppled over.
Turner jumped up. He took my hand as we walked out of the café. He didn’t hold my hand the same way Richard had. His thumb didn’t caress my knuckles. He’d merely wrapped his calloused fingers around mine.
He slowed his step to match my pace as we walked side by side toward my apartment.
“Thank you,” Turner said after a long span of silence. “I know it couldn’t have been easy to talk about it.”
I nodded.
“I believe your mother said what she did to protect you, not your father.”
I must have flinched, because his fingers tightened around my hand.
“You’re smart, Casey. Think about it. If she acted as if she might break, who knows what those monsters might have done to you. Do you really think they would have let you or your mom escape alive even if she’d told them what they wanted to hear?”
But hadn’t that been the fantasy that had haunted my dreams even to this day? Mom would have told them where to find Dad and . . .
A stupid fantasy.
“No, I suppose not,” I said.
Turner stopped walking. He dropped my hand.
I looked around, startled to realize we were standing in front of my apartment.
“I’ve never told anyone about that night,” I felt the need to explain. “I’m not sure why I told you.”
“I think you did it because on some level you knew I could hear what happened and not go to pieces with pity for you.” He tilted up my chin and leaned in close as if he was going to kiss me. “Maybe you wanted me to pity you. Maybe somewhere in that conniving mind of yours you thought you could use your past to get me to open up to you about the investigation.”
“Did it work?”
“Do I look open?”
I rolled my eyes and then raced up the stairs.
“Casey?” Turner called to me after I opened the front door.
“Yes?”
“Your parents weren’t—” he started to say and then shook his head.
“What? What do you know about them?”
“Nothing. Be sure to lock the door behind you.”
“If you know something—”
“It’s nothing. Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“MS. Calhoun, what do you think you’re doing?” Seth Donahue’s crisp voice assaulted my ears the next morning as he trotted up with his self-important swagger.
I’d taken Milo for a walk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden outside the East Wing, both to get him accustomed to me while he was still a manageable size and also to check on some of our most recent arrivals in the garden beds. Just a few days ago we’d planted a spring crop of rosemary, thyme, and a hardy variety of basil under the holly trees at the chef’s request, and I was worried that they’d suffered damage in last night’s cold snap. The basil worried me the most, since even a little bit of frost would knock it out completely. Thankfully, the hollies had protected the tender herbs. Some of the leaves showed a few black spots from the cold, but the stems were fine.
I wasn’t.
Last night had left me badly shaken. I’d never opened up so completely to anyone. I’d ended up tossing and turning all night, worrying about how Turner might use my vulnerability against me.
Not that I thought he would . . . just that I knew he could.
And Joanna was still missing.
Seeing Seth bearing down on me with his Hollywood swagger and the devil shining bright in his eyes wasn’t comforting either.
“We have a major event coming up,” he jabbed with his sharp tone, “and here you are for the second day in a row spending all of your time playing with the President’s dog.”
“Excuse me?”
I tightened my grip on Milo’s leash. The puppy had lowered his head and body in a primitive move very similar to a wild predator stalking its prey. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
“I directed Sal Martin to have his men paint the snow fencing. The green is too bright. I think a soft yellow would be more tasteful. And you know what he told me? He said that I’d have to talk to you. To you!” Seth repeated, his voice growing not louder but sharper. “The incompetence I’ve encountered these last few days staggers me. No one seems capable to act without my direct supervision. And even then, it’s a struggle.”
With everything that had been going on with the investigation into Pauline’s murder, the upcoming Easter Egg Roll wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts that morning. Nor did it need to be.
Lorenzo, Gordon, and I, along with the grounds crew and the greenhouse staff, had worked long and hard to prepare the planters, grow the seedlings for the gardening booth, and polish the landscape until the grass shimmered and the hedges formed perfect geometrical shapes. Hell, we’d even come to work today, a Saturday, to make sure all the small details had been properly handled. We’d done our part and we did it while running around in a hectic race to keep Seth happy.
Seth came to a stop directly in front of me, invading my personal space—and Milo’s. He propped his hands on his hips. His face had turned dark red. A prominent vein throbbed in his neck.
His explosions were growing more and more frequent. To my knowledge, no one had dared stand up to him.
We’d mumble.
We’d agree.
We’d do whatever it took to get the hell away from this madman.
But no one pushed back.
Until this morning.
I didn’t have the time or the patience for Seth’s chronically bad temper. Shouting and ranting might be his management style. Perhaps it worked for him.
I didn’t care.
I should have been over the moon with anticipation about tonight. I’d be attending one of the hottest events of the season. All of the power players of Washington and Wall Street would be there. I’d be the envy of every redblooded American woman as I floated into the ballroom on the arm of the nation’s most eligible, most delectable bachelor.
Alyssa and I had an early afternoon lunch date to hit the boutiques in search of the perfect dress. It was last-minute and nerve-wracking and wonderful.
But thanks to yesterday, a bad cloud had come up and washed out all my happiness, as Aunt Willow would say.
There’d been no sign of Joanna at her hotel or anywhere else. Pauline’s killer still lurked in the shadows. Alyssa had driven me to work, because I no longer felt safe walking the D.C. streets.
The banking protesters had turned out on Lafayette Square in full force, but without Joanna’s leadership, they’d been standing around like lost chicks. Fredrick had waved me through the gates without calling Turner to search my backpack. I still didn’t know what to think about that. Although I’d been nervous about having to face him, not seeing him seemed even worse.
And to top it all off, Senator Pendergast continued to refuse to take my calls. I needed to talk to her about both the organic gardening proposal and whether the car that had run her off the road could be linked back to Pauline’s murder.
All my troubles seemed to go back to Pauline.
My mind wouldn’t find any rest until her killer was brought to justice. Move over, Miss Marple, and look out, Brooks Keller, I planned to catch the killer, whoever he may be, and make sure he took responsibility for what he’d done.
I would let no one get in my way. Certainly, not an overhyped event planner with an ego the size of Texas.
“Seth Donahue”—I drew in a deep breath—“if’n you think you can come over to me and raise sand whenever you plumb well like, well then, you must be dumber than a stump.” Generations of Calhoun pride came pouring out of my mouth while Milo barked his agreement. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, has been tiptoeing so much around you that their legs are about to give out. We’re bending over backward to make you happy. But no matter what anyone does, you’re perpetually unhappy.
“You’ll do well to remember that the White House staff has executed the Easter Egg Roll flawlessly ever since the first one way back in 1878. Not once did they need your yammering to get it done. You’re the problem, Seth Donahue, you and your endless changes.”
I stopped only because I’d run out of breath. And yet, I’d said all that needed to be said. I felt cleansed, relaxed even.
“The bright green fence will look great,” I said calmly. “I’m not going to ask the grounds crew to change its color for a third time. Neither will Gordon.”
Seth glared at me. He pressed his fists to the sides of his thighs. If he’d been a cartoon character, I suppose steam would have been pouring out of his ears right about now.
“I just thought you should know the unvarnished truth.” I beamed a Southern-sized smile. Milo, worked up from my impassioned speech, pulled on the leash and barked, anxious to get into the middle of the action. “You’re making us all crazy, Seth. Work with us, not against us. That’s all you need to do.”
Seth opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.
“A package arrived this morning for you. Ambrose is holding on to it in his office,” he said and walked away.
“Well,” I said to Milo, “that felt good.”
Milo, prancing happily alongside me as we returned inside, seemed to agree.
“Casey, there you are.” Gordon bent down to rub Milo’s scruff. “What a good boy you are.”
Milo tugged at Gordon’s pant leg, and then did a little bow, a clear indication that he was anxious to play. Gordon chuckled and gently pushed on the puppy’s side, eliciting happy growly barks.
“Have you seen today’s edition of Media Today?” Gordon asked.
“I’ve decided not to read that trash anymore.”
“You might want to see this article.”
More interested in playing with the puppy than talking with me, Gordon handed me the first section without pausing in the roughhousing game he’d started with Milo. The pup flopped over on his back and nipped at Gordon’s arm.
Flowerbed of State Page 24
