Read Flowerbed of State Online
Authors: Dorothy St. James
Flowerbed of State (37 page)
Detective Hernandez patted my shoulder as he rubbed his salt-and-pepper mustache. “It’s been one hell of a week, Casey.”
I nodded.
“But it’s all over now.”
“Is it?”
I wished I shared their confidence that, come morning, all the loose ends would be tied up in a neat bow.
Since the trio was done questioning me, I left them and went in search of Richard. I found him just inside the restaurant’s entrance, sipping a cocktail.
“Shall we go?” I asked, hoping we could pick up where the kissing had left off earlier. I could use the comfort of his arms around me right about now.
Richard set the drink on a nearby table and turned toward me. His slow gaze lingered on the top of my head. I could tell from the hunk of limp hair that kept falling across half my face that the careful curls Alyssa had styled were now a mass of unruly tangles. Conscious of his scrutiny, I tried to finger-style it back into submission.
That’s when I noticed my gown, my beautiful designer gown.
“Oh, dear,” I examined a large rip down the side of the skirt and the grime from kneeling on the sidewalk with Turner. “It’s ruined, isn’t it?”
Richard wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, looks like it is.”
He glanced back out the door and at the dozens of reporters and cameras that had descended on the crime scene. Getting past them to reach Richard’s waiting car at the curb would involve walking through that gauntlet.
“Uh,” he said, pitching his voice low. He looked pointedly back at the crowd of reporters. “Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if we left separately. You wouldn’t mind finding another way home, would you?”
Perhaps he was trying to protect me. Lord knew I didn’t need any more bad press. Still, I could hear it in his voice. He was embarrassed to be seen with me looking like this.
A mess.
I
was
a mess.
was
a mess.
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I understand.” I straightened my shoulders and made sure I kept my back straight and my chin up, as Grandmother Faye had taught me a proud Calhoun acted in times like these. “Good night, Richard.”
He gave a brisk nod. Flashbulbs exploded with their quick blinding white lights when he emerged from the restaurant. Reporters shouted questions. He ignored it all like a seasoned pro. At the end of the gauntlet, Richard raised a hand, smiled for the cameras, and then was gone.
“It’s for the best,” I told myself and sank into a nearby chair, using my cell phone to call for a cab.
“What are you still doing here?”
I glanced up to find Turner standing directly in front of me with his hands on his hips.
“Waiting for my ride home. You?”
“I’m on duty for another three hours.”
“No time off for good behavior?” I joked.
The corner of his mouth tilted up, which I considered as good as a knee-slapping laugh from a member of the highly trained, terminally serious CAT team.
“I don’t know how to thank you for jumping into the line of fire for me,” I gushed. “You—you saved my life out there. I—”
“Casey—”
“No, let me finish. That was awfully foolish and awfully brave.”
“Casey—” he said more forcefully this time.
“You don’t have to be modest. You’re a hero. I’ll forever be in your debt.”
“Don’t be,” he grumbled. “I didn’t save you. I was jumping in front of the President, who just happened to be standing directly behind you. So please, don’t thank me.”
“You mean Joanna wasn’t aiming for me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And you weren’t trying to save me?” I bit my lower lip as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Look. I’m glad you’re okay.” Turner glanced around. “Where’s lover boy?”
I shrugged. “At his hotel, I suppose.”
“Really?” Turner sat down beside me. “How are you getting home? Do you need a ride?”
“The cab company said they’d have a car out here in about fifteen minutes.”
“A cab?”
I nodded.
“I’d be glad to drive you home. Or at least arrange for someone to drive you.”
“I’m fine.” I angrily swiped at the tears that had misted in my eyes. It had been a long, hard day. And his concern for how I planned to get home threatened the rather tenuous hold I had on my emotions. “Joanna didn’t kill Pauline,” I said, expecting a fight.
“I know,” he said. “Come with me.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
T
HAT darn curiosity of mine had me following Turner out a back door of the restaurant despite my better judgment. Sure, he’d saved my life. But it had been by default.
HAT darn curiosity of mine had me following Turner out a back door of the restaurant despite my better judgment. Sure, he’d saved my life. But it had been by default.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Turner stopped beside an unmarked Secret Service black sedan.
“I’m giving you a ride home.” He held the door open for me. I put my hand on the car’s roof.
“I thought you were still on duty,” I pointed out.
“I am.”
I stared at him. He stared back.
“You and I both know Joanna wasn’t the one who attacked you at Lafayette Square or at the greenhouse,” he explained. “That means there’s still a killer on the loose, a killer looking to hurt you.”
“So you’re on babysitting duty and not letting me out of your sight?”
“Something like that. With Joanna in jail, her accomplice might get desperate and try to get rid of loose ends—like you—before getting out of town.”
“I think you’ve got it backwards. I think Joanna’s the accomplice and a dupe at that.”
I slid into the car and waited for him to start the car before continuing.
“I don’t think Joanna will be able to explain to the FBI why Pauline was murdered, because I don’t think she ever had the full picture of what Pauline’s killer really intended to do. If she did, if she knew that the end goal was to stop the banking reform bill, I don’t think she’d have agreed to do what she did.”
When we reached my brownstone apartment, Turner pulled to a stop at the curb. I thanked him for the ride and started to open the door, but he caught my wrist. Turning in his seat to face me, he smiled.
“You wanted me as your sidekick so you could have someone to bounce ideas off of. So here I am. Start bouncing.”
I snatched my wrist out of his grasp. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need anybody.”
Petty, I knew. And yet when I looked at Turner, I couldn’t stop myself from cringing inside. I shouldn’t have told him so much last night. That was the one secret I’d thought I’d guard to the end of my days.
I’d been responsible for my mom’s death. And now he knew it.
I closed my eyes and practiced my deep breathing exercises. Even so, the regrets came flooding back. I shouldn’t have been such a brat. If I hadn’t insisted that my mom leave the safety of our house that night for ice cream, she’d still be alive.
“You must be exhausted,” he said, unruffled by my rejection. “We can talk later. After everything that’s happened this week, I don’t know anyone who could keep their chin up and keep pushing like you have.”
“It’s a family trait,” I said with a burst of pride. “Calhouns aren’t born. We’re forged from the toughest of steel.”
“Forged, eh? Didn’t you accuse me of being hatched from a pod?”
I opened my eyes to find him still smiling at me.
“Is this a trick?” I whispered.
“I’ve never tried to trick you.” His lazy grin faded. “I’m asking for your help, Casey. You’ve been poking your nose into every nook and cranny in this case. I want to hear you try and connect the dots. Perhaps, and I know it’s a long shot, you might be seeing something the rest of us have missed.”
I knew I was seeing something they had overlooked.
“Senator Pendergast,” I said.
“What about her?”
“That’s what you’re missing. A car tried to run her down just a few hours after I told her about the missing laptop. Because of me, she publicly renewed her determination to push her version of the banking reform bill through the Senate. Because of me, the killer was forced to act again.”
Turner, I noticed with a spurt of irritation, didn’t seem to be listening to a word I was saying. His gaze was glued to the side view mirror. I peered over my shoulder just as a car turned onto my street. It rolled slowly toward us.
“Let’s get you inside.” The muscles in his shoulders tightened just a bit. When I started to open the door, he caught my wrist again. “Wait.”
My body went still. I didn’t even breathe, didn’t dare turn my head to look at the dark sedan that was approaching from behind.
It drew up directly beside us and stopped.
Turner released my wrist and reached for his sidearm. “Get down on the floorboard.” His lips barely moved as he spoke.
I slid down in the seat, lower and lower, loudly popping stitches out of the seam of my gown while my heart battered my throat as it tried to leap right out of my mouth.
A car door squeaked as it opened. Turner cursed, which did nothing good for my already fraying nerves.
“What is Steve Sallis doing here?” he asked. The Secret Service agent hadn’t been at the wildlife charity event tonight, so why would he show up at my place?
“Bryce asked me to swing by to keep an eye on things,” Steve explained after Turner had rolled down the car window. “But I see that you beat me to it, Jack. What are you doing on the floor there, Casey? Are you okay?”
I nodded, too nervous to form words.
“Hey, look. She’s speechless,” Steve said, poking his head into the window.
“You scared the hell out of the both of us,” Turner snapped. “Back up, so I can open this door.”
“Wait,” I said. Steve’s driving up like that had reminded me of something, something besides my vulnerability out on the D.C. streets. Wallace had scared me the same way when he’d come to pick me up for my first date with Richard.
“What is it?” Turner asked.
“Wallace Clegg.”
“Who?”
“Richard’s assistant. He was wearing a pair of those black-and-white leather shoes the other day, the same shoes the man who attacked me was wearing.” I pulled myself back up to the car’s seat. “It was Wallace.” I banged the dashboard for emphasis. “That’s who I saw in the park arguing with Joanna. I’m sure of it. He killed Pauline.”
“I’ll call the FBI and ask them to look into this new angle,” Steve said, pulling out his cell phone.
I suddenly couldn’t sit still. “Don’t you see? It now makes sense how he got Joanna involved. Oh, she’d told me that she didn’t care that Pauline had slept with Brooks. And maybe she didn’t. But she wouldn’t have forgiven Pauline for getting her fired and blacklisted.”
“Cooper said he’ll look into it in the morning,” Steve reported, glancing at his watch. “It’s late, Casey. After everything that’s happened, you’ve got to be exhausted.”
I’m sure it was a lack of sleep in combination with a shot of adrenaline that made my eyes feel too bright and my skin tingly with excitement. “We can’t wait until morning. Once he finds out the FBI has Joanna, he’s going to run. We’ve got to get over to Richard’s hotel.”
Turner stared forward, his expression frustratingly inscrutable.
“Please, Turner, we have to stop him before he gets away.”
He turned the key in the ignition.
“Get Cooper back on the cell,” he instructed Steve. “Tell him where we’re going and ask for FBI and police backup.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Steve shouted as Turner mashed his foot on the gas pedal, sending the unmarked sedan tearing away from the curb.
“You were talking about your theory regarding Senator Pendergast,” Turner prompted as he drove at top speed down the narrow residential streets.
“I—I didn’t think you were listening.” I yanked the seatbelt over my chest and snapped it into its holder.
“What can I say? I’m a multitasker.” He careened around a corner without even slowing down. “How does Wallace fit in with that? And how is he connected to Joanna? Do you think Joanna tried to run down the senator with a car?”
“Why would she? What would be her motive? I’d put my money on Wallace. He killed Pauline and stole her laptop. It’s probably destroyed by now.” I yelped as he ran a red light and had to swerve to avoid hitting a cab. “At first, I was sure Brooks Keller was responsible. His shoes matched the ones I saw on the man who hit me.”
“But because Joanna shot him tonight, you think he’s innocent?”
“No, it wasn’t that, although that does kind of take him out of the suspect pool. How do I explain this? I spoke with him tonight, and he’s . . . he’s not a killer.”
“How can you be sure? If the shoes matched, then why not him? Perhaps Joanna double-crossed him.”
I shook my head. “It’s not him. Those shoes had to have been a gift from Pauline. She gave a pair to Lorenzo and I bet she gave the same pair to Brooks. They were both her lovers. I learned tonight from Lillian that Pauline had recently taken a third lover in New York. So why wouldn’t he also have a pair of the same shoes? I saw Wallace wearing them the other day. It has to be him.”
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