Oak and Dagger (23 page)

“I did it to make sure the killer doesn't try to come after you.”

“Bull. You were skulking around the hospital before I'd even arrived, before anyone really knew what had happened.”

Nadeem was silent for a moment.

“Well?” Jack finally spoke up. “Do you have an answer for her?”

Nadeem turned toward Jack. “Not one she's going to like.”

“Spit it out,” I said.

“Your father knows how important Gordon is to you. He asked me to go to the hospital. He wanted me to check on security to make sure everything was being done to keep the head gardener safe.”

“My father knows how I feel about Gordon? How does he know that? Has he been
watching
me?” I rubbed my arms and shivered. “What does he want from me?”

“That's a question you should be asking James. I've only been helping, not directing. He cares very deeply for you.”

I snorted. “You can't be talking about the same man who ran away in the middle of the night like a coward. Because of him, my mom was murdered while I watched. Those same men shot me in the gut and left me to die. I was only six years old! Where was your hero then? Where was he when I was put into a broken foster system because no one knew my real name . . .
I
didn't even know it. We'd moved so many times, changed names so many times, and I'd been told to trust no one. I had shut down. I didn't speak for nearly a year. You're telling me that I should consider a man who could turn his back on his own family a loving dad and a hero? Are you
insane?
”

Nadeem looked to Jack for help again.

“She has a point,” Jack said. “He owes her an explanation.”

“He owes me nothing. I don't want to see him. Ever. Let's talk about something else, something important like saving Gordon's neck.”

Nadeem opened his mouth to say something but, wisely, closed it again.

“Gordon,” I said through clenched teeth. “We need to focus on Gordon and whether or not you played a role in Frida's murder.”

“I agree. We have to be careful. The murderer could be in the room with us.” Nadeem flicked a glance in Jack's direction.

“You're crazy,” I said. “Jack's not involved with Frida's murder.”

“Are you sure? If Jack or his
girlfriend
”—Nadeem added that last bit with an extra emphasis on
girlfriend
—“is behind the threats you've been getting, how do we know there's not a more sinister plot being hatched here?”

“This isn't about Jack. This is about you.”

Nadeem's gaze narrowed as he watched Jack move across the room like a predator stalking his prey. “Where was Jack at the time of the murder? Has he told you?”

“Jack's not a suspect,” I said. “You are.”

“Isn't he? When there's the promise of riches and treasure involved, I've learned the hard way you can't trust anyone. Why are you so blind when it comes to him? I already told you I saw Jack in the garden around the same time that Frida was murdered. And yet you say nothing. If he cares so much for you, why does he keep lying to you?”

Chapter Twenty-five

If I should be so fortunate to reach the White House, I expect to live on twenty-five thousand dollars a year, and I will neither keep house nor make butter.

—SARA POLK, FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES (1845–1849)

J
ACK
went still. Deadly still.

I held my breath, waiting for him to bite Nadeem's head off for tossing around false accusations.

“Yes, you saw me in the garden,” Jack admitted. “I was doing my job, you moron. And I wish to hell that I had seen something, because we all know Gordon is innocent. I went back and watched the surveillance feeds several times because on Monday I was distracted by an unescorted assistant with the curator's office who had no business wandering all over the South Lawn. Instead of saving Frida, I was following you.”

“You have some nerve blaming me for causing distractions. Your crazy girlfriend has done nothing but cause one commotion after another with her threats.”

“Ex-girlfriend. But you're right.” Jack rubbed a hand over his face. He sounded tired. I didn't blame him, I was tired, too. It was after midnight, and we all had to work in the morning. “I'll make sure Simone's family and the police know that she's been sending you threats. I won't take the risk that she might actually hurt you. I'm also going to make damn sure she understands I want her completely out of my life.”

He knelt down in front of me and took my hands in his. “I never dreamed she'd go this far and frighten you.”

“I haven't been scared. I haven't had the time,” I said. “I've been too busy wondering why Nadeem keeps popping up where he shouldn't be. He's the one who's been scaring me.”

“I already explained that,” Nadeem protested.

“Did you?” I demanded, still angry with him for breaking into Jack's house. Jack could have been hurt in the scuffle. And I was still angry with Jack, for that matter. I released my hands from his and tucked them under my arms. He should have told me about his ex-girlfriend, especially if she was causing him trouble. I was sick of secrets and lies. “All we have, Nadeem, is your word and your constant attempts to push the spotlight of suspicion off you and over to Jack. To me, that in itself is suspicious behavior.”

Nadeem slouched on the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest like a pouting child. “I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then why were you researching the
HMS Fantome
and trying to hide it when I came into your office?” I asked.

“I wanted to help. I wanted to find Frida's killer and . . .” He sank a little deeper into the sofa cushions. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Try us,” Jack said. When Nadeem kept silent, Jack added, “If you don't, I'll get my brother to come back here and arrest you for breaking and entering.”

“If you're arrested, you'll lose your job. That is, if you're really at the White House to work in the curator's office,” I added.

“It's true! It's been my lifelong dream to work with such a historic collection.”

“But you're also part of the spy business,” I said.

“I'm
retired
from what you call the spy business. When I got out, I went back to college and pursued a joint master's degree in art history and museum studies. The opportunity to work with Frida was a dream come true for me. And no, I didn't pull any strings to get the position. My grades and performance spoke for themselves.”

“And what about moving into the basement apartment where I live?” I asked, still not convinced he was telling us the complete truth.

“It was available. Frida handed me your flyer about the apartment.”

“But you had the money and could afford a nicer place,” Jack was quick to point out. “You expect us to believe you didn't know James Calhoun's daughter lived one flight above you?”

He didn't answer right away. “I knew she lived there,” he finally admitted, but quickly added, “How can you blame me for wanting to get close to her? I've heard about James's amazing daughter, the daughter who was beautiful and talented, for the past fifteen years that I've worked with the man. And now she's become quite a legend in D.C. for saving the President. Who wouldn't have wanted to live near her?” He looked at me as he said it and smiled that dazzling smile of his. “Your father wasn't exaggerating. You are the first person to notice that I was keeping surveillance on you. Not even the super spies in the Middle East who live on the edge of paranoia and see enemies even in the eyes of their most trusted friends and family ever suspected I was watching them. But you did. You're pretty amazing.”

What could I do but smile back?

“Okay, okay,” Jack said. “Let's say for the sake of argument that you're telling us the truth—”

“You know I am,” Nadeem insisted. “You talked to James just now. Didn't he tell you all this?”

“He did,” Jack agreed, much to my surprise.

“What?” I couldn't believe it. “You
talked
to my father? When was this? Why didn't you tell me? Have you been in contact with him all this time, too?”

“No, I haven't. Honest, Casey, I haven't,” Jack said. “When Nadeem left the room a few minutes ago, it was to contact your father to tell him what had happened and what you now knew. Nadeem then handed the phone to me. I promise you, Casey, this was the first time I'd ever had the privilege of talking with the esteemed James Calhoun.”

“
Esteemed?
” I sighed. My father was not the hero everyone seemed to think he was. And his intrusion into my life was an unwelcome distraction. Time was running out. If we didn't find any evidence to the contrary, Gordon would be charged with murder.

“Your dad told me that he trusted Nadeem with his life and that we should, too.” Jack grimaced. I couldn't tell if his unhappiness was at his reluctance to trust Nadeem or his discomfort because I wouldn't jump on my father's hero bandwagon with him.

“So you'll believe me when I say that I was researching the lost treasure because I wanted to find the killer as badly as you did?” Nadeem asked. When neither Jack nor I answered right away, he quietly added, “Frida was my friend. Why wouldn't I want to find the bastard who killed her?”

“So if you're working toward the same goal as us, what have you learned that we don't already know?” Jack inquired.

“I found something before Frida's death. If you have a computer, I can pull up the copy I made.”

“My laptop is in my office,” Jack said, “unless you smashed it. In that case, you're buying me a new one.”

We had to climb over the piles of laundry still in the hallway on our way back to his office.

“What did my brothers say to you?” Jack couldn't stop himself from asking as we entered his office.

“Dan tried to get me into your bedroom,” I said, which caused his dark brows to disappear into his hairline. “You know, you could pick up after your brothers.”

“I used to, but I was curious to see how long it would take before they started cleaning up after themselves.”

“I wouldn't have done that,” Nadeem said as he stepped over the spilled paperwork in Jack's office. “This isn't a healthy living environment.”

“I didn't ask for your opinion,” Jack snapped. He pushed Nadeem out of his way and powered up his laptop computer.

Nadeem righted the office chair and set it at the desk in front of the laptop. Once the computer was up and running, he sat down and navigated through several secure networks with the ease of a hacker. “Here it is.”

He offered me his place at the desk chair so I could see what he'd found without having to crane my neck over his shoulder. An image of a crinkled newspaper article that was very similar to the one I'd been carrying in my pocket flashed onto the screen. Instead of a tragic tale of murder and loss, the article detailed how the treasure hunter, Cowboy Baker, found the sunken
HMS Fantome
and how he had been fighting the English government for the right to the treasure he planned to bring up from the ship's watery grave.

In the margin had been scribbled, “Jefferson. It exists! It's still here. It never left the grounds.”

“Still
here
?
” I looked up to find Nadeem watching me closely. “You mean Thomas Jefferson's missing treasure? Frida thought it was still hidden somewhere on the grounds?”

Nadeem grinned like a kid at Christmas. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “That's Frida's handwriting. I told you her notes were more valuable than the documents. I believe she'd been on the verge of finding Thomas Jefferson's lost treasure. That was why she was being so cautious with her research. She wanted to make sure she got all the credit for the discovery. I have a feeling that there's something in Frida's missing files, something that
isn't
in Gordon's copy, something Frida added that was helping lead her to the missing treasure. It must also be the same something that got her killed.”

“If Frida knew where the treasure was hidden,” I said, “then why haven't we seen evidence she was searching for it? And why hasn't her killer been actively looking for it, too? Why the wait?”

It seemed as if only Milo—the overgrown puppy with a sudden obsession for digging up the South Lawn—was searching for the treasure.

And then it hit me.

Oh, Milo . . .

Chapter Twenty-six

Well, Warren Harding, I have got you the presidency. What are you going to do with it?

—FLORENCE HARDING, FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES (1921–1923)

D
IE.
The text message from Jack's jealous ex-girlfriend glared up from my cell phone's readout early the next morning. I deleted it and stuffed the phone back into my pocket. I didn't have time to play her childish games.

Still, the threatening message did give me pause. I stopped my work in the kitchen garden long enough to scan the empty Ellipse Park beyond the White House's iron fence. Was Simone out there somewhere watching me?

Was
my father?

No, don't think about either of them
. I couldn't let myself be distracted by what my father was doing in the area. Or why Jack hadn't called off Simone yet.

We had one day to clear Gordon's name before the DA accused him of killing Frida. Which meant we had one day to find Jefferson's lost treasure in an effort to force the killer's hand.

On top of that, the garden projects couldn't be ignored.

I didn't have time to fall apart just because my father, a father I hadn't seen in decades, decided to pop up at this inopportune time of my life.

If not for Nadeem, I wouldn't be worrying about dear old dad. But if not for Nadeem and yesterday's late-night confrontation, I wouldn't have figured some things out. Thanks to him, I now had plan.

As long as I stayed focused.

“I'm going to turn her in,” Lorenzo announced out of the blue. I didn't even know he'd come down to the kitchen garden.

“Turn who in?” I asked from where I was crouched down next to a raised bed filled with broccoli plants.

“Lettie, that's who,” Lorenzo said.

“For what?” I grabbed the base of the closest broccoli plant. The plant had grown so big during the fall months that it now resembled a small tree. But the season was coming to an end, and the plant's leaves already had large yellow splotches. With a quick twist, I tugged the broccoli from its bed.

After giving it a good shake to dislodge the dark, nutrient-rich soil from its thick roots, I inhaled the rich scent of earth and tossed the plant into the pile of other plants that were coming out of the garden.

Milo woofed and chased after the plant. He picked it up, gave it a shake just like I had, and trotted back over to me with the broccoli in his mouth. His tail wagged like a flag on a battleship returning home from war. He dropped his prize at my feet.

In all the time he'd been out here helping me, he hadn't tried to dig a hole in the yard. Not once.

And I was pretty sure I knew why.

“How can you
not
know what I'm talking about?” Lorenzo demanded. “Haven't you been paying attention? Lettie. Killed. Frida.”

“She may have,” I agreed. I picked up the plant Milo had dropped and tossed it into the pile again.

“
May have?
You heard Marcel in the park yesterday. Lettie has focused all her energies on getting her hands on Jefferson's treasure. She needs it to solve whatever money troubles she's gotten herself into. She's obviously willing to kill to do it. And frame Gordon for her crime.”

“That might be true.” I pulled out another large broccoli plant by the roots and gave it a toss into the pile. Milo promptly grabbed it and carried it back.

“I overheard her talking in the hallway. She's setting up an interview with a reporter,” Lorenzo said.

I lifted the rim of my sweetgrass gardening hat and turned my head in Lorenzo's direction. “A reporter? What does the East Wing think about that?”

Milo dropped the plant I was trying to put in the discard pile at my feet again and woofed.

“I don't think they know. But from what I heard, she's going to meet with a reporter. I bet she wants to make a public case against Gordon.” Lorenzo started pacing. “She's going to go to the press to make sure he's convicted in the court of public opinion even before the DA makes a move.”

Lorenzo stomped through my pile of discarded plants. Dirt and bits of stems stained the upturned cuffs of his expensive suit pants. He didn't seem to notice, which only proved how upset he was. “Casey, we need to stop her.”

“I agree.” I picked up the broccoli plant Milo had carried back to me and sat back on my heels. “Her going to the press does complicate things.”

With a violent twist, Lorenzo snatched the broccoli plant from my grasp before I could toss it back onto the pile. “What's wrong with you? Gordon's life hangs in the balance, and you're playing fetch with the dog.” He shook the plant at me.

“I'm not playing with the dog, I'm testing a theory.”

Lorenzo glared.

“Look at him.” I pulled out yet another spent plant and tossed it. Milo bounded into action and carried the broccoli back to me. “He's always trying to help in the garden. Not that he's ever that much help. But he's always been interested in what we're doing and has always tried to turn our work into a game.”

“What a smart dog,” Lorenzo said dryly. “So what are you planning? Train Milo to copy you with the hopes he'll have better luck sniffing out the killer?”

“No. I don't think we can get him to point his paw to our culprit, although that would be an interesting idea . . . No, it wouldn't work.”

“Then what are you planning?” It was obvious Lorenzo was losing his patience, if he'd had any to begin with.

“Look at the holes Milo has dug. He digs in just a couple of areas. Why?”

Lorenzo shrugged. “Those are his favorite spots. Dogs have favorite spots. Perhaps the ground there smells like a squirrel. Who knows what goes through that mutt's mind.”

“I don't think that's it. Watch.” I retrieved a trowel from the sweetgrass basket I'd carried down to the garden with me and dug a small hole. Milo woofed excitedly and started to dig as well. His front paws scraped at the ground, sending soil flying everywhere.

“So? How does that help Gordon? The DA is going to press charges tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Lorenzo pulled at his hair. “If he does, Gordon's career will be over. O. V. E. R. I don't know why I'm surprised that you're not helping him. You never help. You go off on these tangents and just end up getting in the way. I bet you couldn't investigate your way through an open door if your life depended upon it.”

“You might be right about that last part,” I grumbled. I should have connected Milo's strange behavior with the murder (and the robberies) sooner. But I now knew what was happening. I simply needed to figure out how to prove it.

Lorenzo stomped back up the hill toward the White House. “I'm going to report Lettie.”

Milo must have thought Lorenzo's quick movements looked like an invitation to play. He gave an excited woof and loped after him.

I stood up and pulled off my gardening gloves. “Lorenzo, wait. Don't you see? Our treasure hunter has been searching for the treasure all along and has been using Milo to cover up the evidence.”

“I'm going to stop Lettie!” Lorenzo yelled back as he continued up the hill. “I'm taking over. If not for you and your carelessness, Gordon wouldn't be in this position in the first place. Frida might even still be alive!”

My mouth dropped open. Lorenzo really believed that? He really blamed me for Frida's death?

Of course he did. He was constantly finding fault with my work. He cheered my mistakes. And he would be happy to see me gone.

So why should I run after him? Why should I stop him from accusing the First Lady's sister of murder? After all, he might be right. Now that Nadeem had made a strong case for his innocence, Lettie was the only suspect left.

But Lorenzo didn't have iron-clad evidence to back up his accusation. He didn't have
any
evidence.

Not my problem.

He'd said it himself. He didn't want my help.

Child, doing the right thing only when it's easy won't win you a seat on the bus to Heaven
, my grandmother Faye had scolded many, many times. And she was right.

If I didn't stop Lorenzo, he'd unwittingly destroy his White House career. I knew that. And it would be wrong not to try and stop him.

“Lorenzo!” I ran to catch up with him.