The Scarlet Pepper Read Online Free PDF

sake!” I tossed the newspaper at my desk.It landed with a satisfying slap. “The plants in the garden are on display for any tourist to see. We’d have had to sneak in at night week after week, replacing baby plants with slightly bigger ones. Even then, someone would have seen us!”
    “It’s just a throwaway newspaper, Casey,” Gordon soothed. “No one takes those articles seriously.”
    “I suppose not.” The article just below it on that page touted, PRESIDENT’S LOVE CHILD .
    “Bogus or not, I wouldn’t let Seth see that article,” Lorenzo said with a smirk.
    “He does seem to be gunning for you lately,” Gordon agreed.
    I wondered if the First Lady’s social secretary was one of the unnamed sources. Would he stir up trouble for the First Lady just to hurt me? Probably not.
    “Now that you know the story is out there, you won’t be blindsided by it if a reporter asks a question about it,” Gordon said as I rubbed my temples to ward off a Seth-sized headache. “That’s how these things work.”
    “I doubt anyone in the press is that interested in the vegetable garden.” Lorenzo slid his dark Mediterranean gaze in my direction. “The rumors swirling around Bruce Dearing are distraction enough for everyone.”
    Gordon nodded his agreement. “I heard the press secretary complaining in the hallway this morning that none of the journalists listen at the daily press briefing. They’re all too busy Googling on their BlackBerries, trying to scoop each other, and
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, on their witch hunt for a scandal. I can’t remember ever seeing a darker cloud hanging over any member of the West Wing, especially not over the President’s Chief of Staff.” Gordon had to raise his voice to be heard over a sudden series of loud bangs. The grounds offices were adjacent to the carpenters’ shop, where they’d been frantically working all week on a special project for Seth Donahue.
    “Don’t forget about those nasty rumors that circulated about a year ago about the press secretary and the Chief of Staff,” Lorenzo said.
    Lorenzo grinned in my direction when I took the bait and asked, “Rumors about Frank Lispon and Bruce Dearing? What were they about?”
    “Nothing,” Gordon said. “Just some nasty backstairs gossip that doesn’t deserve repeating.” Gordon wiped his hands together as if brushing off a day of hard labor in the garden.
    Repeat it, repeat it!
I wanted to scream.
    But I didn’t. I was no longer a slave to my curiosity. I didn’t need to know everything about everybody. And I was mighty proud of myself for my extraordinary display of self-control.
    “Does the scandal have to do with—?” The words popped out of my mouth.
    “Lorenzo”—Gordon turned away from me—“are you still planning to attend the First Lady’s volunteer appreciation tea? I need to send word to the East Wing who I’m sending in my place by the end of the day.”
    Lorenzo rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I can’t do it this year.”
    I didn’t blame Lorenzo for wanting to wiggle out of going. From what I’d heard, I’d rather catch a bad case of the mumps than attend this year’s volunteer event. But I was surprised by Lorenzo’s sudden change of heart.
    Lorenzo was the kind of guy who lived for the chance to rub elbows with powerful people like President John Bradley and First Lady Margaret Bradley. Appearances mattered to him. He wore suits to work even though we all worked in the gardens. When he worked outside, he wore a dark green garden apron over his dress shirt to ward off stains. He looked as if he should be puttering around an English estate. Even now at the end of the day the creases in his pants were sharp enough to scythe grass.
    I, on the other hand, wore sensible loafers, khaki pants, and knit tops. Although I started each day looking fresh and professional, I rarely ended that way. Even when I managed to avoid getting splattered with mud during oneof our many gardening projects,