Read Online The Scarlet Pepper by Dorothy St. James - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy St. James
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just as I raised my fist to bang on it again. Alyssa breezed into the upstairs hallway as if we had all the time in the world.
She’d pulled her shiny black hair into a simple ponytail. But that was just about the only thing simple about her polished look. Although she often complained about the fifteen pounds she’d gained since she’d moved to D.C. to work as a congressional aide for Senator Alfred Finnegan, I couldn’t see where she was hiding it. The white sundresswith bright yellow sunflowers accentuated her curves, curves in all the right places that I wished I possessed.
Flawless makeup, tanned legs, and hemp sandals from a designer I knew she’d mentioned, but for the world of me I couldn’t recall (nor cared to recall)—Alyssa looked stunning.
“
What are you wearing
?” Alyssa and I each pointed at the other’s outfit.
“We’re going to be planting a flower garden in Burberry Park, not attending a garden party,” I reminded her in case she’d forgotten. I had dressed in an old T-shirt and denim shorts that had faded over time. Old. Comfortable. And completely appropriate for renovating a public garden.
Alyssa frowned as she touched the hem of the flowered sundress she wore. I eyed her strappy sandals. They’d be ruined before the end of the day, not to mention how muddy her feet were going to get.
“These are the oldest clothes I own.” She sounded truly bewildered that I’d think there was anything wrong with what she was wearing. With a carefree shrug, she hooked her arm with mine and directed me down the stairs. “I don’t think we have time to stand around and debate fashion. I thought you said we were running late.”
“You’re right. Besides, fashion is a debate I’ll never win with you.” Designer labels were like a second language to her, one that I didn’t speak a word of.
“Do tell me that your Secret Service man is planning to help out today.”
“No, he’s not. And he’s not my—I mean he’s not—oh, forget it. Jack’s not going to be there.” My cheeks burned as I remembered how he’d come down to the garden to talk with me. And only me. What had he wanted to say?
“Interesting,” Alyssa murmured as she watched me too closely.
“It’s not interesting, because there’s nothing between Jack and me to be of any interest.” I disentangled my arm from hers and gathered the tray of patriotic red, white, and blue wave petunias that were waiting for us on the front stoop. “And you’re driving.”
As Alyssa drove up to the nearby park, one of the many leafy green oases dotting the city, I spotted a small crowd milling around the park’s periphery.
Francesca and her close friend Annie Campbell were coordinating the beautification project. Many of the same volunteers working in the First Lady’s garden had signed up to help, including Senator Alfred Finnegan’s wife, Imogene.
I suspected Alyssa had insisted on tagging along with me this morning because of Imogene’s involvement in the project.
“You’d better let me out here,” I said. The few parking spots along the park had already been taken. Doing a delicate balancing act with the large tray, I slid out of Alyssa’s little red convertible.
While Alyssa parked the car, I crossed the road to the park and searched the crowd for Francesca.
She should have been easy to spot since she nearly always wore pink. This morning, the only person dressed in pink was me in a faded pink T-shirt that had been a freebie at a breast cancer awareness walk.
Perhaps Francesca had decided to stay home to avoid facing the rumors that had been swirling around her. But if Francesca wasn’t around, that meant Annie Campbell would have to handle all the details on her own.
Poor Annie. Unlike Francesca, Annie was rather hopeless when it came to plants or thinking for herself. In the First Lady’s garden, Annie served as gofer for the other volunteers. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her put her hands in the soil
She’d pulled her shiny black hair into a simple ponytail. But that was just about the only thing simple about her polished look. Although she often complained about the fifteen pounds she’d gained since she’d moved to D.C. to work as a congressional aide for Senator Alfred Finnegan, I couldn’t see where she was hiding it. The white sundresswith bright yellow sunflowers accentuated her curves, curves in all the right places that I wished I possessed.
Flawless makeup, tanned legs, and hemp sandals from a designer I knew she’d mentioned, but for the world of me I couldn’t recall (nor cared to recall)—Alyssa looked stunning.
“
What are you wearing
?” Alyssa and I each pointed at the other’s outfit.
“We’re going to be planting a flower garden in Burberry Park, not attending a garden party,” I reminded her in case she’d forgotten. I had dressed in an old T-shirt and denim shorts that had faded over time. Old. Comfortable. And completely appropriate for renovating a public garden.
Alyssa frowned as she touched the hem of the flowered sundress she wore. I eyed her strappy sandals. They’d be ruined before the end of the day, not to mention how muddy her feet were going to get.
“These are the oldest clothes I own.” She sounded truly bewildered that I’d think there was anything wrong with what she was wearing. With a carefree shrug, she hooked her arm with mine and directed me down the stairs. “I don’t think we have time to stand around and debate fashion. I thought you said we were running late.”
“You’re right. Besides, fashion is a debate I’ll never win with you.” Designer labels were like a second language to her, one that I didn’t speak a word of.
“Do tell me that your Secret Service man is planning to help out today.”
“No, he’s not. And he’s not my—I mean he’s not—oh, forget it. Jack’s not going to be there.” My cheeks burned as I remembered how he’d come down to the garden to talk with me. And only me. What had he wanted to say?
“Interesting,” Alyssa murmured as she watched me too closely.
“It’s not interesting, because there’s nothing between Jack and me to be of any interest.” I disentangled my arm from hers and gathered the tray of patriotic red, white, and blue wave petunias that were waiting for us on the front stoop. “And you’re driving.”
As Alyssa drove up to the nearby park, one of the many leafy green oases dotting the city, I spotted a small crowd milling around the park’s periphery.
Francesca and her close friend Annie Campbell were coordinating the beautification project. Many of the same volunteers working in the First Lady’s garden had signed up to help, including Senator Alfred Finnegan’s wife, Imogene.
I suspected Alyssa had insisted on tagging along with me this morning because of Imogene’s involvement in the project.
“You’d better let me out here,” I said. The few parking spots along the park had already been taken. Doing a delicate balancing act with the large tray, I slid out of Alyssa’s little red convertible.
While Alyssa parked the car, I crossed the road to the park and searched the crowd for Francesca.
She should have been easy to spot since she nearly always wore pink. This morning, the only person dressed in pink was me in a faded pink T-shirt that had been a freebie at a breast cancer awareness walk.
Perhaps Francesca had decided to stay home to avoid facing the rumors that had been swirling around her. But if Francesca wasn’t around, that meant Annie Campbell would have to handle all the details on her own.
Poor Annie. Unlike Francesca, Annie was rather hopeless when it came to plants or thinking for herself. In the First Lady’s garden, Annie served as gofer for the other volunteers. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her put her hands in the soil
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