Sophie Medina: Ghost Image Part 29

No matter how much I wanted to believe justice was being served and everyone was getting what was coming to them, it couldn't right the wrong, heal the hurt, or bring closure for me. What made it worse was that I knew Kevin would have forgiven everybody. He would have quoted Luke to me: Do not judge and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.

But I was a long way from forgiveness.

At the end of August, three weeks before the ceremony at L'Enfant's grave was scheduled to take place, Perry asked me to fly over and help out in the bureau since he was down to a skeleton staff with people still on holiday or out sick. It was good to be back in London. By that time my American journalist colleagues had learned about the tantalizing mystery of the two-hundred-year-old seeds missing from the White House and their storied provenance, and it had unleashed a deluge of media interest. In my profession, it's never good when a journalist becomes the story; at least in London, I was able to drop out of sight for a while.

A few days before I flew home, I visited Zara Remington at the Chelsea Physic Garden, where she told me that Will Tennant was at Wormwood Scrubs prison in London awaiting trial for the murder of Alastair Innes. As I'd suspected, David Arista had been the American who had shown up at the garden asking about hyssop, and Will had lied in his description to throw me off. David had lucked out when he met Will, who not only also volunteered at the Millennium Seed Bank but was also in deep trouble trying to repay gambling debts and more than willing to accept a bribe in return for information about the project Alastair was working on with Kevin.

According to Zara, Will's ID badge had been used on the swipe pads leading to the storage area the day Alastair and I were locked in the vault. Eventually Will had been arrested and charged with Alastair's murder after a neighbor identified him as the man she'd seen leaving Alastair's garage the night before his car went into the ravine and the police found Alastair's phone in his home.

On my last night in London, Perry got tickets to the BBC Proms at Royal Albert Hall, the world-famous series of cla.s.sical music concerts that begins each year in mid-July and lasts until mid-September. As it happened, it was American music night-Gershwin, Copland, and a mixture of jazz, blues, and country music. After it was over and we were leaving, Perry nudged me.

"Isn't that Victor Haupt-von Vessey across the aisle?" he asked. "And I recognize the woman he's with. Her father is the Earl of Chelmsford."

I turned in time to get a glimpse of Victor with his arm around a pretty redhead who reminded me of Yasmin. They were laughing at something with the intimacy of an established couple, and their body language suggested that they were more than just acquaintances.

"It is," I said. "I'm glad he's moved on, though she does look like Yasmin's double."

"Want to say h.e.l.lo?"

I shook my head. "I think I'd better not."

"You're still not over all this, are you?"

"I don't know how I could be until they open the safe next to Pierre L'Enfant's grave. I just hope the seeds are there and that Kevin was right. Or that I'm right about what I think he found."

Perry squeezed my hand. "Come on, Medina, don't be so hard on yourself. The Franciscans have Kevin's book, and it looks like they're going to loan it to the Library of Congress, at least for a while."

"I guess Edward Jaine thought it was a good public relations move to say that he'd bought it but out of charity he'd given it to Kevin and the Franciscans," I said. "It offset some of the horrible press after he got caught covering up that he was exporting toxic electronic waste to the Third World and pa.s.sing it off as good equipment."

"Maybe it's why he got off with only a big fine and avoided jail," Perry said. "And the guy's smart. He'll rebuild his financial empire."

"No doubt. Yasmin Gilberti is going to be his new personal a.s.sistant."

"You still sound down in the dumps. Let's get a drink. Look at it this way. A week from today it will be all over. They're going to open that safe and you'll know for sure. Plus you get a world exclusive. That's why I've always loved you, Medina. You don't do anything by half measures." He gave me his best cheesy smile. "Go big," he said, "or go home."

The day scheduled for opening the strongbox would have been Kevin's fifty-fifth birthday, a deliberate choice and posthumous tribute. The Park Service had set up a large white events tent around the L'Enfant grave with an enormous window at one end that looked out on the city and the Potomac. With the exception of Chappy and me as the two official photographers, and Grace, and a reporter from International Press Service, all the other media had been required to stay behind a rope line and were camped out on the steps of Arlington House.

The biggest concern was the condition of the seeds after two centuries, their fragility and preserving whatever package or container they were in. In addition to Ryan, Thea, Olivia, and Logan, along with a handful of VIPs from Monticello, the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian, and the White House, the only guests were people I'd asked to be there: Nick, Jack, Xavier, Max, and Bram Asquith. A locksmith hired by the Park Service would drill out the lock, but it had been decided that Ryan would be the one to look inside the strongbox.

Ryan surprised me by asking Xavier to say a prayer before we began, so we all bowed our heads while he asked for G.o.d's blessing on us and on Kevin. Then he quoted Genesis, a gentle reminder of what we might find inside the box: For dust thou art and unto dust thou shall return.

The locksmith was good, but it took a few minutes before he drilled through the lock.

"Are you all right?" Nick said in my ear. "You look like you've stopped breathing."

"I could be wrong. What if I'm wrong?"

He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't second-guess yourself. Everyone here thinks you're right."

I nodded and raised my camera.

"Okay, this is it." Ryan sounded tense. He reached into the safe and for a long moment, he was silent.

The only sounds were the shutters clicking from my camera and Chappy's as now everyone seemed to be holding their breath. What if someone had been there already, or something else had been stored there and we'd got it wrong, or . . .

Then Ryan pulled something out of the safe. Everyone gasped as he held up a dark brown leather pouch with the reverence of a priest raising a communion chalice. In the slanted afternoon sunlight, the leather, embossed with the initials Th J, gleamed like old burnished gold.

"Thank you, Kevin. I know you're watching," he said with a broad smile. "I do believe we've found Mr. Jefferson's seeds."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

The characters in Ghost Image are all fict.i.tious creations invented for this story, with the obvious exception of historical figures such as Thomas Jefferson, George Was.h.i.+ngton, Pierre L'Enfant, Lewis and Clark, Dolley Madison, John Fairbairn, and the members of the McMillan Commission, though I have also used those individuals fict.i.tiously. Any resemblance to any living person is entirely coincidental and unintentional. Francis Pembroke and Senator Francis Quincy never existed and there was no seed cabinet left behind in the White House by Thomas Jefferson.

The idea for Ghost Image came about after I heard an NPR book review of Andrea Wulf's The Founding Gardeners: The Revolutionary Generation, Nature, and the Shaping of the American Nation (Vintage Books), a page-turning account of the Founding Fathers' obsession with gardening, seed collecting, and farming, and the impact their pa.s.sion had on shaping our country. Shortly afterward I read an article in the June 2012 issue of Smithsonian called "Seeds of the Future" on the work of the Millennium Seed Bank in England, which subsequently led to a conversation with Mark Verrilli, a landscaper friend with Pleasant Valley Landscapes in Aldie, Virginia, about whether it might be possible to germinate seeds that were hundreds of years old.

I was fortunate to have considerable help with this book from many people who took time out of busy schedules to answer my questions. As usual, if something is wrong, that's on me. In America I owe thanks to the following people: Scott W. Berg, author of Grand Avenues: The Story of Pierre Charles L'Enfant, the French Visionary Who Designed Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. (Vintage Books), for sitting down over breakfast and talking to me about Pierre L'Enfant until it was nearly lunchtime; Rick Tagg, winemaker at Barrel Oak Winery in Delaplane, Virginia, for his help and knowledge of herbs; George Thuronyi, Copyright Division, and Jennifer Harbster, Science, Technology and Business Division of the Library of Congress; Peggy Cornett, Curator of Plants, and Mary Scott-Fleming, Director of Enrichment Programs at Monticello; Dr. Martin Gammon, Vice President of Business Development and Museum Relations, Bonhams (and a regular appraiser of rare books and ma.n.u.scripts for PBS's Antiques Roadshow); Detective Jim Smith, Crime Scene Section, Fairfax County (VA) Police Department; as well as Dr. Carmella Moody and Rosemarie Forsythe, who made numerous constructive comments and offered advice. Also thanks to a few anonymous people who answered questions relating to Nick's intelligence career, as well as several individuals who were my resources for religious matters: You know who you are.

In England, thanks to John and Jackie Briggs, my former neighbors, who fed me and gave me a place to stay when I was in London. I also am grateful to Kay Pennick, Librarian, and Dr. John d.i.c.kie, Head of Information Section, Seed Conservation Department, at the Millennium Seed Bank; Christopher Bailes, Curator, Chelsea Physic Garden; Anna Christodoulou, the Connaught; and finally to Andrea Wulf, for meeting me for breakfast in London in between taping a show for the BBC to discuss The Founding Gardeners and offer suggestions and help, including her idea to invent a White House seed cabinet that belonged to Thomas Jefferson.

Several books, in addition to The Founding Gardeners and Grand Avenues, were helpful: The Creation of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.: The Idea and Location of the American Capital by Kenneth R. Bowling (George Mason University Press); The Apothecaries' Garden: A History of the Chelsea Physic Garden by Sue Minter (History Press, UK); Monument Wars: Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., the National Mall, and the Transformation of the Memorial Landscape by Kirk Savage (University of California Press); "A Rich Spot of Earth": Thomas Jefferson's Revolutionary Garden at Monticello by Peter J. Hatch (Yale University Press); and The Last Great Plant Hunt: The Story of Kew's Millennium Seed Bank by Carolyn Fry, Sue Seddon, and Gail Vines (Kew Publis.h.i.+ng, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, UK).

Heartfelt thanks to my critique group friends and fellow authors: Donna Andrews, John Gilstrap, Alan Orloff, and Art Taylor, affectionately known as the Rumpus Group, for considerable help with many drafts of this book. As always, my dear friend Tom Snyder read the first draft (and the ones that followed) with a keen eye and a sharp blue pencil.

At Scribner, thanks to Katrina Diaz, my editor, and to Susan Moldow; also to Alexsis Johnson, my publicist, and Katie Rizzo and Cynthia Merman for copy editing. I am especially indebted to Maggie Crawford for editorial help and guidance.

Finally, thanks and love to Dominick Abel, my agent. Last, but by no means least, I am grateful to my sons and daughters-in-law, but most especially to my husband, Andre de Nesnera, for more in my heart than I can possibly express. None of this would be possible without you, my love.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Photo Credit: Jackie Briggs.

Ellen Crosby is the author of Multiple Exposure, the first book in a new series featuring photojournalist Sophie Medina. She has also written six books in the Virginia Wine Country Mystery series: The Sauvignon Secret, The Viognier Vendetta, The Riesling Retribution, The Bordeaux Betrayal, The Chardonnay Charade, and The Merlot Murders. Her novel Moscow Nights, a stand-alone, was published in England. A former freelance reporter for the Was.h.i.+ngton Post and the Moscow correspondent for ABC News Radio, Crosby lives in Virginia with her family. Learn more about her at EllenCrosby.com, on Facebook at EllenCrosbyBooks, and on Twitter @ellencrosby.

MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT.

SimonandSchuster.com.

authors.simonandschuster.com/Ellen-Crosby.

ALSO BY ELLEN CROSBY.

The Sophie Medina Mysteries.

Multiple Exposure The Wine Country Mysteries.

The Sauvignon Secret The Viognier Vendetta The Riesling Retribution.

The Bordeaux Betrayal.

The Chardonnay Charade The Merlot Murders.

Moscow Nights.

We hope you enjoyed reading this Scribner eBook.

end.