Birds in Paradise by Dorothy McFalls Page A

complaining about the sorry state of his 401(K).
    “It’s murder, you know,” I’d said as I breezed into the room.
    “That sounds awfully melodramatic, Casey,” he’d said, straightening his hunched shoulders. He swiveled his chair toward me and fingered his plain white coffee mug. His strong hands were timeworn, but his face looked boyish despite his fifty-five years. Only his silver hair gave his age away. “You’ve been reading those murder mysteries again,” he accused, waggling his coffee mug at me. But I’d made him smile.
    “Perhaps . . .” I narrowed my eyes and shifted my gaze back and forth across the room, trying out the mysterious look I’d been practicing in the mirror. I always had at least one crime novel tucked into my backpack, and I liked to imagine myself a modern-day, hipper, and much younger Miss Marple. Not that I’d ever had a chance to solve a real mystery.
    I leaned toward Gordon and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Perhaps a bit of melodrama is needed. Those spiny devils are strangling our ruffled tulips. I won’t be a minute.”
    “Won’t be a—” He half rose from his burnt orange desk chair, its ancient springs screeching. “Casey Calhoun, you can’t be seriously considering pulling weeds now.”
    “Have to.” I hurried into the room next to Gordon’s office and straight to the partitioned space that served as my work area. The windowless workspace was tucked away underneath the White House’s North Portico and North Lawn. The carpenter’s shop was just next door. The low whirr of a power saw vibrated through the thick wall.
    Down here, underneath the ground, was where the real work in the White House got done. We were the earthworms whose tireless efforts made it possible for the mighty oak to grow. I’d joined the ranks of the most dedicated bunch of workers I’d ever met. With a shared sense of pride, we all worked behind the scenes to keep the nation’s most famous household running seamlessly.
    My office area wasn’t as dreary as one might expect in a basement setting. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the hallway just outside the door opened up into a sunken courtyard that doubled as a delivery area. If I needed a dose of natural light, I would prop open the office door and let the sun shine in. That is, when I wasn’t in such a hurry.
    I kicked off the brand-new black pumps my roommate, Alyssa, had picked out for me, and I slipped on the pair of worn loafers I kept in a caddy beneath my desk. Alyssa had also picked out the dark gray Ann Taylor suit complete with pencil skirt I was wearing. Without her, I’d happily wear a comfortable old pair of khakis or jeans every day of my life. A fate worse than death to Alyssa’s way of thinking.
    “You’re serious about this? You’re going to Lafayette Square? Now?” Gordon’s voice carried through the wall. I seemed to be the only one who could alarm him just as easily as I could make him laugh.
    “There are just a few of them in the flowerbed, but you know how quickly the mile-a-minute weed spreads. A mile a minute.” Naturally that was an exaggeration. But not by much. “I noticed them when I came in this morning. They weren’t there when I left yesterday. I’m sure of it.”
    Gordon stepped into my small partitioned office, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched as I scurried about, his silver eyebrows furrowed. “Send someone from the crew. Sal usually gets in early. And you know he’s got a soft spot for you. I doubt he’ll even grumble when you tell him to pull weeds in the dark and in the rain.”
    Granted, it was early. With the recent change to daylight saving time, sunrise was still a solid hour away. And it had been raining all night. The windows in the hallway outside my office looked as if they’d been shrouded with a heavy black cloth. Gordon was right. I shouldn’t be doing this. But I had to do something . Sitting at my desk waiting for the meeting to start was going to make me