The Trouble with Tulip (12 page)

So who killed you? Who were you fighting with? Why are you dead?

Jo's life was certainly in a shambles around her feet right now, but maybe she could dedicate herself to answering those questions. Chief Cooper and the coroner both felt certain that the woman's death was an accident, but deep in her gut Jo simply knew better. Maybe it was just the way her brain worked, but she was convinced that a kindred cleaning spirit like Edna Pratt wouldn't have made that fatal mistake. Last night's argument and speeding car only lent more weight to Jo's certainty that Edna had been murdered.

I'm the only one who believes it
, Jo thought,
so maybe I'm the only one who can prove it
.

Heart pounding, she stood, suddenly determined to find justice for Edna Pratt.
Can I do it?
Jo wondered.
Can I uncover the truth myself?
An internal dialogue ensued as she considered how her skills as a household problem-solver might extend themselves to a murder investigation.

“I'm Jo Tulip,” she said out loud, confidently, as she pushed off with her Rollerblades. “I have a solution for
every
situation.”

Just as quickly she stopped again, one house over, and looked back at Edna's place, wavering just a bit.

“Correction,” she said to herself, more softly this time. “I have a solution for every situation…except my own love life and, oh yeah, the dead body next door.”

9

D
anny was exhausted. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and then just sat there. Somehow he had to find the energy to go inside, change into something more comfortable, and then walk across the back lawn to face Jo. What a day.

By the end of the reception, he'd practically had to pry himself loose from one of Bradford's female cousins. She had set her sights on him halfway through the party and wasn't happy about taking no for an answer.

Why does this always happen to me, God? Do I lead these women on? Do I flirt and encourage them without even realizing it?

Before the chief's comment that morning, Danny had never given his success with the ladies a second thought. But now he had to wonder: Was his love life out of control?

Currently, he had two women on the line, not counting Bradford's cousin. There was Tiffany, his coworker, with whom he'd gone out for one lousy cup of coffee and she took it to mean they were officially a couple. Then there was Marci, a friend of one of his sisters, who had needed a date for a business function. Danny had obliged as a favor, but Marci took it as something more. In the past three weeks, she had called about five times to ask him out again.

What was he doing wrong?

I'm not interested in these women, God. Please show me how to live more honestly so they'll understand that from the get-go. And if You do have a special someone in mind for me, bring her into my life. I'm tired of playing the field, of looking for something that simply isn't there
.

Feeling frustrated and confused, Danny climbed out of the car and went inside, suddenly realizing he was starving. He went straight to the kitchen eager to make himself a big ham sandwich with mustard and Swiss. As he sliced open a roll, he paused to grab the phone and hit the speed dial for Jo's house.

She didn't answer, so he left a message that he was home now and he'd be over in a minute. It was more like fifteen minutes by the time he had eaten and changed, but she hadn't called back. He tried calling again, and still he got no answer. She was probably just laying low, but before he went over there anyway, he checked the gnome. Sure enough, she had left a note.

Danny felt a surge of some emotion he couldn't identify as he read the words she had scribbled. Deep in his heart, he longed to comfort her. She'd had too many rough knocks this year.

He decided to go over to the park and find her. He didn't skate, but he could take his bicycle. The path was several miles long, but Danny had a feeling he knew exactly where she would be.

“How you doin', Miss Tulip?”

Jo glanced up, not surprised to see Angus Young sitting on the loading dock of the main building at the Golden Acres Retirement Village, smoking a cigarette. She often cut through their back parking lot to reach the head of the biking trail, and Angus was a familiar sight there. His full-time job was as the janitor of the high school where Jo taught home economics, but she knew he made ends meet by working here at the retirement community on the weekends.

“Hey, Angus,” she said, slowing to a stop.

“I thought you'd be on your honeymoon by now.”

Angus was in his fifties, hardworking and hard-faced, with a scar that ran under his nose to his chin, splitting his lips. Angus was built like a Mack truck, which made him a valuable employee both at the school and at the retirement village. He was the one who did the heavy lifting, and Jo knew he was popular with the residents here. According to him, he was often called in to move around furniture or boxes—and then gratefully rewarded with homemade soup or cookies.

“I guess you could say things didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned,” Jo said.

“Problems at the airport?”

“Problems at the altar,” she told him. “To put it simply, the wedding is off.”

There. That wasn't so hard to say. Except that once she said it, out loud, to someone who hadn't been there, it made it seem so very real.

They chatted for a few minutes about the wedding disaster. As she described what happened, Angus grew indignant for her sake, assuring her it was Bradford's loss, not hers.

“No offense, Miss Tulip, but if I were thirty years younger, I'd be in line to take his place in front of that preacher. He was an idiot to pass up that opportunity.”

“Maybe I was the idiot,” she said, “for letting it get this far.”

Their chat was interrupted by Angus' walkie-talkie, which crackled to life at his belt, telling him he was needed in another building.

“Gotta go,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. “You have a nice evening. Just remember: You deserve better than that. You deserve the best.”

Danny pedaled slowly down the path, thinking about Jo Tulip as a little girl. He could still remember the day they met, the way she seemed so mature and in control even then. She was different than the other kids in town, and not just because she had lived all over the world. Jo was smart in ways that seemed new and different and exciting to Danny in his limited childhood experience. She was gifted in chemistry, like her grandfather, but she was also grounded in common sense, like her grandmother. As the heir apparent to their little newspaper column, Jo couldn't have been a better fit—or a more dedicated granddaughter.

Danny was still thinking about Jo as a child when he spotted her up ahead, now all grown up. Watching her roll toward him, he was struck—as he often was—by her beauty. She was tall but petite, with wavy blond hair that she could never quite keep under control and pretty hands that fluttered around like little birds when she talked.

“Hey,” he said, as soon as she spotted him. “How are you doing?”

“I'm okay,” she replied, slowing down and giving him a brave smile.

He turned his bike around so that they were both headed in the same direction. They rolled along, side by side, as Jo talked about how the autumn was slowly coming on and the days were already getting shorter. Danny let her talk, knowing she was dancing around the issue of the day. It wasn't until they neared the bottom of the hill that she stopped jabbering and got to the point.

“Thanks,” she said finally as she skated.

“For what?”

“For not saying I told you so.”

They were silent a bit longer as Danny struggled for the right words. He wanted so much to make this easier for her.
Lord, show me how to help her with this burden
.

“I wouldn't do that, Jo. It's not that kind of situation.”

“Well, I appreciate it. More than you know.”

He switched the gears on his bicycle as they started up a slight incline.

“The reception went very well, considering,” he told her. “Your folks really know how to put on the charm.”

“Of course,” Jo said. “It's what they do best.”

He glanced at her and then straight again.

“What?” she said.

“What what?”

“What is it you're not telling me?”

He pursed his lips, knowing he could never keep anything from her.

“I'm sorry, Jo. Your parents are leaving town tonight, as scheduled.”

She nodded, a blank look coming into her eyes, but he knew what she was thinking: On what had to be one of the worst days of her life, her parents were not going to be there for her. Again.

Jo didn't speak for a while. They reached the part of the path where they would cut over to the cemetery, so Danny stopped the bike, climbed off, and started walking it instead. Silently, they made their way from the trail, through the bushes, and into the graveyard next to the park. Jo's grandparents were buried in a double plot near the end of a row. When they got there, Danny stood back and Jo did as she always did. She knelt beside the headstones to pull out the weeds that were trying to grow around the bases.

“This stupid milkweed,” She said, grabbing frantically. “Why does it always grow back?” She ripped at the grass with desperation until she started crying. Then she just sat there on the ground and sobbed.

Despite having grown up in a house full of women, Danny wasn't good at these things. Finally, when it didn't look as though she was going to stop any time soon, he laid his bike on the grass and went to sit awkwardly on the ground next to her.

“Hey,” he said, wishing that the perfect words would pop into his mouth. “Hey.”

“I'm sorry, Danny,” she said, sniffling. “It just hurts so bad!”

He put an arm around her and pulled her close as she buried her face into his shoulder.

“My parents have never cared, never worried, never paid one bit of attention, have they?” she asked as she sobbed.

“They're jerks.”

“They live for themselves and no one else. I'm just a blip on their screen.”

“Less than a blip.”

“I'm less than a blip!”

She broke into fresh sobs. For a long time, they just sat there in the graveyard, the sun giving a muted late-afternoon glow to the rows of marble stones. It was pretty there, and peaceful and quiet. Danny could only wish Jo's grandparents were still alive to comfort her.

“At least you had your grandmother,” he said, realizing that maybe just the mention of her would help. “She and your grandfather gave you twice as much love as both of your parents should have, combined.”

That seemed to help. Jo nodded, swiping at her face with her hands.

“I know they're not here for you anymore,” he continued, “but they were here when it was most important. They were here when you were growing up.”

“You're right.”

“They helped make up for the qualities your parents lacked.”

“They did, didn't they?”