The Trouble with Tulip (30 page)

“Well, sorry,” she said. “I wasn't thinking. At least I kept the doors locked at Edna's house—and I left there when Marie did, just to be safe.”

“Good,” he said, going to the fridge and helping himself to one of the cold sodas she kept on hand just for him. “Boy, do I have some developments for you.”

“I've got some for you too.”

She went through hers first, showing him the photos and papers on the table, talking about her ideas and theories. Her most interesting “find” of the evening was a photograph, the smaller version of one of the photos they had discovered in the hiding place under the tub. It was the picture that showed a family all dressed up and sitting on a front stoop. In the small version of the photo, however, there was no silver-haired mustached gentleman standing in the back row—just an empty wooden wall. Jo had brought the original photo back to her house, along with the doctored enlargement of the same thing, and Danny set them on the table, side by side, looking from one to the other.

“Kind of creepy, isn't it, to add yourself as an adult to a picture you're already in as a child?”

“But it works,” Jo said. “If you didn't realize that man and that boy were the same person, you'd just think they were similar-looking relatives.”

“That's true.”

Jo had also gone online to the Florida database of prisoners and printed out a whole bunch of information about Simon Kurtz. Sure enough, the police chief had been right: The records were simply there for the finding. This man's crimes were on display for all the world to see.

All of Simon's convictions were for crimes that fell along the lines of fraud, theft, and deception. There wasn't a violent offense on the list, though, which gave her an odd feeling. If Simon hadn't killed Edna, then who had? Suddenly, Jo felt an urgency to get to know the women this man had somehow fleeced. Could one of them have been angry enough to kill? If so, then why was it that
Edna
was dead and not Simon?

When she and Danny had gone through everything she found, it was his turn to share about his conversation at the church with Mrs. Chutney—and the odd behavior of Mrs. Parker.

“I think we need to pay a visit to Mrs. Parker,” Jo said. “Ask her straight out what she's trying to hide. Maybe we'll talk to both women and show them these two photos, side by side.”

“I've got more,” Danny added, “other originals I found online before Simon had himself inserted into them. They make pretty convincing evidence when you look at them this way.”

“Let's do it tomorrow,” she said. “Soon as you get back from Moore City.”

Danny studied her beautiful face for a moment and then smiled.

“You like to stir the pot, don't you, Jo?”

She grinned.

“Oh, Danny. Stirring the pot is what I do best.”

20

T
he next morning Jo awoke with an odd heaviness on her heart, a vague feeling of disquiet that lingered over from sleep. She opened her eyes and sat up in bed and then it hit her: Today was Wednesday, the day she would have returned back from her honeymoon.

Today was the day her life as a married woman was supposed to have begun in earnest.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a while, wondering if Bradford had kept the same return time for his flight from Bermuda. If so, then he'd be arriving at the Moore City airport around ten or eleven this morning. She wondered if he would drive to Mulberry Glen to seek her out to talk—or if he'd head the other direction, to his apartment in New York, and continue to pretend there was nothing to talk about.

“I don't get it, God,” Jo said, looking up at the ceiling. “How does a man walk out on a wedding and then not even explain himself to the bride?”

Part of her hoped he would show up today so that at the very least she could have some closure. Another part of her felt that she'd be happier if she never saw him again for the rest of her life. What was there to talk about, anyway? That he didn't really love her? That he'd saved them both from a huge mistake? She didn't want to hear it, not any of it.

Then again, once she was dressed in her cleaning clothes and ready to head to Edna's, she scribbled out a note and taped it to her front door, just in case. It said, “If you're looking for Jo Tulip, go to 387 Weeping Willow Way.”

At least that way, if he did come looking for her, he'd be able to find her.

She got a very early start on Edna's bedroom and bathroom. Going through all of the stuff was really quite distracting—fun, even—and she added a box for small collectables and things that she thought might bring a better price on eBay than at the yard sale.

The appraiser showed up promptly at nine, and Jo went slowly through the house with her, taking notes as the woman talked. There were only a few pieces of furniture of any value, and even those weren't that extraordinary. After the woman left, Jo scheduled a pickup from a consignment shop for those pieces, and then she returned to the busy work of slowly packing up Edna's possessions. She was making very good time.

She had just finished with the master bedroom and bathroom when Marie came by with the real estate contract. Jo looked it over, saying she would fax it to Edna's daughter when she ran home for lunch.

“Thanks again for this opportunity,” Marie said, picking up her briefcase and reaching for the doorknob. “I really appreciate it.”

Jo went outside with Marie as she pointed out where the For Sale sign would eventually go in the yard, and then she walked with her to the other house Marie was representing on the same street. It was across the street and down three, a modest ranch home like Edna's, but with faded cedar shingles and a much older roof.

“This looks like a real fixer-upper,” Jo said, taking in the sight of the run-down house and its weedy yard. “I bet Edna's house sells first.”

“Yeah, I've been trying to talk the owners into making some minor improvements, but they have already moved halfway across the country. They just want to get it sold, even if they have to take a loss.”

Jo knelt down to examine a giant brown splotch in front of her.

“These stains really mess up the look of the whole driveway.”

“I know.”

“You've got a couple of choices for getting rid of them, if you want.”

Marie smiled.

“Ah, Jo, I should have known better than to bring you over here. Don't go inside, or you'll end up giving me enough household hints to keep me busy for a week!”

Jo laughed.

“I think it would make a big difference,” she said, waving again toward the splotches. “You want to take notes here or not?”

“Fine,” Marie said, putting down her briefcase and taking out a pen and notepad. “Go ahead.”

“Step one,” Jo said. “Wet down the stains with a hose and then, believe it or not, sprinkle them with lemon Kool-Aid. Cover them with plastic, let them soak for about fifteen minutes, and then scrub with a brush and rinse. The stains should be gone.”

“And if they're not?”

“Then you try step two. Get some oven cleaner, spray it on kind of heavily, let it sit for fifteen, and then rinse.”

“You think if I do that, the driveway will look better?”

“I think if you do that, the driveway will look like new.”

“Well, thanks, Jo. If my showing this morning doesn't pan out, maybe I will give it a try. Not exactly in the job description, but then again, I'm getting desperate.”

“As long as you're fixing things up, you might throw a few potted plants in that area by the garage.”

Marie's showing would be any minute, so Jo told her goodbye and walked back to Edna's. As she did, she saw that there was a big van in the driveway, and a man pounding on Edna's front door. Jo called out to him, and as he turned toward her, she read the words on the front of his uniform: Mulberry Glen Animal Home.

Oh, no.

Simon ran a finger under his collar, hoping he wasn't sweating in the Florida morning heat. He needed to look calm, cool, and collected. First, though, he had to make the phone call that would determine—or perhaps seal—his fate.

He had borrowed Wiggles' car this morning, aware that his friend hadn't arrived home until the wee hours last night and would probably sleep half the day. Still, just to be safe, Simon had left a note on the kitchen table, along with a ten-dollar bill:
Wiggles
,
had to borrow the car, hope this covers your trouble. Be back in about an hour
.
Simon
.

He knew Wiggles would be mad, but he figured the ten bucks would ease his pain. And if Simon were lucky, he'd get back to the house before Wiggles even woke up, and then he could toss the note, pocket the cash, and his friend would never even have to know the difference.

Just to be prudent, Simon picked a different pay phone from the one he used last time. He found a quiet convenience store several miles from the house and just down the street from a small Florida bank. Heart pounding, he dropped in the coins and dialed the automated system that would tell him the status of his bank account. Once he was into the system, he typed in his account number and passcode.

After a moment, an automated voice responded.

“Your checking balance is four hundred thousand dollars and zero cents. Funds currently available for withdrawal are four hundred thousand dollars and zero cents. For recent checking activity, press one. For recent savings activity, press two…”

Simon hung up the phone, hardly able to catch his breath.

The checks had cleared! The money was his for the taking!

Unless…

Unless it was a trap.

He paced back and forth, took some deep breaths, and tried to calm his heart. He swore that if he could just get this money, he would give up grifting for good. No more games. No more cons. He was done.

Simon thought about what he could do with four hundred thousand dollars to go legit. He'd take a hundred thou and buy a little house, twenty more for a car, and sock the remainder away, living the rest of his days on what was left. Maybe get a little part-time job to supplement his income. Be a normal person for a change.

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. Maybe he could talk Edna into moving down to Florida too. If she sold her house, they could add that to the hundred he was gonna spend and buy something twice as nice. They'd get a place with a pool, maybe. That would convince her—her own swimming pool!

He dropped in more coins and dialed Edna's number. It rang and rang and then went to the machine. His mind raced, trying to think of some sort of encoded message he could leave.

“This is a church call,” he said after the beep. “It's a brush, right? We'll talk.”

Then he hung up the phone, confident Edna would understand what he meant—but no one else who might hear the message would.

Part of him wanted to wait until he got her on the phone before he took the next step. But a bigger part of him knew there was no time to lose.

He had to take the next step. Go for broke. It was now or never.