The Trouble with Tulip (31 page)

Leaving the car there beside the phone, he strolled the half block to the bank. Once inside, he told the teller he wanted to open an account.

She led him over to a desk and began entering information into a computer. He gave her one hundred dollars in cash and two legitimate forms of ID. When she asked, he supplied his date of birth and social security number. For an address, he provided Wiggles' house as his street address, but requested that all mail from the bank go to his PO box—the PO box he renewed annually but hadn't even taken a peek at in at least three months.

He kept the box for a variety of reasons, like this today. The last thing he needed was for Wiggles to get wind of his windfall. The guy was a friend, but a friend with an open palm, to be sure.

The only lie Simon gave the teller was the telephone number. When asked, he simply supplied a nonexistent number, explaining that he had just moved to town and the phone hadn't yet been installed, so it might not work for a few days.

As he spoke, he could hear the voice of his father, saying
Stick with the truth as much as possible, Simon. Lie only when necessary. Otherwise, you'll end up shooting yourself in the foot
. It was advice he always tried to follow.

Everything went through fine, just as Simon had hoped. Luckily, there was nothing that might flag him as an ex-con—or a fugitive on the run. He looked like a nice, normal guy in an Armani suit, just getting his finances in order.

When she finished with the paperwork, he asked for a notarized letter with all of the information so that he could transfer down the funds from his old bank. The bank had a notary on the premises, of course, so within fifteen minutes he had the letter in his pocket and he was on his way. They told him where he might find a Federal Express office, so he drove there straight away and sent the letter off.

It was done. At this point, one of two things was going to happen.

If the police weren't currently looking for him, then in a few days he would get the funds. If the police
were
looking for him, the simple banking trail would lead right to Wiggles' door—and to an arrest.

Ah, well, it was too late to turn back now.

Simon hurried home, eager to get back his ten bucks and change out of his suit before Wiggles even knew he had left. As he did, he had to keep himself from smiling.

He still needed to talk to Edna. But the way things were looking, he just might get away with this after all.

Jo had forgotten all about the dog.

Of course. Of course. Today was the day the dog had been scheduled to arrive. How could she have forgotten?

Only three weeks ago, she and Bradford had gone together to the private animal shelter in town and picked out their new pet—a precious two-year-old chocolate lab. They had scheduled for the shelter to deliver the dog the day they were to return from their honeymoon.

How pathetic it all seemed now, this strange attempt to construct a fairy-tale life. Husband and wife, cute dog, small-town home. But a few things had gone wrong along the way—namely, that the groom was missing from the picture!

Jo closed her eyes, remembering the moment they first spotted their pet. It was a dreary, rainy Saturday, the kind of day when it seemed best to sit around and do nothing, but Jo and Bradford had braved the weather because they very much wanted to run this particular errand. As they walked down the row of cages at the shelter, dog after dog thrust themselves against the wire, whining and begging and barking to be adopted.

But not Chewie. He simply sat at the back of his run, watching them, daring them to take him home. He was bedraggled and put-upon-looking, to be sure, but he was also very quiet and mellow. When Jo asked if there was any chance he was sick, the attendant just laughed.

“Chewie's healthy as a horse. He just gets a little nervous when it rains.”

“Why is his name Chewie?” Jo had asked, afraid she might be getting more than she bargained for. The last thing she needed was a dog that chewed up the furniture or something.

“I think he was named after Chewbacca, from Star Wars,” the man said. “Least, that's what the family said.”

“Cool,” was Bradford's reply. He was a big sci-fi fan. “We'll take him.”

Signing the papers and paying the fee was almost like adopting a child, and guiltily Jo had toyed with the idea of bringing the dog home that day. But then she knew she would have to find something to do with him during her final wedding preparations—not to mention she'd have to find someone to take care of him during the honeymoon. Better that he remain where he was for the next few weeks. The shelter was willing to keep him there for an extra fee, so it had all worked out fine.

Until now.

Now, there was a man at Edna's door, clipboard in hand, asking Jo to sign for this particular delivery.

“I went to your house and saw your note,” he told her. “I figured you left it there for me.”

“I'm so sorry,” Jo said, shaking her head. “Since we adopted that dog, everything has changed.”

Face burning with humiliation, Jo explained about the wedding and Bradford taking off when it came time for the vows. She said she understood that they probably couldn't refund her money, but that she wouldn't be taking the dog after all.

“Well, I'm the one that's sorry,” he said, still holding out the clipboard. “He's yours now, whether you want him or not. We're just a seasonal shelter. He's one of the last to go and then we're closing down until the spring.”

“What do you mean?”

She tried to argue with him that she couldn't take the dog. He was polite but persistent, saying if the dog really was that much of a burden, that maybe she should call the pound.

In the end, she lost the fight. She was angry about it until she got another look at him, huddling in his cage, looking for all the world like the sweetest, gentlest, most easygoing dog in the world. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe she could find someone who would take him off her hands.

Maybe Danny would like to have him.

Jo signed the clipboard, waited as the guy released the dog from the cage, and then accepted the leash as he handed it to her.

“Enjoy your new pet!” he said before climbing back into the van and driving away.

“Yeah, thanks,” she muttered softly.

On top of everything else in her life, this was exactly what she didn't need.

21

J
o held the leash while the dog went potty in the yard, making a mental note to buy a pooper-scooper ASAP. When he was finished, she awkwardly led him inside, closed the doors to the living room, and set him free in there while she went to the kitchen, got out the phone book, and called the pound.

She explained the situation and wasn't surprised to learn that all of those rumors from when she was a kid about what they did to doggies who didn't get adopted were true. As much as she didn't need this right now, she just couldn't be responsible for the death of a perfectly healthy canine.

She dug around in Edna's dishes until she found a bowl, which she filled with water. There was no food in the pantry, but she recalled bagging up a can of tuna, so she found it, opened it, and scooped it out on a plate next to the bowl. Pooper-scooper and dog food. The checklist was already growing.

Finally, she opened the living room door so that the dog could come into the kitchen. He jumped up and down, the first signs of excitement she'd seen in him. Jo felt her scowl turn into a smile as she knelt down to his level and accepted his affection. He wanted to be her friend. And he did have beautiful brown eyes.

“Okay, Chewie, why don't you eat?” she said begrudgingly.

He didn't hesitate, wolfing down the tuna and then slurping noisily from the water. As he did so, she decided to go out back and walk the chain-link fence, checking for holes. At least Edna had a fence. Jo had nothing at her house except the split rail across the back.

What was she going to do?

Once she verified that the fence was safe, she let the dog out back to run around for a while. He really was jumpy and happy, far different from the meek creature they had first spotted at the shelter. While he ran and played and chased squirrels, she decided to take a peek into Edna's small shed, the one structure she hadn't yet examined.

It was filled with a push mower, some tools, and a few big boxes. There was a box with a paint can and a few other odd items in it, and Jo hoped the paint would match the beige interior of the house. If she decided to do some touch-ups before Marie started showing the house, she knew the paint would come in handy. She had told Marie to give her at least a week before actively putting the house on the market, but Jo had been moving through things so quickly she might be able to revise that estimate.

Chewie found a spot near a tree where he settled down to take a breather, so Jo brought his water bowl outside and decided to let him stay there for a while. Then she went inside, washed his dinner plate, and went into the living room.

“No!” she yelled as soon as she entered the room.

It took a minute for her to figure out what had happened, but when she did, she wanted to scream again. Apparently, in the small amount of time she had spent on the phone with the pound, Chewie had managed to completely dismantle the couch and rip up an entire couch cushion. The stuffing was everywhere, little white puffs of foam rubber that made it look as if it had snowed.

“Chewie!” she yelled, and a moment later she could hear him thrusting himself against the back door screen trying to get to her.

She marched into the kitchen, ready to yell, but as soon as he saw her he just sat down, eyes wide, looking as innocent as any creature ever had. Jo didn't know much about dogs, but she had a feeling that yelling at him now, so far after the fact, would have no impact. He wouldn't even understand what he had done wrong.

Before she could decide what to do, the telephone rang. She answered it, half expecting it to be Danny. Instead, it was another man's voice.

“Yes, hello,” he said, “this is Pinkerton Jewelers, in Moore City. I just wanted to let you know your order is ready.”

“My order?”

“Yes. Is this Edna Pratt?”

“Uh,” Jo hesitated, wondering what kind of an order Edna might have placed at a jeweler. Somehow, Edna didn't exactly seem the jewelry type. “No. This is a friend. But I can take a message.”

“Good. Would you tell her the order's been ready for pickup for two days? The man who placed it said it was a rush job, so we got it done on time, but then nobody ever showed to pick it up.”

“The man?” Jo asked, heart pounding. “You mean Simon?”

“I don't know his name. Gray hair, mustache? He was insistent that it be done by Monday, and here it is Wednesday and we haven't seen him.”

“I understand.” Jo reached for pen and paper. “Can you give me the address of your store? We'll send someone right over to get it.”

As Jo wrote down the address in the city, she told herself that this was just part of her job description, part of putting Edna's affairs in order for her daughter Sally. But she knew it was more than that. It was a lead in her investigation.

Maybe.