The Trouble with Tulip (36 page)

So far, her theory held true as far as the solubility of the liquid went. She still wanted to check the pH, but she had a feeling that a dye had been added because the compound was an interesting deep blue color. With the right equipment, she would probably be able to identify the exact dye. Rather than go to that trouble, however, Jo decided simply to conclude her rudimentary analysis by determining the freezing point and boiling point of the liquid. With the data she had gathered, she would at least be able to preliminarily confirm or reject her theory. If the police became involved, they could have it sent to a lab, which would use expensive, specialized analysis equipment—such as infrared, nuclear magnetic resonance, neutron activation analysis, X-ray scatter, thin-layer and gaseous chromatography, and more—to analyze the compound more completely.

Jo worked for several hours, finding enormous comfort in the presence of Danny and even Chewie. The whole scene reminded her of days past, when she was the one hanging out on the rug, her grandmother sitting in the chair, and her grandfather working in the lab area.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same
, she thought. And, oh, how things had changed.

The phone rang around 9:00
P.M
. It was Keith McMann, following up on the message she had never found time to return.

“You must think I'm a babbling idiot,” he said, “leaving two messages like that.”

“Not at all,” she replied, bracing the phone against her shoulder so she could continue to work as she talked. “I thought it was cute.”

“So, how about it? Would you like to go out sometime?”

Jo glanced over at Danny, who seemed to be thoroughly immersed in the book on his lap.

“Thank you so much for asking,” she said. “I'm very flattered. But the truth is, I'm kind of in dating limbo right now. Going through a breakup.”

“Ah. The musician?”

She glanced again at Danny.

“No, Danny's just a friend. This was…well, it's been a big mess. My fiancé left me at the altar. On Saturday.”

“Saturday. Last Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“Ouch. I'm so sorry. How big of an idiot is he?”

Jo smiled.

“A really big idiot,” she replied. “I think he's out of the picture for good, but I'm not up to starting something new just yet. Why don't you hang on to my number and give me a call in a month or so?”

“A month or so. Hmm… I don't know if I can go that long without looking into your beautiful green eyes again.”

Jo was both startled and secretly pleased with his boldness. Her ego had taken such a bruising on Saturday that it felt good to be admired by a handsome and intelligent man.

They ended the conversation a few moments later, and after she hung up the phone, she began whistling as she worked.

“Do you mind?” Danny snapped, strangely irritable. “I'm trying to read here.”

“Sorry.”

She went back to working in silence.

When her final test was run, she pulled off the gloves and apron, sealed the remaining liquid back in the can, and looked over at her two companions.

Chewie was back on the couch, snoring soundly. Danny, too, was asleep, the book open on his lap, the light still shining over his shoulder. Somehow, at that moment, all of the mess with Bradford and her mother seemed a million miles away.

Reluctant to disturb the scene but knowing they all needed to get to bed, she walked over to Danny and shook him awake with a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly, and as he focused in on her, she felt an odd sort of surge, like a longing mixed with safety mixed with something she couldn't identify.

“Time to go home, sweetie,” she whispered. Then, unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed his cheek, thanking God that she had such a dear friend in her life, one who had always been there for her—and always would.

The all-you-can-eat shrimp at the Surf and Turf wasn't sitting well. Simon sat up on the couch, his mood as sour as his stomach.

There was one angle he hadn't covered, one phone call he knew he ought to make. Wiggles had gone to bed early, and Simon could hear deep snores coming from the bedroom. The man was down for the count, for sure.

Simon didn't want to use Wiggles' telephone for a business call, so despite his exhaustion and his upset stomach, he pulled on a pair of pants, took Wiggles' car keys, and headed out the door. This shouldn't take more than a few minutes, and Wiggles would never be the wiser.

The streets were dark and quiet, and as Simon neared the pay phone, he was reminded of the horrible call this afternoon, when he got the news about Edna. Putting that out of his mind for now, he dropped in the last of his change and dialed the home phone number of Angus Young, his inside man at Golden Acres Retirement Village.

Angus answered with a muffled voice, and Simon realized he must have been asleep.

“Angus?” he said, making sure he had the correct person.

“Yeah?”

“It's Simon.”

That was met with a long, cold silence.

“Simon,” the man's voice said finally, his tone sounding angry and disappointed. “I thought you fell off the end of the earth.”

“No, I just found it necessary to go out of town for a while. I suppose you've heard the news about Edna.”

“Yeah, that's too bad. I know you two was close to each other.”

Simon looked away, trying not to tear up again.

“The thing is,” Simon said, “I haven't talked to anyone there in town since I left. I wonder if you could tell me the general mood at the retirement village.”

“The mood?” Angus asked. “The mood is getting desperate, if you really care to know. There's lots of whispering and meeting and threatening going on. I don't think they're gonna stay quiet about things much longer.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, really. You shoulda called some of 'em, Simon, kept them calm. Mrs. Louise is holding them off as long as she can, but it's a fight she's about to lose. There's this girl, Jo Tulip, going around and asking a lot of questions. People are starting to panic, thinking you ripped them off.”

“What about the police?”

“The police? What about them?”

“Are they…looking for me?”

Angus sighed loudly.

“I already told you, ain't nobody talked yet. But soon as they do, you can bet everybody'll be looking for you—police, FBI, you name it.”

“You think I should call some of the women and assure them that everything's right on schedule?”

“I don't think nothing. I don't care what you do. I'm just glad to see you're gone, wishin' you'd be done and out of here.”

Simon didn't blame Angus for his attitude; after all, he
was
being blackmailed. And good thing, too, because he had been a valuable help in the last few months as the con came together.

Simon had first spotted Angus while visiting some wealthy potential pigeons at Golden Acres, and that night he showed up at his house with his proposal: Angus would keep an ear to the ground at the home, let Simon know who the wealthiest residents were and what people were saying about him. In return, Simon would withhold from Golden Acres management—not to mention the local high school—the interesting tidbit that Angus's real name was Fred Jackson and that he had done fifteen years in the Florida state penitentiary for murder one. Simon knew this because their prison terms had intersected. The scar that ran from Angus's nose to his chin had come compliments of a fight in the lunchroom one day, between Angus and another inmate. Simon could still remember the sight of that guy using a food tray to try to shut Fred up permanently.

“Is this thing over yet, or you coming back to finish things off?” Angus asked.

Simon hesitated, knowing he was a thorn in Angus's side—a very irritating thorn. While he knew he had the upper hand, he sure didn't want to press his luck.

“Just keep your ears open,” Simon said. “What I do from here is my business.”

“What about Jo Tulip?” Angus asked. “I know her, from the school. She's a pretty sharp girl. I think she's close to figuring some things out.”

“Then you'd better turn your attention in her direction,” Simon threatened. “Because if the cops get wind of this game before I get my money, the first person I'm bringing down with me is you.”

24

N
ot knowing what else to do, Jo let Chewie sleep on a blanket on the floor in her bedroom. When she awoke the next morning, however, he was pressed up next to her, sound asleep, on the bed. Jo didn't know what to think about that—though she was glad she had taken the time the day before to give him a bath.

Before doing anything else, Jo spent half an hour getting the house ready for company—dusting, vacuuming, setting up the coffee machine and a tray of treats. The house was already spotless, but it felt good to run over it again just in case.

Jo had a lot going on that day, including—she hoped—a meeting with the women's club at noon and her radio show at 2:00
P.M
. She also wanted to drop off the forms she filled out applying for a full-time teaching position at the high school. She brought Chewie along with her, noting that he really seemed to love riding in the car. Once Jo was there, she cracked the window and ran inside the brick building, glad that it was cool enough outside so that he would be fine.

Simon opened his eyes, knowing that today was the day the bank would get his notarized letter requesting the funds from his account. He had included a return overnight express form, prepaid, so if all went according to plan, tomorrow he would receive a bank check for nearly half a million dollars. That meant that as long as nothing went wrong in the next twenty-four hours, he would be home free. Tomorrow he would probably spend the entire day on Wiggles' front steps, waiting for the delivery.

Of course, so many things could still go wrong. The pigeons, for one thing, might not remain silent much longer. According to his conversation with Angus last night, in fact, it was time to do some damage control. If only he had known sooner that Edna didn't go to the police, this whole thing would have turned out much differently