The Trouble with Tulip (19 page)

Danny was just packing up to leave the studio when Tiffany buzzed and told him Jo was on line one. His heart did a flip-flop in his chest as he tentatively reached for the receiver.

“Yes?” he said, his voice sounding strained in his own ear.

“Danny, hi,” Jo replied, her voice soft and far away. “I need a favor.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Anything.” His plans for the rest of the day were modest: balance checkbook, pay bills, and straighten up a little before a couple of guys came over to watch the game. On second thought, they were all slobs too. Maybe he'd skip the straightening part.

“I'm in Moore City meeting with Milton, and it looks like it's going to take longer than I thought. Is there any way you could run by the school and pick something up for me? It's just some papers the secretary put together.”

“Sure,” Danny said. “I can do it right now. No problem.”

“Thanks, Danny. I have to admit, even if I were in town, I think I'd be too embarrassed to show my face over there just yet. The kids are going to have a field day with my being stood up at the altar.”

“I understand. Not a problem.”

He hesitated, hearing something odd in her voice. Even as self-conscious as he was feeling, something told him she needed him right now.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You sound funny.”

“Guess I'm just thinking about next week when I do have to show up and teach. How humiliating.”

He tried to offer her some comfort, but she didn't sound convinced. After they hung up, he drove across town to the high school, parked in a visitor slot, and went inside, requesting the papers for Jo Tulip. The secretary gave him a brown manila envelope. As he came back out of the office, he nodded toward the janitor, a big man with a scarred lip who looked very familiar. Danny glanced back at him again to see the man staring oddly at him as well.

“Do we know each other?” Danny asked.

The man smiled.

“Just trying to figure that out,” he said. “Oh, I know. You're Jo Tulip's friend. I've seen you with her at the park.”

“Yes,” Danny said, remembering now. “I thought you worked at Golden Acres Retirement Village.”

“I've got two jobs,” the man replied. “There and here.”

“Well, nice to see you again.”

Danny tucked the envelope under his arm and started walking.

“So how is Jo?” the man called after him. “I saw that article about her in the newspaper. Did she really have to go in and look at a dead body?”

“Edna Pratt,” Danny replied, nodding. “It was really something.”

“You were there too?” Angus asked, falling into step beside Danny.

“Yep. The police hired me to photograph the scene.”

“Photograph?” Angus asked. “You took
pictures
of the dead body?”

“Yep. They weren't sure at first if it was a crime scene, so they brought me in to photograph it just in case.”

“There was other people there?”

“Sure. Lots of cops. Neighbors hanging around outside.”

“How 'bout a man, an older gentleman, silver hair, mustache?”

“I don't recall anyone like that. Why?”

Angus shrugged.

“Mrs. Pratt, she comes to the retirement village sometimes to visit friends. He's usually with her. Never knew if he was her boyfriend or what.”

“I have no idea.”

“But her death…it was an accident, right?”

“Yes, an accident.”

“And she really is dead? You saw the body with your own eyes?”

Danny hesitated, wondering why it mattered so much to this man.

“I-I mean,” Angus stuttered, “I was just curious, is all. Miss Tulip is a nice lady. I hate to think of her having to look at something like that.”

“Jo's stronger than you think,” Danny replied. “She handled it well.”

“That's good. And Edna Pratt, she really was dead?”

“She really was dead,” Danny replied. “Without a doubt.”

Angus looked oddly relieved.

Danny puzzled over that all the way to his car. Then he promptly forgot about it as he headed toward home, wondering if he ought to pick up some bean dip for tonight, just in case Ray forgot to bring it. Popcorn might be a good idea too.

14

J
o felt guilty about lying to Danny, but she really didn't feel like getting into things over the phone. The truth was that her meeting with Milton had been finished for several hours. She just wasn't ready to leave the city yet.

She had come out of his office in a daze and simply started walking. Before she knew it, the sun had moved much farther along in the sky and she was several miles from where she had started.

Jo called Danny and asked him to run the errand to the school, and then she hung up the phone, turned it off, and started walking back the way she had come. After a while, she passed a small riverside park that seemed clean and safe, so she made her way to a bench there that overlooked the water.

She knew she ought to pray, but she couldn't. Right now, as far as she was concerned, God had done nothing in her life except, one by one, take away everything that was precious to her. Worse than that, not only had God failed her, she had failed herself. She had taken the legacy handed to her by her grandparents and driven it into the ground. There was no other way to see it. Not only had she not adapted to the changing times—she hadn't even realized the times were changing! As soon as Annette had explained, however, Jo knew that it was true. More and more, her letters were from little old ladies with no money but lots of time—the exact opposite of the “desired demographic.” Her column had become obsolete.

Annette and Milton had encouraged her to forget the column and focus more on other media. Radio. Television. Maybe write a book. She would think about it, but thus far in her life, she had only done those things for promotional purposes. The column was the centerpiece of everything. Without that, what was the point of all the other?

Jo closed her eyes, remembering the period of time when she and her grandmother had written the column together. Her grandmother was ready to retire and Jo was eager to take over, but they had taken it slowly so Jo could learn everything step-by-step. First, Nana had taught her how to choose the best reader letters for the column. They usually selected the quirky, the unusual—and especially the clueless. Those made the best letters of all.

Next, they would comb through their past experience, combining knowledge with theory until they had solved the issue at hand. If it was a stain or something else chemically based that Jo couldn't figure out, she would work on the problem with Pap, who eventually found a solution for almost every problem.

Finally, she and Nana would construct the reply. Sometimes that was the hardest part of all, since it took a lot of work to sound so effortless. Nana said Jo had a real flair for humor, and that she should develop that. In the few years since Jo had taken over the column completely herself, she had found herself exploring humor more and more.

But there was nothing funny about her situation now. Jo closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I'm sorry, Nana,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, Pap. I'm sorry for letting you both down.”

Simon pulled the card from his pocket and balanced it on top of the pay phone. According to the teller at the bank in Mulberry Glen, he could dial into their automated system and check the balance on his account. He had hesitated to do that in case the call set off some sort of electronic tracking system. Surely the account had been closed by now and the police were looking for any indication of his whereabouts.

But just in case…

Just in case the money was still there, ripe for the taking…

He had to do it.

Fingers shaking, Simon pressed the buttons that would connect him to the system. Once he was in, he held his breath as he entered his account number and then the passcode the teller had given him.

After a moment, an automated voice responded.

“Your balance is four hundred thousand dollars and zero cents. Funds currently available for withdrawal are zero dollars and zero cents.”

The voice went on to offer him more menu options, but he hung up, heart pounding. Did that mean the account was still intact, still sitting there, just waiting for the checks to clear? Or did that mean the police had put some sort of “freeze” on the account so that they could track him down while he tried to get his hands on the money?

Simon slid the card into his pocket and stood there, tuning out the noisy sounds of the gas station behind him. So Wiggles wouldn't know what he was doing, he had walked half a mile to get to this pay phone. Now he wondered if there was one more call he wanted to make before returning to the house.

He decided to think about it for a while first. It had been in the back of his mind since he snuck out of Mulberry Glen. But would it be a mistake? If he made the call, would the phone lines point a trail directly back to him?

Across the street was a small diner, and in the window was a faded, dirty sign that advertised a three-dollar omelet twenty-four hours a day. As if in response, his stomach growled. He decided to spring for the three bucks, get some chow, and think about the call. If he made this particular call, one of two things would happen: Either it would solve his problems, or it would greatly compound the ones he already had.

Jo knew she couldn't sit in a park and feel sorry for herself all day. In her purse was the check from Sally for clearing out Edna Pratt's house, so that seemed like a logical next step. Besides, she had a murder to investigate.

Jo walked all the way back to the parking lot near Milton's office, feeling her spirits lift just a bit with the prospect of the project. Housecleaning was always her favorite antidote for whatever ailed her, so completely clearing out a house would probably make her feel much, much better. At least it would help keep her mind off her string of failures: Bradford, the column, her life.

At least I have life
, Jo thought as she started up the car.
Poor Edna Pratt no longer does.
Jo was determined to do a good job clearing out Edna's things—and hopefully find some clues to what might've caused her death in the process.