The Trouble with Tulip (33 page)

“Yeah, he, uh, he had to go out of town,” Danny said.

“He's usually waiting at the door when we open, ready to pick up his order.”

Danny studied the gold pin, thinking there wasn't really anything remarkable about it.

“Usually?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “How many orders have you done for him?”

The machine sprung to life, the credit card approval obviously having gone through. The man tore off the printed sheet and slid it toward Danny with a pen.

“This is about the tenth one, I guess,” he said. “Always the same thing. He brings me some cheap metal trinket and tells me to replicate it exactly in gold.”

“So he brought you this,” Danny said, holding up the metal rose, “and you made him this?” holding up the gold rose.

“Yeah,” the man said. “I don't know what it's for. But the work's been pretty steady, so I'm not complaining.”

Jo was actually glad she had the big dog in the car. When she had come to this hotel the first time, Danny had been with her, making her feel safe and protected. Now that she was alone, she was starting to have second thoughts. It really was a seedy part of town.

She clipped the leash on Chewie's collar and climbed out, glad to see he was behaving. With her free hand, she scooped up the answering machine. Then she tucked some money in her pocket and went inside.

As before, the counter was deserted, and as before, she rang the buzzer. As soon as the man came out from the back, though, Chewie started barking.

“Whoa!” the guy said, stepping back. “No dogs allowed, lady. No pets of any kind.”

Jo set the machine on the counter and knelt down to calm Chewie. She got him to stop barking, though he kept his body on full alert, a low growl escaping now and then from his throat.

“I'm not checking in,” she said. “Do you remember me from the other day?”

“Uh, sure,” the guy said, still looking uncertainly toward the dog. “Smell it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Smell it? I did the baking soda in the carpet like you suggested and put out the bowls of apples. The housekeeper was afraid of getting fruit flies, though, so she threw the apples out.”

Jo nodded, stifling a smile.

“It definitely smells better in here,” she said. “I think it made a real difference.”

The place was still a little rank, but he was right: It wasn't as bad as it had been before.

“Anyway,” she said, “I was wondering if I could get a little more help.”

“You still looking for Simon Foster? Ain't seen him.”

Jo pulled out a ten and set it on the counter in front of him.

“Time is money, right?” she said, meeting his eyes.

He took the ten and pocketed it.

“What do you want to know now?”

She lifted the plug from the answering machine and handed it to him.

“I want you to listen to a message and tell me if this sounds like Simon to you. He's using some kind of code. I wondered if you could tell me what he's really saying.”

The man hesitated before plugging in the machine.

“Ten bucks for telling you if it's him,” he said. “Another ten if I can explain what he's saying.”

“Fine.”

He plugged the machine in behind the counter and she pressed the buttons to make the message play.

This is a church call
, the message said.
It's a brush, right? We'll talk
.

When it was finished, she pressed the stop button.

“Yeah,” the old guy said. “That's Simon, far as I can tell.”

Jo reached into her pocket and came out with two fives. She gave them to the man, and he told her to play the message one more time. She did, and when it was finished, he nodded.

“He's saying two things here. A ‘church call' is a discussion about a con. Like, when you're ready to get the team set up, you sit down and go over the plans. That's a ‘church call.' ”

“What's a brush?”

He shook his head, chewing on his lip.

“A brush is usually a hand signal,” he said, demonstrating with a sweep of his hand. “It means, ‘The game is called off. Permanently.'”

22

J
o wasn't sure what to do with Chewie while she paid a visit to Mrs. Chutney. She didn't dare risk putting him inside her house, as he might eat one of her couch cushions. Finally, she decided he could go back to the fenced yard at Edna's. She dropped him off, made sure he had some water, and then kept going. She checked her voice mail as she drove, surprised to hear that she had a message from the handsome history professor.

“Hey, Jo, it's Keith McMann. I hope you don't mind; I looked you up in the phone book. I was just thinking about our conversation and wondered if maybe you'd like to get together and talk about it some more. Well, to be honest, I was just thinking that maybe I could take you to dinner. I hope you don't think I'm too forward. I don't even know if you're seeing somebody. I'm not. But now I'm rambling, so I guess I'll go. Call me back when you get a chance. Bye.”

The message ended without leaving a number. The second message, not surprisingly, was also from Keith.

“Keith McMann again. Sorry, I guess if you're going to call me back, you need my number.”

He gave the number and then said goodbye a second time.

Smiling to herself, Jo decided that was one call she would return later. For now, she dialed Danny's cell phone to ask how things had gone at the jewelry store.

“Long story,” he replied mysteriously. “I'll show you when I get back to town.”

Finished with that call, Jo turned onto Mrs. Chutney's street and drove slowly, looking for the right house.

She knew it was rude to pop in on someone unexpectedly, but that was the whole point. The more likely she was to catch Mrs. Chutney off guard, the more information she might be able to get out of her.

She parked in the street and then took the long stone walkway to the front door. The trees in the yard were just turning to their fall colors, complementing a lush row of yellow rose bushes. It was all so beautiful that by the time Mrs. Chutney answered the door, Jo had to bring her mind back to the task at hand.

“Jo Tulip!” Mrs. Chutney said, looking truly perplexed. “How are you, dear?”

Jo smiled, hoping she'd come at a good time.

“Hello, Mrs. Chutney,” she said. “I'm sorry about popping in like this. I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment.”

The woman momentarily looked confused, but she stepped back and held open the door politely.

“Of course,” she said. “Come in. Is this regarding the Christmas pageant?”

Jo didn't reply, letting the woman hold onto that notion until they were inside and seated. For the Christmas pageant last year, Mrs. Chutney had loaned Jo's committee several gorgeous tapestries that they had carefully fashioned into capes for the wise men, so it was a natural assumption as to why Jo had come calling today.

“Actually,” Jo said once they were across from each other in the formal living room, “I just wanted to talk to you. And I need to show you something.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you. This shouldn't take long.”

Jo reached into her tote bag and pulled out the photo of Edna as a child, with everyone posed on the stoop. She handed it over to Mrs. Chutney, who immediately stiffened up.

“I know you've seen this photo,” Jo said quickly. “And I know you know the man in the upper right corner.”

Mrs. Chutney did not respond.

“I wonder, however, if you've seen this version of the same picture. The
original
version.”

Jo handed her the smaller picture, the one without Simon added in. Mrs. Chutney studied them both for a long while, speechless.

“Mrs. Chutney, you and the other ladies were the victims of a con game,” Jo said gently. “I'm not sure why no one will talk about it, but the proof is coming out anyway.”

Jo pulled out the other two pictures for which Danny had found the originals and gave them over as well, along with their corresponding, doctored versions. Mrs. Chutney stared at them all, her face white as a sheet.

“He brought in experts,” Mrs. Chutney said softly. “An art historian. A history professor. Local people with sterling reputations who I know would not have lied.”

“They didn't lie,” Jo said. “They were duped as well.”

Mrs. Chutney studied the pictures even longer, but to Jo's relief, she didn't start to cry.

“I
told
Louise we needed to put a stop payment on our checks,” she said softly. “But she was afraid that would mess everything up—especially now that we were so close. She said we needed to trust Simon, that we would surely hear from him by the end of the week.”

“As far as I can tell, Mrs. Chutney, Simon is long gone. Your money is probably long gone as well.”

She nodded, closing her eyes.

“We were such fools. No one lives forever.”

Her statement sat there between them while Jo tried to puzzle that one out.

“Immortality?” Jo asked finally. “Is that what he was promising you?”

Mrs. Chutney' eyes snapped open. She gathered the photos into one pile and held them out to Jo.

“Darling, I'm sorry, but I can't say anything more right now. Let me talk with the other women first. We took a vow. I'm sure you understand.”

Jo didn't understand, but she could tell from Mrs. Chutney's posture that the interview was over. The woman stood, and Jo had no choice but to follow suit.

“I tell you what,” Jo said. “My house, tonight, seven o'clock. Anyone who is willing to talk to me about this can show up there. Then you can decide how to proceed as a group.”

Jo started to give her address, but Mrs. Chutney stopped her.

“I know where you live, dear. I was friends with your grandmother.”

“Then you know you can trust me,” Jo said. “Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

Mrs. Chutney simply pursed her lips and led the way to the front door.

“My house, tonight, seven o'clock,” Jo said. “I'm trusting you to spread the word.”

Simon was lost. He had ridden the bicycle to the beach in such a frenzy that now he couldn't even figure out how to get back to Wiggles' house.

It didn't matter. He could ride around all day and not care.

His sister was dead.

Almost like picking at a wound, Simon insisted on going back over in his mind the origins of this last con. He just couldn't understand where it had all gone wrong.

The idea for the game actually started several years ago, when Simon was visiting with an old buddy, a guy named Moses whose specialty was insurance fraud, particularly helping shady homeowners collect more than was rightfully theirs. The man was putting together a bogus portfolio of “proof of possession” when Simon stopped in to shoot the breeze and see if there were any good games floating in the wind and looking for another member.