The Trouble With Tulip Read online

  After that, he would just have enough time to get cleaned up and dressed up and over to the church. The wedding was to begin at two, so he needed to be there by noon to get set up and start taking shots of the bride and the bridal party.

  Could this day get any better? Surely, it couldn’t get any worse.

  Simon Foster had exactly twenty-three dollars in his pocket. In the privacy of a dirty gas station bathroom in Baltimore, he counted it out again, just to make sure. Who would have thought he’d end up like this? Especially when things had been going so well. It was his bum luck. He always had bum luck, when it came down to it. This mess with Edna was just the latest in a long line of good deals gone bad.

  At least he managed to get out of Mulberry Glen without incident. But now he needed seventy-five dollars for the bus if he wanted to continue on to Jacksonville, where he could crash with a friend and wait to see if he’d be able to get that money out of the bank on Wednesday. If that didn’t pan out, Simon figured he could still hide out there and probably get in on whatever action his Florida buddies had going on. He always had been a valuable member of any team.

  For now, though, he would have to go solo. Gingerly, he balanced his suitcase on the bathroom sink and opened it up. The valet bit would have to do. There wasn’t really time for anything else.

  From the hastily packed jumble of clothing he pulled the red valet jacket, black pants, and white shirt. Once he was dressed, he fished around in the front pouch for the blank address forms and slipped them into his pocket. Everyone pulled the valet trick, but his came with a twist. He always had been a cut above the rest.

  He closed the suitcase and unzipped the back, where he kept the folded valet sign. Luckily, he hadn’t ditched it the last trip. He just never knew when it was going to come in handy.

  The mirror over the brown-crusted sink was cracked, but he did the best he could combing his hair. He had already taken the time to shave that morning, thinking of his father’s old adage: A clean-shaven man is always more likely to be trusted.

  Simon had already scoped out the perfect spot, a corner right up the street near several swanky restaurants. If the right mark came along, he could be done and out of there in a matter of minutes. One of the restaurants, called the Tea Parlor, seemed especially promising. Who but old ladies would be going out for tea?

  He needed somewhere to stash the suitcase. Walking out of the bathroom, he went behind the gas station and slipped it between a thick row of bushes. Then he carried his sign to the corner, opened it up, and waited.

  5

  Who’s writing your column while you’re on your honeymoon?” the hairdresser, Lola, asked, poking Jo in the head with a bobby pin. “Surely you won’t be dashing off helpful hints from the beach in Bermuda?”

  “We’re running some old classics all week,” Jo replied, watching her reflection in the mirror as her elaborate hairdo was slowly taking shape. “It’s been kind of fun, going through the archives.”

  Though Jo’s mind was still on Edna Pratt’s murder, once everyone else had gotten their questions answered, they seemed eager to change the subject. It was as if no one wanted to taint Jo’s special day with talk of death or murder. Instead, they were hopping from subject to subject, mostly related to the wedding.

  Now Lola had brought up the column. Despite Jo’s modest success—and modest income—the girls at the salon always seemed to think of her as a celebrity. She supposed she was one, of sorts, though she doubted the competition she presented was keeping Heloise up nights. Jo didn’t mind the “celebrity” part of her work: the personal appearances, the occasional television spot, and her once-a-week radio show. Mostly, though, she just liked writing her column, helping people get a handle on clutter and mess, and experimenting with new cleaning methods. That was the best part.

  “What’s up with your mom?” Lola asked Jo under her breath. “Looks like she’s driving my girl nuts.”

  Jo glanced back toward the manicure area, where her mother was pointing at one of her nails, berating the manicurist.

  “My mother is kind of a perfectionist,” Jo whispered.

  “Understatement of the year,” Marie added.

  “I guess that’s why we’re all glad she lives in New York,” another bridesmaid quipped softly.

  “Well, at least she sprang for a limo,” Lola said. “That thing makes my joint look swanky just by being parked out front.”

  “You should see the driver,” Marie giggled. “He’s a real cutie-pie.”

  Though Jo’s maid of honor, Marie, was not a raving beauty, there was something very attractive about her. Marie and Jo had been friends since high school, and even back then, the short, buxom brunette had been turning heads. Marie dated some, but she hadn’t yet found anyone she wanted to settle down with. She didn’t seem to mind; these days her bigger focus was in trying to get her real estate career off the ground. So far, Marie had listed three houses but had yet to sell one. Jo wondered if the housing market in their town would ever be robust enough to support another full-time Realtor. Mulberry Glen wasn’t exactly a hotbed of commerce and growth.

  “I didn’t see a ring on his finger,” one of the married bridesmaids commented.

  “I noticed that,” Marie replied, grinning. “He’s so yummy I almost skipped my hair appointment just to sit out there in the limo and keep him company.”

  Jo’s mother, Helen, joined them at that moment, her manicure finished, her hair ready for the final step.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Marie,” she chided. “At your age you should never date a man you aren’t willing to marry. You never know when you might fall in love.”

  Helen sat in the chair at the end of the row. Her stylist removed the curlers and began working with her hair.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to marry him?” Marie asked. “We’d have some gorgeous kids, that’s for sure. And just think, we could go on all our dates in a limo. How romantic.”

  “Oh, that’s silly,” Helen said, squinting her eyes at the mirror. “As I’ve always said, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a CEO as it is a plumber.”

  “Hey!” Lola cried. “My George is a plumber.”

  Jo felt her face burning red. Leave it to her mother to insult her hairdresser and friend.

  “No offense, darling,” Helen said. “Some plumbers make a very nice living, I’m sure. But I know Marie’s mother would rather see her with a doctor or a lawyer than a limo driver.”

  “My mother wants to see me with someone who will treat me right and love me forever,” Marie replied, surprising Jo with her forthrightness. Marie had always stood up to Jo’s mom better than anyone. “As for how he earns his living, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t care.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Helen said, tossing her head regally. “Ask her some time how much she really enjoys living on a fireman’s income.”

  If Jo’s face got any more red, she thought she might explode. Every nerve longed to berate her mother, to say Enough! Instead, she held her tongue, clenching her teeth. She rarely stood up to her mother.

  She certainly didn’t need to get into it today.

  Simon turned down the first two customers who pulled up in front of him with their blinker on. One was a couple and the next was a teenage girl. In both cases he apologized and said the valet lot was full.

  Finally, something looked promising. A gorgeous black Caddy pulled over and the passenger window smoothly rolled down. Inside were two elegantly dressed, silver-haired women.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said, putting on his most charming smile. He might be in his sixties with gray hair of his own, but he knew how to work a pair of old biddies. Soon they would be putty in his hands. “Will you be coming to the Tea Parlor today?”

  “We’re doing some shopping first,” the driver said, leaning toward him. “But that’s where we’ll be ending up.”

  “That’s good enough for us. I can take your car from here, or I can drop you at your choice of st
ores.”

  “Ooo, that sounds nice,” the passenger said. “Let’s get him to take us to Wellington’s.”

  “Wellington’s it is,” he said, discreetly kicking down the valet sign and then coming around and opening the driver’s door. He helped the woman climb out and move into the backseat, and then he slipped behind the wheel, taking the time to buckle his seat belt and adjust the rearview mirror. Above all, he wanted to give the impression that he was a careful individual not prone to recklessness.

  Fortunately, there was some heavy traffic in the downtown strip that gave him more time to work it. He chatted them up for a few minutes, making plenty of eye contact and paying several compliments. By the time they were halfway up the block, he had indeed won them over.

  “Oh, before I forget,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “The Tea Parlor is having a drawing today. A free trip to Can—to Canada.”

  He had almost slipped, saying Cancun. But that wouldn’t appeal to these women. He went on to describe a lovely weekend getaway to Banff and Lake Louise.

  “You just fill out this form and give it back to me. The drawing’s in about three hours. Will you be at the Tea Parlor by then?”

  “I’m sure we will,” the passenger said, passing one of the slips to her friend in the back and filling out her full name and address on another. “We just have an hour or two of shopping planned.”

  “Well, if by some chance you win and the manager needs to notify you right away, will there be someone at this address to answer the phone?”

  “My son lives with me,” the passenger said. “He should be home all day.”

  Scratch that one, Simon thought, trying not to wince.

  “No one will be at my house,” the woman in the back volunteered. “I live alone. But I could give you my cell phone number.”

  “That would be fine,” he said. “Whatever way we can reach you best.”

  He pulled to a stop in front of Wellington’s and helped them both out of the car.

  “You ladies have a lovely morning of shopping and we’ll see you back at the Tea Parlor in a few hours. Take your time.”

  They thanked him and one of them slipped him a five.

  He grinned as he drove away, loving this particular con. It never ceased to amaze him that folks would actually tip him to steal their car and rob their house.

  “These came out great,” Chief Cooper said, flipping through the series of 8 x 10 photos that Danny had brought in. “So much detail.”

  “Yeah, that’s the new Fujichrome film I’ve been trying. Very sharp.”

  “These are works of art,” the chief continued. “Very impressive. Like something outta Ranger Rick magazine. Do they even make Ranger Rick anymore? My kids always loved that. Lots of close-ups of frogs and squirrels and stuff.” The chief set the pile of pictures on the desk, an image of the smeared-white face of Edna Pratt on top. “The autopsy’s almost finished,” he continued. “Pretty soon we’ll know for sure if it was murder or an accident.”

  “Jo’s convinced it was murder,” Danny said.

  “I know,” the chief replied, “but as nothing was stolen, I’m having trouble finding a motive. According to all of the people we’ve spoken with, Mrs. Pratt didn’t own anything of real value other than a few small pieces of jewelry—and they’re all accounted for.”

  “How about what Jo saw and heard last night?” Danny asked. “Have you questioned the other neighbors?”

  “We’ve canvassed the whole neighborhood,” the chief replied, “and no one else heard the fight or saw anyone coming or going. From what I can tell, Edna Pratt was just your typical sixty-year-old woman. Lived in a modest house, belonged to a few women’s groups, kept up her health with a daily swim.”

  “What about assets? Insurance?”

  “Nothing special going on there. She was widowed six years ago and living on her late husband’s pension and social security. According to the next-door neighbor, Pratt kept her hedges trimmed, watered her flowers, and lived a nice quiet life. Frankly, I’m a little stumped as to who might have been arguing with her, much less why someone would want to kill her. She didn’t seem to have any enemies.”

  “Does she have relatives in the area? Maybe it was a family squabble.”

  “One daughter, but she lives in Texas. I just talked to her a few minutes ago.”

  “Is she coming up?”

  “Flying in tomorrow morning. She’s a politician smack in the middle of an election, so I get the impression the timing of this was a little inconvenient for her.”

  Danny looked at the chief, one eyebrow raised.

  “A mother’s death? Inconvenient?”

  The chief shrugged.

  “Let’s wait for the autopsy before we go speculating about people’s character. In the meantime, how ’bout we cut you a check for these pictures?”

  Chief Cooper pushed out his chair, stood, and led Danny to the desk of the man who handled the money. Danny was glad to get it, as his bank account was already groaning from the strain of this month’s bills. His wedding gift to Jo and Bradford was the deluxe bridal photography package, and he needed to pick up some supplies.

  As the guy loaded the information about Danny’s fee into his computer, Danny looked around the small station, a little depressed at the thought that he was twenty-eight years old and he was still having to supplement his meager income with jobs like this one.

  “Sure was nice of you to get all dressed up just to deliver these,” the chief teased, tearing Danny from his thoughts. “You weren’t hoping to run into a certain female cop, by any chance, were you? Maybe show her you clean up good? You even got the shaggy hair under control.”

  “Actually, getting the pictures printed took longer than I expected, so I had to go ahead and get dressed for Jo’s wedding. I’ll be driving straight from here to the church.”

  “Uh-huh,” Chief Cooper said, obviously not buying it. “Don’t worry, you’re like a walking magnet. If she’s here, she’ll find you.”

  “I don’t want her to find me. Listen, Chief, what you said earlier today, about working my way through the eligible women in town, did you really mean that? Do I have that…reputation?”

  The chief laughed, slapping his hand on a chair.

  “Nah, I was just kidding. But you do seem to have more than your share of dates. Every time I see you, you’re with a different gal.”

  Danny ran a hand over his chin and exhaled slowly, not sure why this conversation bothered him so much.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m always a gentleman,” he said at last. “But maybe I do have a hard time narrowing things down a bit.”

  “You draw women like flies to a picnic, that’s all I know. Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I guess it’s that starving artist thing you got going on, the creative soul and everything—not to mention that you’re a musician on the side. Some women really go for that stuff.”

  Before Danny could reply, a nearby printer sprang to life and started spitting out a check.

  “Hey, speaking of being a starving artist,” the chief continued as he tore the margins from Danny’s check, “didn’t I hear that you were gonna be a photographer for National Geographic or Scene It magazine? Whatever happened with that?”

  “Nothing yet,” Danny replied as he took the proffered check and slid it into his pocket. “I’ve just got big dreams in a very competitive field. I’m still trying to break in.”

  “Well, good luck with it. Maybe you should call Ranger Rick himself. Think there is such a fellow?”

  Reading the “entry form,” Simon saw that the woman lived at 563 West Chambers. The stupid city map had cost him five bucks in the mini-mart, but at least he had been able to easily find the address. As he pulled up the quiet, tree-lined street and turned into her driveway, he was glad he had ditched the red jacket ahead of time. He was much less conspicuous in just the shirt and pants.

  He calmly parked the Caddy, got out, and strolled
to the back door. Then, discreetly trying several keys on her ring, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  He had to work fast, so he started with a quick walk-through, checking each room for small valuables. The woman was obviously moneyed, and she had exquisite taste in Chinese porcelain. If he had more time and a local fence, he might have helped himself to a few of her vases.

  No time or opportunity for that, though. Simon didn’t like outright thievery, except when it was absolutely necessary. In his own personal code of ethics, stealing was wrong. Cons, on the other hand, were different. After all, a key ingredient to every con was the greed of the mark. They brought it on themselves—and usually deserved whatever they got. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. Considering all that Edna had said to him yesterday, these were indeed desperate times! He needed to find the woman’s stash of cash, something she was sure to have around somewhere. Old biddies like her always did. Simon searched all of the usual spots, finally finding a wad of money in one of the dress purses on a shelf in her closet. He took it without counting it, certain that it added up to at least several hundred dollars.

  The woman’s jewelry box was also in the closet, and he slid it out, put it on the bed, and opened it. Though there weren’t any precious jewels there, she did have several substantial gold items, including a very chunky bracelet. Perfect.

  Simon pocketed the best of the lot and put the box back on the shelf. His final stop was the bedside table drawer, and then the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Old ladies were always suffering aches and pains, and he thought he might score a bottle of prescription painkillers, which were always good for a quick sale. No dice, though. All he found were Advil and a bottle of blood pressure medicine.

  After that, he was ready to fly. Without missing a beat, he got out of the house, into the car, and within minutes was back on the main road, no one the wiser.