The Trouble With Tulip Page 5

  The Caddy was so nice he toyed briefly with keeping it and driving himself to Florida. But that would be asking for trouble, as he was sure to get spotted on the interstate and brought in by the police.

  Instead, he drove to a parking lot near the original place he had acquired the car. Finding a spot on the end, he gathered his belongings, tossed the keys under the mat, and locked the door.

  His knocked-over valet sign was still there on the side of the road, lying flat in the grass. He scooped it up and kept walking, first to get his suitcase from the bushes behind the gas station and then three blocks over to the bus stop.

  He caught a bus to the main station in Washington, D.C., just to confuse any trail the cops might be following. In D.C. he could get lost in the crowd and buy another ticket there for the rest of the way to Florida.

  Simon didn’t count the cash until he was on the bus, in the last row, with no one around to observe him. Much to his excitement, he saw that he had scored a little more than twelve hundred dollars. Twelve hundred dollars!

  Simon tucked the money away, leaned back in his seat, and grinned. His father had taught him years ago how to land on his feet.

  Now it looked as though that was exactly what he had done.

  6

  We’re here,” Helen said, peering out of the window of the limousine as they pulled to a stop in front of the church.

  Between the salon visit and getting dressed for the wedding, Jo, her mother, and her bridesmaids had made up for the morning’s lost time by forgoing the leisurely lunch they had planned and grabbing some quick sandwiches instead. Now it was 1:00 P.M., exactly one hour until the ceremony was slated to begin. They were back on schedule.

  Too bad all Jo could think about was the investigation into Edna Pratt’s murder. She was dying to talk to Danny and find out what he knew. Though her girlfriends might think her morbid for worrying about this on her wedding day, she couldn’t help it. Her mind was filled with the image of poor Edna Pratt sprawled out on the floor with cucumber on her face and tomato in her hair.

  “Ladies?” the handsome limo driver said as he opened the door with a flourish.

  They climbed out one at a time—the bridesmaids, the flower girl, Helen, Marie, and then Jo. Though the driver held out a hand to assist Jo, he only had eyes for Marie.

  Jo stepped forward and heard the rip before she felt it, a slick sliding of metal against fabric followed by a distinct tug at her waist. She froze, knowing immediately what had happened: The guy had closed the car door on her wedding gown.

  “No!” Helen cried, and when Jo carefully turned to see, sure enough, the train of her dress was caught in the closed door of the limo, a torn piece of lace drifting to the ground beneath it like a feather. Marie looked from the dress to Jo and then burst into tears.

  “Oh, no!” Marie wailed. “That was my fault. I’m so sorry!”

  “No, I’m sorry,” the driver said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Everyone sprang into action, quickly opening the car door, pulling out the fabric, and assessing the damage. The tear was significant, but Jo was more worried for Marie, whose sobs were escalating.

  “You idiot, look what you’ve done! It’s ruined!” Helen screamed, bending down to finger the layers of linen and netting, each of which sported about a six-inch gash. A line of black grease ran along the top of the tear.

  “Let it drape,” one of the bridesmaids said. “Maybe it won’t show.”

  Jo just stood there while the women fussed about her, trying to see what could be done. As they did, Jo reached out to the sobbing Marie and placed a hand on her arm.

  “Marie,” Jo said softly, and then again, more loudly. “Marie! It’s okay. We can fix it. Stop crying.”

  “We can’t fix it! It’s ruined!”

  “She’s right. It’s ruined,” Helen pronounced, straightening up.

  “It’s pretty bad,” the driver said. “You’ll either have to go down the aisle like that or cut the whole dress off just above the tear.”

  Marie clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “Marie!” Jo said, focusing in on her. “Look who we’re talking about here. It’s me. Jo Tulip. Has there ever been anything I can’t fix?”

  Slowly, Marie’s eyes widened. She shook her head from side to side.

  “That’s right,” Jo continued calmly, glancing up at the clock tower of the stately white church. “We’ve got fifty-eight minutes before the wedding starts. Plenty of time to repair the damage that’s been done.”

  Helen pursed her lips.

  “Jo, you’ve got two layers of fabric here, with a grease stain on ripped linen and torn netting. I know you’re the Smart Chick and all that, but this’ll take a miracle.”

  “No, it won’t,” Jo said, holding up her fingers and then counting off. “It’ll just take an egg, an iron, a bottle of clear nail polish, a toothbrush, and some corn meal.”

  “Okay, look right here and smile,” Danny said. “Last one.”

  Bradford and his parents stood up straight and flashed their perfect teeth as Danny captured the moment on film.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I think that’ll do it.”

  They clustered together, speaking softly as Bradford crossed to Danny and held out his hand.

  “Thanks for doing this, buddy,” he said. “Jo and I sure do appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” Danny lied, shaking his hand. “My pleasure.”

  His heart heavy, Danny gathered up his equipment and carried it to an empty side room where he could switch out some lenses, load film, and organize his bag before photographing the women. The longer he had spent posing and photographing Bradford and his clan, the more upset he became about the impending nuptials. What was Jo doing? Was she out of her mind?

  It’s not that there was anything wrong with Bradford per se. It’s just that he and Jo hardly knew each other. Having grown up with three sisters of his own, Danny thought he understood women pretty well. But Jo had always been an enigma in some ways—and in this way most of all. She deserved a lifetime of love and happiness with someone who knew her to the depths of her soul, not just some executive type who happened to meet all of her “Mr. Right” requirements on the surface.

  Danny checked the batteries on his light meter as he recalled their biggest argument about it, just a few days before. They had met at the back fence, Jo weeding her flower bed as they talked.

  “Bradford is a nice guy,” Danny had said, “and I know your parents were pushing him on you pretty hard, but it’s irrational to think you can make a decent marriage out of a six-month relationship. And a long distance relationship at that!”

  “Bradford and I have been soul mates since the day we met,” Jo insisted as she ripped up a dandelion root. “You can’t even imagine how many things we have in common.”

  “With an occasional date here and there, all well planned and thought out and meticulous, how could you even know? I mean, that makes for a nice dating arrangement, but it’s hardly the basis for a marriage. Have you ever had a single argument? Does he even really know you?”

  “Know me?”

  “Like,” Danny sputtered, his hands forming circles in the air, “how you spend your free time, what movies you like to watch, what ice cream you choose when there are thirty-one flavors to choose from.”

  “Danny, come on. Those things aren’t important—”

  “But they are, Jo! Some would say they are the most important things of all. What do you know about him? How does he spend his money, do his laundry, study his Bible? What brand of ketchup does he like, what sort of trips does he dream of taking? Did he have a childhood pet?” He was grasping at straws. Thrusting a finger into the air, he added, “Does he love or hate mime?”

  Jo stood and put her hands on her hips.

  “You want me to cancel my wedding because I don’t know my fiancé’s stance on mime?”

  “Yes! No couple should ever get married without knowing that!”


  “You’re being ridiculous, Danny. And who are you to talk anyway? You’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a week.”

  “This isn’t about me, it’s about you. All I’m saying is that if you had any faith in this guy, you’d be eager to take it slow, not fast. You’d want to explore every good thing you have in common and every bad thing that might pop up to cause problems down the road. You’d make plans, negotiate the tougher issues, figure out what each of you will have to do to make this marriage work.”

  “We’ll cross each of those bridges as we come to them.”

  “Have you even decided where you’ll live when you come back from the honeymoon? I can’t imagine Bradford’s going to commute from here to New York City—it’s more than three hours each way! From what I can tell, that means you’re really only going to have a husband on the weekends—that is, unless you’re willing to give up your home and live there.”

  “You’re talking about logistical problems,” Jo said, avoiding his gaze and bending again to tend to the weeds. This time, as she pulled on them, her knuckles were white. “We’re working it out. For the time being, yes, we’re keeping my house and his apartment.”

  Danny studied the top of her head as she bent over the flowers. If she ripped those weeds out any harder, she’d break through clear to China.

  “What about spiritually?” he said. “Is Bradford really a man of faith?”

  “We’re the same religion.”

  “I’m not talking about religion. I’m talking about where he is in his personal walk. Is he mature spiritually? Because if he’s not, you’re making an even bigger mistake than I think you are.”

  “He’s a Christian,” Jo said defensively. “He gets to church when he can. He’s so busy all week, he needs Sunday to rest.”

  “Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you’re saying? How can you even consider yoking yourself with a man whose faith is at a different level than your own? Do you understand the kind of problems that can produce?”

  Jo didn’t reply, so Danny lowered himself there on his side of the fence, down on his knees until they were face-to-face. Then he reached out through the fence and put his hands on top of hers, forcing them to be still.

  “Jo,” he whispered, practically pleading. “Have you asked yourself what you’re running away from by marrying this man?”

  The conversation had ended there. In tears, she had jumped up and run back into her house. Then she avoided him for two days.

  Finally, last night, just before the wedding rehearsal, she stopped by his house and gave a short and obviously rehearsed speech about how she appreciated his concern but that she knew what she was doing and she didn’t ever want to hear his thoughts on the matter again. For the sake of their friendship, Danny had finally agreed.

  Sighing deeply, he slung a camera strap over his shoulder and headed toward the bridal room, knowing that it still didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Simon Foster chose the busiest line in the D.C. terminal, the one with the most harried and distracted-looking teller. When he asked for a one-way ticket to Jacksonville, he was careful not to make eye-contact or to do anything memorable. Though he doubted the Baltimore cops would do much more than take a theft report from the old biddies, it never hurt to cover his bases. It might also be smart to unload the gold jewelry as soon—and as locally—as possible.

  The bus didn’t leave for two hours, which gave him enough time to go out and find himself a pawn shop or a jeweler. As he made his way outside and down the grungy sidewalk, Simon marveled at how different working a con had become since he got older. With his silver temples, wrinkled face, and neat mustache, people were more inclined to trust him than they ever did when he was young and handsome. No one expected old folks to lie. Be cranky, maybe, or snap at nearby children. But they were generally considered trustworthy. As a professional grifter, he found that his age had become one of his biggest assets.

  Simon passed a jeweler with a sign in the window that said “We Buy Gold.” As he went in, he stooped a bit, slowed down, and shuffled his steps. The more they thought he was an honest old fellow selling off his widow’s bangles, the less trouble he’d have—and the more likely he was to get a decent price.

  It took a bit of haggling. But Simon was educated about gold and jewels, and once it became obvious that he knew his stuff, the jeweler offered him a fair amount. He paid Simon in cash, which added another five hundred to the cash he’d already acquired. All in all, this wasn’t shaping up to be such a bad day after all.

  If only he could know how things were playing out with Edna in Mulberry Glen.

  Danny knocked on the door of the bridal room. Jo was usually so organized and calm and efficient that Danny was surprised to find total chaos inside.

  “I’ve got the egg and the cornmeal!” the pastor cried, brushing past Danny and coming into the room with a brown paper bag in his hand. “My wife wanted to know if we were cooking up some fried catfish.”

  The women laughed. Jo took the bag from him and Danny watched as she set it on the counter next to a bottle of nail polish and an iron. Jo looked beautiful from the neck up, but instead of a wedding gown, she was wearing one of the church’s choir robes. Her gown was hanging nearby, and Danny gasped when he saw a giant rip and a big black stain halfway down the skirt.

  “Don’t panic,” Jo said, hearing his gasp and looking up at him. “We had a little accident, is all.”

  “What about the photos?” he asked.

  “We’ll have to do them after the ceremony. Right now I’ve got some threadless mending to do. Everybody, if you can’t get quiet, then get out.”

  They all settled down and watched, fascinated, as Jo went to work. She began by spreading the netting over an ironing board and then, using fingernail polish, she glued the tear back together again.

  “What are you doing?” someone asked softly.

  “You can’t sew netting or it makes an ugly seam,” Jo explained. “So I’m using this instead. The fingernail polish acts like a glue. Once it’s dry, the tear will be almost invisible.”

  Danny began to snap photos of Jo in action, thinking a few candid shots might be useful down the line. She might even be able to capitalize on this in the paper: “The Smart Chick Uses Household Hint Knowledge to Save Her Big Day.”

  By the time Jo was finished with the netting, the iron was hot and ready for the next step. Jo cracked the egg, separated the white, tossed the yolk, stirred it up, and then used the spoon to paint the egg white on the back of the fabric, right over the tear. She cut a small strip of matching linen from an inside seam of the dress and then placed it on top of the gooey wet area, and pressed it with the hot iron.

  “I call this invisible mending,” she said simply, glancing up to see everyone’s eyes on her. “It works on certain fabrics as long as you do it before there’s been much fraying.”

  Danny shook his head, proud of the odd storehouse of knowledge inside Jo Tulip’s astounding brain. It was no wonder her column was on the verge of national syndication. She could do anything, often with nothing more than a few ordinary household items.

  When she finished and turned the material over, the repair was, indeed, nearly invisible. Jo attacked the stain last, smoothing out that part of the material on the ironing board and then pouring cornmeal all over the big black smudge.

  “The milled grain should absorb the grease,” Jo explained, this time not even looking up to see who was watching. “We’ll give it as long as we can to just sit there and absorb, and then we’ll scrape it off and work at the stain with the toothbrush. Hopefully, we’ll get it all. In the meantime, Danny, may I speak with you in the hall?”

  He nodded, a sudden hope surging in his chest. Please, God, has she decided to call this wedding off after all?

  She took his elbow and led him from the room, an urgency to her stride. They walked together to the end of the hall, out of earshot, and then she spoke.

  “Danny, I have to
ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “The police. Have you talked to the police? I’m dying to know the final word on Edna Pratt’s autopsy.”

  Jo made Danny call Chief Cooper for the autopsy results, but as she listened to Danny’s side of the conversation, her heart sank.

  “I guess you heard from my end,” Danny said as he hung up. “Edna Pratt’s death has now officially been declared an accident.”

  “Why?” Jo demanded, knowing they were wrong.

  “Several reasons. First, the fatal head wound matched the shape of the indentation in the windowsill. Second, she had no other bruises or marks that would indicate she had been pushed down. She had to have fallen on her own.”

  “What if someone else mixed those chemicals when she wasn’t looking?” Jo said. “That would’ve been murder.”

  “I’m sorry, Jo. The chief says no go. There were no signs of breaking and entering, no indications of violence at all except the dent in the window frame. Like the coroner said, that was probably from Edna passing out and falling. The only thing out of the ordinary with this entire case are the things you heard and saw—the argument and the car. That’s not enough.”

  “I refuse to believe it,” Jo replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Edna Pratt knew too much about cleaning to mix together the wrong chemicals. What were the chemicals in that bucket, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let me borrow your phone, would you?”

  She took it from him before he could respond and pressed the redial button.

  “Chief Cooper?” she demanded once she had him on the phone. “Jo Tulip here. What was in the bucket that made Edna Pratt pass out?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to know that, Miss Tulip,” Chief Cooper replied. “The case is closed.”

  “I just want to know. Please? I think you owe me that much.”

  The chief grunted.

  “Fine, hold on.”

  She could hear him flipping through papers and then he spoke.