“I guess you’ve heard from Danny. Bradford’s gone.”
“Yes.”
He stepped into the room and looked about for a chair. Danny surrendered the stool he was sitting on and leaned uncomfortably against the wall.
“Here is how I suggest we proceed,” the pastor said. “I’ll say a few words to the congregation and try to minimize the embarrassment of what has happened as much as possible.”
“Oh, gee,” Jo said, swiping at her wet face, “that’ll be simple.”
“It will,” he insisted gently. “I’ll just say we need to be respectful of the bride’s feelings and trust that we can bring some resolution to the relationship one way or the other very soon. In the meantime, let us not condemn or throw stones or place blame. The kindest thing everyone can do is offer encouraging words and leave the whys and hows to the couple involved. Sometimes these things just happen.”
“Has it ever?”
“What?”
“Happened. To you. While you were performing a wedding for someone.”
Pastor Beacon ran one finger under the tight collar at his neck.
“No, not really. But there’s a first time for—”
“Where is he?” Jo’s father demanded, swinging open the door. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Jo stood, her full gown knocking over the stool behind her.
“Daddy, no,” she said, reaching out to touch her father’s arm. He jerked away, which only served to remind her of Bradford’s similar gesture at the altar. He was furious, the vein along his temple bulging out the way it did whenever he got worked up. He usually saved his temper for his coworkers and associates, yelling into the phone about market shares and shipping problems. Jo had no doubt that if Bradford were here right now, her father would pulverize him on the spot. Maybe it was best he had driven away.
“This isn’t helping anything, Mr. Tulip,” Pastor Beacon said. “Let’s speak in the hall.” With a firm hand he pulled Kent from the room, shutting the door behind them.
It just figures, Danny thought, that Jo’s dad is acting this way. For a man who doesn’t seem to care about his daughter any other time, suddenly he’s trying to pull the concerned father act? Give it a rest! Mr. Tulip would bluster and fume for a while, sure, but Danny would take bets that the man would be on a plane by nightfall, flying off to his next business appointment whether the situation was resolved or not.
“Maybe I should change clothes,” Jo said, sniffling heavily and not making a move toward the outfit hanging in the corner. “I feel like a complete dope sitting here in my wedding gown.”
“Do you want me to get Marie to help you?” Danny asked.
Jo looked at him, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.
“Why’d he do it, Danny?” she whispered.
Danny could feel his heart flip-flop in his chest. He had a number of opinions as to why Bradford had done it, but the honest truth was probably that the man had realized just in the nick of time what a big mistake the two of them were about to make. That was the silver lining in this very dark cloud, that at least Bradford’s actions had saved Jo from what would surely have been a lifetime of misery. Any fool could see that this had not been a match made in heaven; unfortunately, up until Bradford took off, both he and Jo were just fools enough to think it could work.
“Jo, look,” Danny said, reaching for her hands with his, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the small, intimate setting. “We will get this sorted out. In the meantime, just be glad it happened before the wedding and not after. What if he had become your husband and then abandoned you?”
Danny’s words sounded empty and hollow even to himself. After a moment, as he struggled to come up with something to say that would be a bigger comfort to his friend, the door opened and the pastor stepped into the room again.
“Your father is outside getting some air,” he said to Jo softly. “We have discussed the situation, and here’s how we’ll proceed, if it’s okay with you.”
Soon, everyone was on their way to the reception hall—everyone except for Jo, who was sitting in the back of the limousine, on her way home by herself. Since there were so many out-of-town guests, the pastor had suggested that the reception go on as planned, albeit in a modified form. Jo’s parents would serve as hosts, the wedding party would see to it that the event flowed smoothly, and the modest buffet dinner at a nearby restaurant would still be held.
“Certainly, you can go to the reception if you think you’re up to it,” Pastor Beacon had told her. “Otherwise, it’s probably best to remove you from the church now, while the congregation is still seated inside. The limo can pull around back and take you home.”
Several of the girls had offered to go with her, but Jo insisted that she wanted to be alone. Now, she felt ridiculously small in the back of the gigantic vehicle. She closed her eyes, knowing the whole thing was simply pathetic. She thought of the fancy hotel suite in nearby Moore City where she was to have spent her wedding night, not to mention the flight she and Bradford were to have taken the next morning, their honeymoon trip to Bermuda. Right now, Bradford was probably headed back to his apartment in New York. The hotel suite would sit empty tonight, as would their two seats on the flight to Bermuda tomorrow. No one on the plane would understand or care what had happened to those two passengers.
Why? The question pulled at her, filled her mind, overflowed her eyes with tears. Fumbling with the little compartments and doors around the minibar, she finally found a slot that dispensed tissues. She dabbed at her face, trying to imagine what her grandmother would say if she were here right now.
It will all be sorted out in time, Jo Jo. The Lord can bring good out of every bad thing.
That’s what she would have said, but it sounded a bit simplistic now. Where was the Lord when her groom dumped her at the altar?
For that matter, Jo thought, where was the Lord last year when my precious grandmother died slowly from cancer? Where was the Lord when my grandfather dropped dead five years ago from a stroke?
The bottom line, Jo knew, was that she had been alone through most everything in her life. And while she believed in a benevolent Creator, she suddenly doubted very much that He involved himself with the day-to-day concerns of anyone. If He could make good come from every bad thing, then why was her life such a mess?
The reception isn’t as bad as it could have been, Danny thought grimly as he stood near the punch bowl. Jo’s parents had turned on the charm, glad-handing the guests as graciously and smoothly as they probably handled their numerous business clients. Mr. Tulip had grown up in this town, and though he had long since moved away, almost everyone knew him or at least knew of him. He moved easily through the crowd, seeming to be everywhere at once, chatting people up, making sure they had food on their plate. Mrs. Tulip lent a quiet elegance to the event, her striking beauty and expensive attire bringing a level of class to the small-town setting. Danny knew she was usually a petty and bitter woman, but she was putting on the charm tonight. Danny would be able to report back to Jo that her parents had done her proud.
The band was pretty good too. A few people even got up to dance now and then. Fortunately, the gossip seemed to be at a minimum. There was an odd mood to the room, but with the pastor’s very visual presence among them, most folks were keeping their thoughts to themselves. The general consensus seemed to be that the reason Bradford had taken off was because the entire engagement process had been rushed along so quickly. Bradford and Jo had only met six months ago; it had obviously been far too soon to culminate their whirlwind romance into a wedding. Danny knew that much was true, but he also knew it was more than that, much more.
To his mind, Bradford and Jo had not really been in love with each other at all, but merely in love with love. Jo’s vision of a handsome groom to sweep her off her feet and make her dreams come true and her troubles go away was merely that: a vision. The reality was that Jo Tulip had probably never let anyone into the inner recesses of her heart, with
the exception of her father’s parents and Danny. She didn’t have a clue what real love was. She had been hurt and rejected so many times in her life that she had created walls around herself. At this point those walls were so thick that Danny doubted anyone else would ever get through. Even her relationship with God—though important to her—suffered because of her past. She didn’t know what true spiritual intimacy was, settling instead for so much less than the rewarding wholeness the Lord had to offer.
At least maybe those walls would serve her well now. If Jo had never really let Bradford in, then it wasn’t going to hurt very badly for very long as she got over him and worked out her feelings for him. Danny’s bigger concern was what this would do to Jo in the long run. If she already kept people at a distance, what was this hurt, this rejection, going to do to her? He thought of Pharaoh in the Bible and how every trial and tribulation wrought by God through Moses had hardened the ruler’s heart.
Don’t let Jo’s heart be hardened, Lord, Danny prayed. Keep her receptive to You.
By 4:00 P.M., Jo was going stir-crazy. She had heard from Danny once, when he called to say that the reception was lovely, gossip was minimal, and her parents were doing a great job of keeping the party rolling. Marie had also called, from her cell phone, but Jo let that one go to voice mail. No one else had called—especially not Bradford.
In the meantime, Jo had spent an hour on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floors with a hard-bristle brush. When all else failed and the world was crumbling down around her, she usually turned to prayer. This time, however, that wasn’t going to happen. She resorted to cleaning instead, as she could always find peace in cleaning. And though her intrusive houseguests had been as good as their word—repaired everything they’d broken and moved out all of their stuff—they had still left behind plenty of crumbs and spills. In a way, Jo was glad. It gave her something to attack.
Eventually, though, her work was finished. The house sparkled. Her heart ached. She changed into clean jeans and a shirt, pulled on her helmet and pads, grabbed her Rollerblades, and wrote out a note to Danny: Went to the park.
She went out the back door and across the grass, stepping over the split-rail fence into Danny’s yard. The grass had worn down to dirt where they always cut through. She made her way to the front, to the flower bed beside the door. Among the weeds nestled a little garden gnome Jo had bought for Danny years ago when she was living with her parents in Germany. Though it looked tacky now, at the time they both thought it was simply magical. The gnome’s hat was hinged at the back so that it could be opened, and the hollowed-out head made a little container, perfect for leaving secret notes. Over the years the gnome had become a point of communication for them both, and they still used it frequently.
Jo put the note into the head and then rolled down Danny’s driveway to the sidewalk and made her way to the end of the block, turning right along Maple Street. In the eight months since her grandmother had died, Jo had rediscovered in-line skating with a passion. The town park was on the other side of Maple, and it featured a long, beautiful bike path that allowed Rollerblading. Jo headed there now, but she hesitated just one block later as she reached Weeping Willow Way.
On a whim, she curved to the right and rolled toward Edna Pratt’s house. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours ago when she jogged past this home and heard an argument while trying to calm her prewedding jitters? It seemed a lifetime ago.
For Edna, it was a lifetime ago.
Jo rolled to a stop and sat on the curb across the street from Edna’s house. In the afternoon light, the place looked empty and forlorn, one piece of yellow police tape still hanging from the chain-link fence that surrounded the backyard. Jo wished she could remember more about what she had heard and seen last night. She had been so consumed with herself and her own anxieties at the time that she hadn’t even realized a woman was in jeopardy right behind those walls.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pratt,” Jo whispered. “I would have tried to save you if I had known.”
In her mind Jo went over the different conversations she’d had with Edna Pratt through the years. They had discussed gardening and closet organization and minor household repair. They had talked about Edna’s daughter, Senator Sally Sugarman, and all she had accomplished down in Texas. Jo had even met Sally once, at a party, and when she told her that her mother was always singing her praises, Sally had looked at her oddly and changed the subject.
Otherwise, there had been nothing of note for Jo to remember from Edna Pratt’s life. She was a nice woman, if a little reserved, and devoted to the pursuit of a clean house. Whenever someone could quote to Jo complete sentences from her own column, she knew they were indeed a fan. Edna Pratt had been such a person, which was why Jo knew the woman had been murdered. In a million years she would not have mixed bleach with ammonia. Whenever Tips from Tulip mentioned either substance, a warning was always included at the bottom of the column stating that the combination could be lethal.
So who killed you? Who were you fighting with? Why are you dead?
Jo’s life was certainly in a shambles around her feet right now, but maybe she could dedicate herself to answering those questions. Chief Cooper and the coroner both felt certain that the woman’s death was an accident, but deep in her gut Jo simply knew better. Maybe it was just the way her brain worked, but she was convinced that a kindred cleaning spirit like Edna Pratt wouldn’t have made that fatal mistake. Last night’s argument and speeding car only lent more weight to Jo’s certainty that Edna had been murdered.
I’m the only one who believes it, Jo thought, so maybe I’m the only one who can prove it.
Heart pounding, she stood, suddenly determined to find justice for Edna Pratt. Can I do it? Jo wondered. Can I uncover the truth myself? An internal dialogue ensued as she considered how her skills as a household problem-solver might extend themselves to a murder investigation.
“I’m Jo Tulip,” she said out loud, confidently, as she pushed off with her Rollerblades. “I have a solution for every situation.”
Just as quickly she stopped again, one house over, and looked back at Edna’s place, wavering just a bit.
“Correction,” she said to herself, more softly this time. “I have a solution for every situation…except my own love life and, oh yeah, the dead body next door.”
9
Danny was exhausted. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and then just sat there. Somehow he had to find the energy to go inside, change into something more comfortable, and then walk across the back lawn to face Jo. What a day.
By the end of the reception, he’d practically had to pry himself loose from one of Bradford’s female cousins. She had set her sights on him halfway through the party and wasn’t happy about taking no for an answer.
Why does this always happen to me, God? Do I lead these women on? Do I flirt and encourage them without even realizing it?
Before the chief’s comment that morning, Danny had never given his success with the ladies a second thought. But now he had to wonder: Was his love life out of control?
Currently, he had two women on the line, not counting Bradford’s cousin. There was Tiffany, his coworker, with whom he’d gone out for one lousy cup of coffee and she took it to mean they were officially a couple. Then there was Marci, a friend of one of his sisters, who had needed a date for a business function. Danny had obliged as a favor, but Marci took it as something more. In the past three weeks, she had called about five times to ask him out again.
What was he doing wrong?
I’m not interested in these women, God. Please show me how to live more honestly so they’ll understand that from the get-go. And if You do have a special someone in mind for me, bring her into my life. I’m tired of playing the field, of looking for something that simply isn’t there.
Feeling frustrated and confused, Danny climbed out of the car and went inside, suddenly realizing he was starving. He went straight to the kitchen eager to mak
e himself a big ham sandwich with mustard and Swiss. As he sliced open a roll, he paused to grab the phone and hit the speed dial for Jo’s house.
She didn’t answer, so he left a message that he was home now and he’d be over in a minute. It was more like fifteen minutes by the time he had eaten and changed, but she hadn’t called back. He tried calling again, and still he got no answer. She was probably just laying low, but before he went over there anyway, he checked the gnome. Sure enough, she had left a note.
Danny felt a surge of some emotion he couldn’t identify as he read the words she had scribbled. Deep in his heart, he longed to comfort her. She’d had too many rough knocks this year.
He decided to go over to the park and find her. He didn’t skate, but he could take his bicycle. The path was several miles long, but Danny had a feeling he knew exactly where she would be.
“How you doin’, Miss Tulip?”
Jo glanced up, not surprised to see Angus Young sitting on the loading dock of the main building at the Golden Acres Retirement Village, smoking a cigarette. She often cut through their back parking lot to reach the head of the biking trail, and Angus was a familiar sight there. His full-time job was as the janitor of the high school where Jo taught home economics, but she knew he made ends meet by working here at the retirement community on the weekends.
“Hey, Angus,” she said, slowing to a stop.
“I thought you’d be on your honeymoon by now.”
Angus was in his fifties, hardworking and hard-faced, with a scar that ran under his nose to his chin, splitting his lips. Angus was built like a Mack truck, which made him a valuable employee both at the school and at the retirement village. He was the one who did the heavy lifting, and Jo knew he was popular with the residents here. According to him, he was often called in to move around furniture or boxes—and then gratefully rewarded with homemade soup or cookies.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 7