The Trouble With Tulip

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “You didn’t like her?”

  “She was nice. But there were no, uh, sparks, you know?”

  “Fine. I’ll tell her to stop calling you.”

  “Thanks. Just don’t hurt her feelings.”

  Their mother hurried over, microphone in her hand.

  “All right, no more chatting,” she said. “They’ll be opening the doors in half an hour, so we have to hustle if we want to run through the song.”

  One by one, Danny’s other sisters came in as they worked to set up their instruments. Forming the group known as Regeneration, the entire family had been making music together for years. When Danny was a boy, his mother’s dream was to be like a Christian version of the Partridge Family, a sort of roving band made up of her and her four children. All five of them sang beautifully, though mom Riva sang the lead. The rest of them provided backup vocals, and Danny was percussion, Denise was guitar, Diana was bass, and Donna was keyboards. Danny’s dad, a jovial fellow who hadn’t a musical bone in his body, served as their manager and number one promoter.

  Their family band was good, but they had never found much success beyond the local level. As the kids got older, one by one they lost interest and became involved in other extracurricular activities. Rather than dissolve the group completely, they changed its focus. Nowadays, instead of trying to pursue big dreams of stardom, they were simply committed to practicing one night a week and performing three or four times per month at churches and local festivals. It made for a nice hobby for all of them, and it also served as a way to keep in each other’s lives on a steady basis, week after week. Danny enjoyed it because he had a feeling that otherwise too much time might pass between visits. His sisters were all married with kids or kids on the way, and they were a busy bunch.

  “Everybody ready?” Riva asked, stepping in front of the microphone. “Let’s praise the Lord through song, shall we?”

  Danny gave them a downbeat and they were off, launching into the smooth vocal harmonies that truly were a joyful noise.

  “Is your car new?” Sally Sugarman asked as they rolled along, running one hand along the shiny leather arm rest.

  “No, it’s about six years old,” Jo replied.

  “Wow, it’s so clean. You should see the inside of my car. Most of the time it looks like a tornado came through. But even when it’s neat, it’s not clean. Not like this.”

  “The secret is saddle soap.”

  “Saddle soap?”

  Jo watched the speedometer reach sixty-five, and then she clicked on the cruise control and took her foot from the gas.

  “I have a whole routine I go through, but my best trick is cleaning the seats with saddle soap and a damp sponge. Works great.”

  “What else is in your routine?”

  “Well, you know those little scratches you can get in the clear plastic?” Jo asked, gesturing toward the dials on her dashboard. “If you rub in some baby oil, they disappear.”

  “Really.”

  “The biggest mistake I see people make is when they clean the inside of the windows. Most store-bought glass cleaners are ammonia based, but the ammonia can really dry out the plastic, rubber, and vinyl around the glass. For car interiors, I always recommend vinegar in water, like eight parts vinegar to one part water. It works just as well, but it doesn’t hurt the lining.”

  “I see.”

  “There are a lot more steps when you get down to it, but you should always finish off the dashboard with a silicone-free UV-blocking interior protectant. That prevents cracking and fading.”

  “Oh.”

  Sally seemed to have lost interest, and for the next few miles they rode along in silence.

  “I’m sorry,” Jo said finally. “Here you are coming to town to handle your mother’s funeral arrangements, and I’m rattling on about car care.”

  I’m also trying to keep my mind from Bradford and my own anger, Jo thought but did not say.

  “No,” Sally replied, shaking her head. “Don’t be sorry, Jo. It helps to take my mind off this tragedy.”

  “It can’t be easy for you.”

  “It’s not. And it comes at a really bad time. I’m up for reelection in two months. This is the last thing I have time for right now.”

  Jo blinked, startled by the harshness of her statement. Her mother’s death was a tragedy because it was…inconvenient?

  “At least the funeral home has been very helpful,” Sally said. “We made most of the arrangements over the phone yesterday, and if we can get the final details ironed out this evening, they’re going to go ahead with a small memorial service tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s fast.”

  “Well, I’m not expecting a big crowd. I just want to get it over and done with as soon as possible.”

  Over and done with as soon as possible. Was that a fitting end for anyone?

  “I didn’t know your mother very well,” Jo said finally.

  “She sure knew you. She knew your column, at least. She never missed it.”

  “I gathered as much. What was she like, as a person?”

  Hesitantly at first, Sally began sharing about her Pittsburgh childhood. Jo was surprised to hear her describe Edna as an unaffectionate, remote woman who was more concerned with keeping a clean house than with showing love to her only child. According to Sally, her father had a bit more parenting skills, though he, too, was dead now.

  “My dad passed away about ten years ago,” Sally continued. “My mom ended up in Mulberry Glen when she remarried a few years later, and then her second husband died of lung disease a few years after that. She’s been alone since. He didn’t have any children, so the house went to her and now to me. Her lawyer agreed to meet with me this afternoon. I’ll know more of the details then.”

  “What will you do with the house?”

  “Sell it, of course. You think I want to move to Mulberry Glen, Pennsylvania?”

  Jo didn’t respond, and after a moment, Sally seemed to realize how she had sounded.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with your town. It’s just that I have a whole life down in Texas. I’m happy there. I’ve got a strong career and a great husband and two wonderful kids. It’s just very difficult right now to take time out from my campaign to come up here and settle all of these details. My mother was in perfect health, so I doubt she had done much to prepare for her death. I guess I’ll have to hire someone local to clear the house out for me, sell her car, things like that.”

  “Sometimes it can be therapeutic to clear out the possessions of a loved one who has passed away,” Jo said. “After my grandmother died, I handled all of her old papers and belongings, and it gave me a real sense of closure. I even came to gain a whole new picture of her. I found a box of love letters in the attic to her from my grandfather, and I treasure them.”

  Sally took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.

  “Ah, but that’s the difference,” she said softly. “You treasure them because you obviously treasured your grandmother. My situation’s a lot more complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “Because I most certainly did not treasure my mother. Didn’t even like her very much. It’s a lot harder to follow up behind someone who’s died when your overall feeling is that you just want to be done with it and out of there.”

  11

  Simon sat on Wiggles’ porch for hours, waiting for the man to get home. Simon knew he could have easily picked the lock and made himself at home inside, but he didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot. He really needed a friend right now.

  Finally, he heard the distinct rattle of Wiggles’ old station wagon. He stood and waited as it rumbled up the street, over the patch of weeds that served as a driveway, and to a stop beside the bungalow.

  “You still got that old heap of junk?” Simon asked with a grin as his friend got out of the car.

  Wiggles looked the same as always, short and stooped and pas
ty, with a few long strands of hair that fought to cover his white head. True to his name, Wiggles’ body nearly vibrated from head to toe with steady tremors, the aftereffect of a bad case of childhood meningitis.

  “Well, Simon,” Wiggles said, slamming the car door. “Ain’t seen you in months.”

  “Yes, I’ve been busy. But that’s over now. Thought I’d see what’s going on here in Florida.”

  Wiggles came up onto the porch and began the long, excruciating process of pulling out his keychain, finding the house key, and sliding it into the lock. Simon learned a long time ago not to rush Wiggles or offer to do it for him. In certain ways, the man could be very stubborn.

  “You looking for somewhere to crash?” Wiggles asked, never one to beat around the bush. “ ’Cause it don’t come free and your word ain’t worth the sound it makes coming out of your mouth.”

  “I know, I know,” Simon said. “Sorry about that. I really did mean to send you what I owed you.”

  “It’s never too late to pay the piper.”

  Simon reached for the wad of cash in his pocket, most of which he had already taken out and slipped into a few well-placed, hidden pouches in his suitcase. He peeled off a twenty from what was left and held it out to Wiggles.

  “Nice try,” Wiggles said, glancing toward him and then returning his attention to the door lock. “You owe me sixty. Plus another hundred up front if you’re planning on staying here this week.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, my friend.”

  “And I know darn well you don’t show up here unless you got no place else to go. A hundred sixty pays back what you owe me and gives you a week’s lodging. Deal?”

  “How ’bout a hundred fifty?” Simon said. “For old times’ sake.”

  Wiggles eyed him suspiciously.

  “Sure,” he said finally. “A hundred fifty. But that means you gotta take out the trash and do all the dishes—the whole time you’re here.”

  “Danny, what’s wrong with you today?”

  He looked up at his sister Denise and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “You’re so distracted. What’s going on?”

  Danny and his sisters and their children were in The Depot, an ice cream parlor in downtown Mulberry Glen. The far end of the room housed a full electric train set, and the kids thought working the buttons on the train was a bigger treat than the ice cream. Danny and his sisters came here sometimes on Sunday afternoons because it entertained the kids and gave the grown-ups a chance to chat. Right now, the place was empty except for their group and the novel-reading teenager behind the counter.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally, dipping his spoon into caramel sauce and whipped cream. “I’m worried about Jo. She didn’t come to church this morning and she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Can you blame her? If I were her, I’d be so embarrassed I wouldn’t show my face around town for at least a week.”

  Danny shook his head.

  “No, Jo’s not like that. She’s just…”

  His voice faded off and he shrugged. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Truth be told, Danny always got a little agitated when he couldn’t find Jo; he figured it tapped into all those times when they were children and she would disappear on him without any warning. Rarely did they get a chance to say goodbye back then. He could remember waking up and throwing on clothes and running over to her house to play—only to be told by her grandmother that Jo’s parents had whisked her away on yet another extended trip.

  “I’m sorry, dear, Jo is gone,” the kindly woman would say. “But she might be back by Christmas.”

  Crestfallen, Danny would make his way home, kicking the dirt as he went, feeling so hurt by her horrible parents who disrupted his little world without a second thought. He was a grown man now, but sometimes he still felt like that lost, brokenhearted little boy.

  “I wouldn’t worry about Jo,” Donna said. “She’s the most resourceful woman I know.”

  “You’re right,” Danny said. “But this was a pretty big blow in a year that was tough all the way around.”

  The sisters looked at each other, some undercurrent of understanding passing between them. He squinted, looking from one to the other. All three had the same attractive features, big hair, big eyes—not to mention the same strange look on their faces.

  “What?” he asked finally. “What are you not saying?”

  Denise shrugged.

  “I don’t know, Danny. Just that now that the fiancé is out of the way, maybe it’s time for the real romance to begin.”

  “The real romance?”

  “You and Jo,” Donna said, stifling a smile.

  Danny put down his spoon, picked up his napkin, and wiped his mouth.

  “Jo is my best friend,” he said calmly. “She has always been my best friend.”

  “Call it what you want, bro,” Denise said. “But I hate to tell you: You’ve been in love with her for a while now.”

  Danny looked over at his nieces and nephews, who were arguing about whose turn it was to push the button that would raise the bridge. Over the years he and Jo had had to defend their friendship plenty of times, but never to his own family.

  “What makes you think I’m in love?” he asked. “That’s crazy.”

  “Is it?” Diana pressed. “Why did you buy Grandma and Grandpa’s house when they wanted to move to the retirement home?”

  “Because it was cheap! They gave me a great price.”

  “They gave you only slightly less than market value and you know it. You bought that house because Jo encouraged you to do it. She wanted the two of you to be neighbors. Just like when we were kids, the way you used to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s whenever she was in town.”

  “I used to stay there because she and I had fun together. It seemed easier to sleep over at Grandma and Grandpa’s than to have Mom drive me over there day after day.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you know what it’s like to be the only boy in a house full of sisters? Going over there was the only way to keep the three of you from interfering with my life!”

  “Whatever.”

  “Besides, Jo and I aren’t kids anymore,” Danny said. “We each have our own lives.”

  “Who do you call when you have a problem?” Diana said.

  “Who do you run to when you have good news?” Donna added.

  “Why do you think you’re feeling so funky today?” Denise concluded. “I’ll tell you why. Because you can’t find your true love. You’re lost without her.”

  The women giggled hysterically.

  “Lost without her,” he said, growing angry. Suddenly, Danny’s appetite disappeared. He set down his spoon, put his napkin on the table, and pushed back his chair. “Let me tell you something.”

  They waited respectfully, listening, biting their lips to hold in their smiles.

  “Jo Tulip is one of my favorite people in the world, that is true. But we are just friends. We always were just friends, always will be just friends. Think whatever you want, but my relationship with Jo will never be anything more than it is right now.”

  With that, he stood and grabbed his jacket.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “See you at Tuesday’s rehearsal.”

  Angrily, he stomped out of the ice cream parlor. As he went, he expected to hear at least one of them calling after him. Instead, not surprisingly, they all burst into giggles. Good grief.

  Just like he said, the three of them were always interfering with his life!

  Jo sat at the desk in Edna Pratt’s bedroom, flipping through a photo album. She put it back and pulled out the next item on the shelf, a small scrapbook filled with memorabilia. Jo had been at Edna’s house for most of the morning, helping Sally get a handle on the job at hand and getting a good look at Edna’s “stuff,” all in a fruitless attempt to find some sort of sign of foul play. Jo hadn’t found anything suspicious, and she still hadn’t brought up the subject she mos
t wanted to pursue—the notion that Edna had been murdered. Somehow, the mood had not yet been right for introducing such a radical thought.

  For the last hour, Jo had concentrated on the bedroom, clearing out the closet and then the dresser, making neat piles on the big bed. Sally was in the dining room with her mother’s lawyer, where they were going through estate papers. From what Jo could hear, nothing sounded complicated or surprising. It seemed much like when her own grandmother had died.

  She hoped Sally and the lawyer would be finished soon, and by then Jo would have gotten up the nerve to approach the subject of murder. Jo wasn’t sure why she hadn’t brought it up already. It was just that Sally seemed so bereft when they finally arrived at the house. Despite all of her bravado in the car, she had started crying, and after that Jo hadn’t had the heart to talk about it.

  Jo put back the scrapbook and pulled out another one, surprised to find that it was filled with newspaper and magazine clippings—mostly Tips from Tulip columns. Edna had highlighted some parts, circled others, and even made notes in the margin. Jo smiled as she went through them, pleased that Edna had taken her work so seriously.

  The dining room chairs scraped back, which was Jo’s cue that the lawyer was ready to go. She listened as Sally walked him to the door. He again expressed his shock and dismay at learning of Edna’s death, saying he knew now why Edna had never shown up for their appointment on Saturday.

  “Appointment on Saturday?” Sally asked. “You mean yesterday?”

  “Yes,” the lawyer replied. “Your mother called me Friday night and said she wanted to see me the next day, even if she had to pay extra for a weekend appointment. We scheduled it for noon, but she never showed. I later learned of her death, of course, and then it made sense.”

  “Do you know what she wanted to see you about?”

  “No, I don’t. I assume she just wanted to make sure her affairs were in order. Fortunately, they were, even without the appointment. Your mother was extremely organized.”

  As she showed him out, they said a few more things Jo couldn’t quite hear, and then, a moment later, Sally appeared in the bedroom doorway looking drained.