The Trouble With Tulip

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Reluctantly, she agreed.

  “Come and get me at Edna’s,” she said. “I’ll continue working on the house until then.”

  The afternoon passed quickly—Jo finished the sewing room and moved on to the bedroom—and soon she and Danny were in his car, driving toward the address the professor had given them for the silver-haired man in the photos named Simon Foster. According to Keith, Simon lived in a seedy long-term motel at the edge of town, a place ironically called the Palace.

  Jo had never been there before, but she knew the area. It was in an old, industrial section of town, dotted with abandoned buildings, a few warehouses, and a sprawling trailer park. The hotel was at the end of a dead-end street, a blond brick building with a torn and faded awning over the main entrance.

  The smell of stale smoke and mildew assaulted them as they went in the door. The front desk was unattended, so they rang a buzzer next to the counter, and eventually an older gentleman shuffled into the room.

  “Help you?” he asked. “We don’t rent by the hour here.”

  Danny stepped forward, looking offended by the man’s insinuation.

  “We’re not trying to check in,” Danny said. “We’re looking for one of your guests. A man by the name of Simon Foster?”

  “Foster,” he replied, spitting toward the trash can. “Ain’t seen him since Friday.”

  “You mean he checked out?”

  “Not really. He just left. Might be back. His room’s paid for through the end of the month.”

  “But you think he’s gone for good?”

  “Probably. When I got here Saturday morning, his key had been dropped in the slot. Housekeeper said the room was stripped out. Guy took all his stuff—not to mention every light bulb and roll of toilet paper in there.”

  “Is that normal,” Danny asked, “for someone to pay for a room and decide to leave early?”

  The old man chuckled, which turned into a hacking cough. When he was finished, he spit again and then spoke.

  “This ain’t exactly the Hilton,” he said. “Costs a lot less per day if you pay by the month. Nonrefundable, though, if you decide to leave early.”

  “So you have a lot of transients here?” Jo asked.

  The man smiled, showing several empty sockets where some of his teeth should have been.

  “Folks around here do tend to come and go,” he said, nodding. He turned and started to walk away, as if their business was complete.

  “Could we ask a few more questions?” Jo said.

  “Time is money,” he replied.

  Jo didn’t know what he meant, but quickly Danny stepped forward and gave the guy a ten-dollar bill. Again, they were rewarded with a toothless smile.

  “What else you want to know?” he asked, pocketing the cash and stepping back toward them. “You two cops or something?”

  “No,” Jo said, offering no further explanation. “Did Simon ever bring any guests here?”

  The man seemed to consider her question.

  “There was one woman,” he said. “Older lady, grayish blond hair. Kind of plain looking, big nose.”

  Jo nodded, certain he was describing Edna.

  “I figured she was his pigeon,” he added.

  “Pigeon?” Danny asked.

  “Yeah. Two Eyes? Square? Shaky Mom?”

  Danny and Jo looked at each other and then at him.

  “Simon was the Mack,” he said slowly, as if that explained everything. Jo felt as though he were speaking in a foreign language. “At least from what I could tell. Though he might have been working it alone. I never saw him with a drag team.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jo said, “but we don’t understand these terms you’re using. What’s a drag team?”

  “A con. The guy’s a con artist. The Mack is the boss of a con.”

  Jo’s pulse surged.

  “What’s a pigeon?” she asked.

  “The victim,” he replied. “Little old ladies are always the easiest to fleece. That’s why it’s called a Granny Game.”

  Jo looked at Danny, a number of things suddenly moving into focus in her brain.

  “What makes you think Simon Foster was a con artist?” she asked.

  The old man shrugged.

  “I been around enough to know it when I see it. Shoot, he tried to double-fold me when he checked in.”

  “Double-fold?”

  The guy grinned, and Jo could tell he was enjoying this. Judging by the sounds coming from the back room, he didn’t have much else to do except watch television anyway.

  “I’ll show you,” he said.

  He went around the counter, opened a drawer, and reached for a metal cash box.

  “Don’t watch,” he said, so Jo and Danny averted their eyes, looking at each other instead. Soon, the man came back around the counter and gave them a nod.

  “You be me, I’m you,” he said. “I’d like a room, please.”

  Danny looked confused, but Jo understood what he was saying.

  “That’ll be two hundred dollars for the month,” she said, playing the part of the innkeeper.

  Nodding, the guy pulled a big wad of cash from his pocket, held his thumb across the front of the wad, and carefully counted out two hundred dollars in twenties. Then he pulled the twenties from the wad and handed them over.

  “Now,” he said. “I just gave you two hundred dollars, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “You counted it right in front of us,” she said. Nevertheless, she counted the bills out onto the counter, coming up with only one hundred and sixty dollars when she was done.

  “How’d you do that?” Danny exclaimed. “I watched you. There was no sleight of hand.”

  “I fixed the wad,” he told them. “Two of those twenties were folded in half, so they got counted twice. Classic con. Since I counted out the money right in front of you, you assumed I gave you the right amount.”

  Jo had to laugh. What an amazing trick!

  “Vendors do it at football games and carnivals all the time,” he said. “You buy a hot dog, give him a ten, he counts out your change using a few folded ones, you take it back and stick it in your pocket and don’t bother to count it because you saw him count it and so you think it’s correct.”

  He took the money back from her, moved behind the counter, and locked it into the box.

  “Anything else I can help you folks with today?” he asked.

  Jo looked at Danny, knowing they’d already learned more here than they’d bargained for.

  “I think that’ll do,” Danny said. “Thanks for all of your help.”

  “No problem.”

  They started to leave, but Jo paused at the door.

  “Excuse me, but can I make a suggestion?” she asked, unable to resist.

  The old guy nodded.

  “Sprinkle a little baking soda on the carpet in here, let it sit for about fifteen minutes, then vacuum it up. That should help eliminate the musty smell.”

  “Yeah?”

  “While you’re at it,” she added, “you might cut up a few apples and set them out in bowls on the counter. That’ll suck up some of the smoke.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “What are you, like Betty Crocker or something?”

  She smiled.

  “Something like that.”

  19

  Danny and Jo were quiet in the car, each lost in thought.

  “I think we should go to the police,” he said finally, and she nodded.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  He turned onto the road that would take them to the police station, feeling an odd heaviness settle in around his heart. Up until now this had all been fun and games. Once they brought the information they had to the chief, everything might change.

  Still, the cops needed to know what he and Jo were pursuing. More than likely, Simon Foster had been working some sort of con game on Edna Pratt before she ended up dead. It all sounded very
fishy, especially considering Jo’s certainty that the woman’s death had not been an accident.

  Danny’s phone rang, and a glance at the screen told him his mother was calling.

  “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  “What’s up?” she said. “Why don’t you tell me? Thanks for making me a pariah!”

  “What?”

  “A pariah! All I did was whip out this fax and start passing it around, and the next thing you know, half the group of women simply got up and left!”

  Danny looked at Jo, his eyes wide.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. But it was at least six or seven of them. Can you tell me, please, what I did that was so awful? I feel like an idiot and I don’t even know why.”

  “Mom, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect that kind of reaction. Jo and I were just trying to figure out who he is.”

  “What’s going on?” Jo whispered sharply, but he waved her off.

  “Mom, who walked out? Did you know them?”

  “Of course I do. They’re friends.” She rattled off the names, several of which he recognized, including Iris Chutney, the woman Professor McMann had mentioned.

  Danny thanked his mother for the names and for her efforts, despite the bad reaction. They talked long enough for her to calm down a bit, and he promised her he would explain everything very soon. Once he hung up the phone, he told Jo what his mother had said.

  “I think the con was bigger than just Edna,” Jo replied. “I think a whole group of women were being conned by this guy. I think Simon Foster was a sharp character who blew into town and started up some kind of crazy scheme and tricked a local expert like Keith McMann into making him seem legitimate. I think something went wrong last Friday night and Simon killed Edna and skipped town. That’s my theory. What do you think?”

  Danny put on his blinker to turn into the police station parking lot.

  “I think you should spell it out just that way for the chief,” he said.

  Chief Cooper didn’t seem to be in the best mood, considering that they had caught him practically on his way out the door. Still, Jo was glad he agreed to sit down with them. They went into his office and shared their thoughts and what they had learned. When they were finished, he shook his head slowly.

  “I’m sorry, folks,” he said. “But nothing has come to light in this office about any sort of swindle or con going on. No one has reported anything. No money has gone missing. And there’s a perfectly logical explanation for Edna Pratt’s accidental death. I don’t see on what grounds I could proceed with any of this.”

  Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. From there, he extracted a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and set it on the desk in front of the chief.

  “How about you go into your computer and look up the name Simon Foster?” he said. “That’s his picture, right there. That’s what he looks like.”

  “That’s all you got, a face and a name? No social? No date of birth?”

  “Sorry. That’s it.”

  The chief studied the picture for a minute, looked at Danny, and frowned.

  “I’ll send it through,” he said tiredly. “But if I do, then can I go home?”

  “Absolutely,” Danny replied.

  The chief turned to the computer at his desk and painstakingly typed in the information using one finger. After a few minutes, he exhaled slowly and spoke.

  “Foster’s an alias,” he said. “Real name’s Kurtz. Simon Kurtz.”

  Jo blinked, knowing she had recently heard or seen the name Kurtz somewhere.

  “Is he a wanted man?” Danny asked.

  “Nope. Has a criminal record, but no outstanding warrants. Hold on.”

  He pressed a few more keys and a new screen came up in front of him.

  “Okay, well, the prison thing is a matter of public record. Go do your own research on the Internet. I suggest you start with the state of Florida.”

  “They’ve got prison records online?” Jo asked.

  “With photos and everything,” the chief replied. “You can’t escape the long arm of the law.”

  He gave them back their photo and stood.

  “Okay, I’m going home now,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t help you more.”

  “You won’t even consider the possibility that Edna Pratt was murdered?” Jo said.

  “On what grounds, Miss Tulip?” he asked, not unkindly. “Because you have a hunch? I don’t care if you are the Smart Chick. It’s not enough.”

  It was getting dark by the time they came out of the station. Danny apologized that he had to abandon Jo in order to go to music rehearsal at the church.

  “In the meantime,” he said, “why don’t you go online and see if you can find Simon’s prison records?”

  “I’ll do that and more,” she replied, sounding determined. “I heard or read the name Kurtz somewhere in the last few days. I feel sure it was at Edna’s house. I’m going to dig back through the paperwork I’ve already boxed up to send to Sally. That name’s really bugging me.”

  They drove a few miles in silence and then Danny took a deep breath, hoping Jo would read his words simply as concerned friendship.

  “Look, Jo,” he said, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be there at Edna’s at night by yourself. I wish you’d wait until morning.”

  He expected an argument, but she simply nodded.

  “I know what you mean,” she told him. “Why don’t I call Marie and see if she’ll meet me there? I want her to look at the house anyway, so we can start the ball rolling on getting it sold.”

  Jo made the call to what sounded like a very eager Marie, who agreed to come right over.

  After she hung up the phone, Jo turned to Danny and smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For believing me. I know you were probably humoring me at first, but you still went through with my investigation. And now I can tell you believe me. It means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you are definitely the smartest of the Smart Chicks.”

  By the time Danny and Jo reached Edna’s, Marie was already sitting there in her car in the driveway, waiting for them. If she didn’t succeed in her real estate career, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

  Danny promised Jo he would meet her at her house later, after practice was finished. Then he watched her jump from his car, give Marie a quick hug, and head into the house with her.

  Deep inside, he felt a physical ache, acknowledging the growing possibility that even if Jo found out how he felt about her, she might not ever feel the same in return. It hadn’t struck him until today when they were meeting with the professor that Danny wasn’t her “type” at all and never had been. For the last two days he had been thinking in terms of “when” they might move from friendship into something more.

  Now he had to wonder if he needed to change that “when” to “if.” If.

  Putting it out of his mind for now, Danny drove toward the church, taking just a few minutes to hit a fast-food drive-through on the way to get a burger and fries, supersized. He knew his sisters would give him grief about the unhealthy choice—they already thought he was a Neanderthal when it came to food—but he had missed lunch, so he was starving.

  Despite all of the concerns weighing heavily on Danny’s mind, band practice was fun, as usual. Regeneration rehearsed in the church’s old sanctuary, a vast improvement over the years they had spent practicing in the family’s garage. They usually had the building to themselves on Tuesday nights, but this time there was a group of people in the main sanctuary, decorating for the new sermon series.

  “Oh, no,” Danny’s mother said when she came back from a restroom break. “Iris Chutney is in there. How awkward.”

  Danny sat up straight behind his drums, knowing this might be an opportunity to talk with the woman whose name kept popping up i
n the course of the investigation.

  The moment they were finished rehearsing, Danny pulled his mother aside and asked if she would mind calling Mrs. Chutney into a small side room and staying there while Danny spoke with her.

  Danny’s mom looked relieved, as he felt certain she was confused and embarrassed by the whole incident.

  Soon, Danny found himself in one of the Sunday school rooms, sitting in a circle of chairs with his mother, who was being too chatty in the face of her nervousness, and Mrs. Chutney, who looked as though she might bolt any minute. Praying for guidance, Danny took a deep breath and began.

  Gently, he explained that he was trying to get some information about a man, a fellow named Simon Foster, who had recently moved to Mulberry Glen and was doing some business with some of the women there in town. Danny was making a few educated guesses as he spoke, but judging from the look on Mrs. Chutney’s face, he was hitting pretty close to the truth.

  “Now that Edna Pratt has passed away,” Danny said, “Simon Foster has disappeared, and I’m trying to figure out where he might have gone or what happened to him. I wondered if maybe you had some dealings with him, and what you could tell me.”

  To his surprise, Mrs. Chutney suddenly burst into tears. Danny’s mom quickly moved over beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as the woman sobbed. Danny retrieved a box of tissues from beside the door and handed them over, and for a few minutes all that could be heard in the room was sobbing and sniffling and soft murmurings of comfort. Finally, Danny’s mom looked up at him, an imploring expression on her face.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” Danny said to Mrs. Chutney. “But it’s important. What can you tell me about Simon Foster?”

  The woman took a ragged breath and swiped at her face with tissues.

  “Not much,” she whispered finally. “Just that I’m afraid we were a foolish bunch of old women—with nothing to show for it now except broken hearts and ruined hopes. I can’t tell you the promises he made…”

  She started wailing again, and Danny patiently waited out her sobs.

  “What sort of promises?” he asked finally, but she shook her head and closed her eyes.