“As long as you’re fixing things up, you might throw a few potted plants in that area by the garage.”
Marie’s showing would be any minute, so Jo told her goodbye and walked back to Edna’s. As she did, she saw that there was a big van in the driveway, and a man pounding on Edna’s front door. Jo called out to him, and as he turned toward her, she read the words on the front of his uniform: Mulberry Glen Animal Home.
Oh, no.
Simon ran a finger under his collar, hoping he wasn’t sweating in the Florida morning heat. He needed to look calm, cool, and collected. First, though, he had to make the phone call that would determine—or perhaps seal—his fate.
He had borrowed Wiggles’ car this morning, aware that his friend hadn’t arrived home until the wee hours last night and would probably sleep half the day. Still, just to be safe, Simon had left a note on the kitchen table, along with a ten-dollar bill: Wiggles, had to borrow the car, hope this covers your trouble. Be back in about an hour. Simon.
He knew Wiggles would be mad, but he figured the ten bucks would ease his pain. And if Simon were lucky, he’d get back to the house before Wiggles even woke up, and then he could toss the note, pocket the cash, and his friend would never even have to know the difference.
Just to be prudent, Simon picked a different pay phone from the one he used last time. He found a quiet convenience store several miles from the house and just down the street from a small Florida bank. Heart pounding, he dropped in the coins and dialed the automated system that would tell him the status of his bank account. Once he was into the system, he typed in his account number and passcode.
After a moment, an automated voice responded.
“Your checking balance is four hundred thousand dollars and zero cents. Funds currently available for withdrawal are four hundred thousand dollars and zero cents. For recent checking activity, press one. For recent savings activity, press two…”
Simon hung up the phone, hardly able to catch his breath.
The checks had cleared! The money was his for the taking!
Unless…
Unless it was a trap.
He paced back and forth, took some deep breaths, and tried to calm his heart. He swore that if he could just get this money, he would give up grifting for good. No more games. No more cons. He was done.
Simon thought about what he could do with four hundred thousand dollars to go legit. He’d take a hundred thou and buy a little house, twenty more for a car, and sock the remainder away, living the rest of his days on what was left. Maybe get a little part-time job to supplement his income. Be a normal person for a change.
The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. Maybe he could talk Edna into moving down to Florida too. If she sold her house, they could add that to the hundred he was gonna spend and buy something twice as nice. They’d get a place with a pool, maybe. That would convince her—her own swimming pool!
He dropped in more coins and dialed Edna’s number. It rang and rang and then went to the machine. His mind raced, trying to think of some sort of encoded message he could leave.
“This is a church call,” he said after the beep. “It’s a brush, right? We’ll talk.”
Then he hung up the phone, confident Edna would understand what he meant—but no one else who might hear the message would.
Part of him wanted to wait until he got her on the phone before he took the next step. But a bigger part of him knew there was no time to lose.
He had to take the next step. Go for broke. It was now or never.
Leaving the car there beside the phone, he strolled the half block to the bank. Once inside, he told the teller he wanted to open an account.
She led him over to a desk and began entering information into a computer. He gave her one hundred dollars in cash and two legitimate forms of ID. When she asked, he supplied his date of birth and social security number. For an address, he provided Wiggles’ house as his street address, but requested that all mail from the bank go to his PO box—the PO box he renewed annually but hadn’t even taken a peek at in at least three months.
He kept the box for a variety of reasons, like this today. The last thing he needed was for Wiggles to get wind of his windfall. The guy was a friend, but a friend with an open palm, to be sure.
The only lie Simon gave the teller was the telephone number. When asked, he simply supplied a nonexistent number, explaining that he had just moved to town and the phone hadn’t yet been installed, so it might not work for a few days.
As he spoke, he could hear the voice of his father, saying Stick with the truth as much as possible, Simon. Lie only when necessary. Otherwise, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. It was advice he always tried to follow.
Everything went through fine, just as Simon had hoped. Luckily, there was nothing that might flag him as an ex-con—or a fugitive on the run. He looked like a nice, normal guy in an Armani suit, just getting his finances in order.
When she finished with the paperwork, he asked for a notarized letter with all of the information so that he could transfer down the funds from his old bank. The bank had a notary on the premises, of course, so within fifteen minutes he had the letter in his pocket and he was on his way. They told him where he might find a Federal Express office, so he drove there straight away and sent the letter off.
It was done. At this point, one of two things was going to happen.
If the police weren’t currently looking for him, then in a few days he would get the funds. If the police were looking for him, the simple banking trail would lead right to Wiggles’ door—and to an arrest.
Ah, well, it was too late to turn back now.
Simon hurried home, eager to get back his ten bucks and change out of his suit before Wiggles even knew he had left. As he did, he had to keep himself from smiling.
He still needed to talk to Edna. But the way things were looking, he just might get away with this after all.
Jo had forgotten all about the dog.
Of course. Of course. Today was the day the dog had been scheduled to arrive. How could she have forgotten?
Only three weeks ago, she and Bradford had gone together to the private animal shelter in town and picked out their new pet—a precious two-year-old chocolate lab. They had scheduled for the shelter to deliver the dog the day they were to return from their honeymoon.
How pathetic it all seemed now, this strange attempt to construct a fairy-tale life. Husband and wife, cute dog, small-town home. But a few things had gone wrong along the way—namely, that the groom was missing from the picture!
Jo closed her eyes, remembering the moment they first spotted their pet. It was a dreary, rainy Saturday, the kind of day when it seemed best to sit around and do nothing, but Jo and Bradford had braved the weather because they very much wanted to run this particular errand. As they walked down the row of cages at the shelter, dog after dog thrust themselves against the wire, whining and begging and barking to be adopted.
But not Chewie. He simply sat at the back of his run, watching them, daring them to take him home. He was bedraggled and put-upon-looking, to be sure, but he was also very quiet and mellow. When Jo asked if there was any chance he was sick, the attendant just laughed.
“Chewie’s healthy as a horse. He just gets a little nervous when it rains.”
“Why is his name Chewie?” Jo had asked, afraid she might be getting more than she bargained for. The last thing she needed was a dog that chewed up the furniture or something.
“I think he was named after Chewbacca, from Star Wars,” the man said. “Least, that’s what the family said.”
“Cool,” was Bradford’s reply. He was a big sci-fi fan. “We’ll take him.”
Signing the papers and paying the fee was almost like adopting a child, and guiltily Jo had toyed with the idea of bringing the dog home that day. But then she knew she would have to find something to do with him during her final wedding preparations—not to mention she’d have
to find someone to take care of him during the honeymoon. Better that he remain where he was for the next few weeks. The shelter was willing to keep him there for an extra fee, so it had all worked out fine.
Until now.
Now, there was a man at Edna’s door, clipboard in hand, asking Jo to sign for this particular delivery.
“I went to your house and saw your note,” he told her. “I figured you left it there for me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jo said, shaking her head. “Since we adopted that dog, everything has changed.”
Face burning with humiliation, Jo explained about the wedding and Bradford taking off when it came time for the vows. She said she understood that they probably couldn’t refund her money, but that she wouldn’t be taking the dog after all.
“Well, I’m the one that’s sorry,” he said, still holding out the clipboard. “He’s yours now, whether you want him or not. We’re just a seasonal shelter. He’s one of the last to go and then we’re closing down until the spring.”
“What do you mean?”
She tried to argue with him that she couldn’t take the dog. He was polite but persistent, saying if the dog really was that much of a burden, that maybe she should call the pound.
In the end, she lost the fight. She was angry about it until she got another look at him, huddling in his cage, looking for all the world like the sweetest, gentlest, most easygoing dog in the world. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could find someone who would take him off her hands.
Maybe Danny would like to have him.
Jo signed the clipboard, waited as the guy released the dog from the cage, and then accepted the leash as he handed it to her.
“Enjoy your new pet!” he said before climbing back into the van and driving away.
“Yeah, thanks,” she muttered softly.
On top of everything else in her life, this was exactly what she didn’t need.
21
Jo held the leash while the dog went potty in the yard, making a mental note to buy a pooper-scooper ASAP. When he was finished, she awkwardly led him inside, closed the doors to the living room, and set him free in there while she went to the kitchen, got out the phone book, and called the pound.
She explained the situation and wasn’t surprised to learn that all of those rumors from when she was a kid about what they did to doggies who didn’t get adopted were true. As much as she didn’t need this right now, she just couldn’t be responsible for the death of a perfectly healthy canine.
She dug around in Edna’s dishes until she found a bowl, which she filled with water. There was no food in the pantry, but she recalled bagging up a can of tuna, so she found it, opened it, and scooped it out on a plate next to the bowl. Pooper-scooper and dog food. The checklist was already growing.
Finally, she opened the living room door so that the dog could come into the kitchen. He jumped up and down, the first signs of excitement she’d seen in him. Jo felt her scowl turn into a smile as she knelt down to his level and accepted his affection. He wanted to be her friend. And he did have beautiful brown eyes.
“Okay, Chewie, why don’t you eat?” she said begrudgingly.
He didn’t hesitate, wolfing down the tuna and then slurping noisily from the water. As he did so, she decided to go out back and walk the chain-link fence, checking for holes. At least Edna had a fence. Jo had nothing at her house except the split rail across the back.
What was she going to do?
Once she verified that the fence was safe, she let the dog out back to run around for a while. He really was jumpy and happy, far different from the meek creature they had first spotted at the shelter. While he ran and played and chased squirrels, she decided to take a peek into Edna’s small shed, the one structure she hadn’t yet examined.
It was filled with a push mower, some tools, and a few big boxes. There was a box with a paint can and a few other odd items in it, and Jo hoped the paint would match the beige interior of the house. If she decided to do some touch-ups before Marie started showing the house, she knew the paint would come in handy. She had told Marie to give her at least a week before actively putting the house on the market, but Jo had been moving through things so quickly she might be able to revise that estimate.
Chewie found a spot near a tree where he settled down to take a breather, so Jo brought his water bowl outside and decided to let him stay there for a while. Then she went inside, washed his dinner plate, and went into the living room.
“No!” she yelled as soon as she entered the room.
It took a minute for her to figure out what had happened, but when she did, she wanted to scream again. Apparently, in the small amount of time she had spent on the phone with the pound, Chewie had managed to completely dismantle the couch and rip up an entire couch cushion. The stuffing was everywhere, little white puffs of foam rubber that made it look as if it had snowed.
“Chewie!” she yelled, and a moment later she could hear him thrusting himself against the back door screen trying to get to her.
She marched into the kitchen, ready to yell, but as soon as he saw her he just sat down, eyes wide, looking as innocent as any creature ever had. Jo didn’t know much about dogs, but she had a feeling that yelling at him now, so far after the fact, would have no impact. He wouldn’t even understand what he had done wrong.
Before she could decide what to do, the telephone rang. She answered it, half expecting it to be Danny. Instead, it was another man’s voice.
“Yes, hello,” he said, “this is Pinkerton Jewelers, in Moore City. I just wanted to let you know your order is ready.”
“My order?”
“Yes. Is this Edna Pratt?”
“Uh,” Jo hesitated, wondering what kind of an order Edna might have placed at a jeweler. Somehow, Edna didn’t exactly seem the jewelry type. “No. This is a friend. But I can take a message.”
“Good. Would you tell her the order’s been ready for pickup for two days? The man who placed it said it was a rush job, so we got it done on time, but then nobody ever showed to pick it up.”
“The man?” Jo asked, heart pounding. “You mean Simon?”
“I don’t know his name. Gray hair, mustache? He was insistent that it be done by Monday, and here it is Wednesday and we haven’t seen him.”
“I understand.” Jo reached for pen and paper. “Can you give me the address of your store? We’ll send someone right over to get it.”
As Jo wrote down the address in the city, she told herself that this was just part of her job description, part of putting Edna’s affairs in order for her daughter Sally. But she knew it was more than that. It was a lead in her investigation.
Maybe.
Danny walked down the long hall surrounded on all sides by teenagers. This Moore City high school was a lot bigger and newer and fancier than Mulberry Glen’s modest little one where he had gone yesterday. Today he was on an errand for himself, not Jo, procuring the job of photographer at their upcoming Homecoming dance.
He had already presented his bid to the student council, been offered the job, and signed the papers on the spot. That’s what he liked about students; they didn’t waste a lot of time. Now he just had to find his way back through this maze of hallways and he would be on the road to home. As he went, he read some of the posters they had hanging on the walls: If you can dream it, you can become it, one said. Imagine the possibilities and claim your future, declared another.
Yeah, right.
Danny wondered if anyone ever thought about those posters and what they were teaching the children. Lofty hopes and ideas were good, he supposed, but what happened when the dream didn’t match the reality? “If you can dream it, you can become it?” Says who? He had dreamed it for years and years—not to mention worked his tail off—and he still hadn’t become much of anything. His whole family was a study in unrealized dreams, for that matter, from his mother with her failed family band to his sister who wanted to be a professional stage magician and inst
ead spent her time doing kid’s birthday parties for chump change.
Danny was starting to think he never would be a successful photographer, one who did more than hold up rubber duckies and take snapshots of babies. Even this dance he had gone to so much trouble to secure would be a miserable night of cocky guys, self-conscious girls, raging hormones, and teenage angst. Danny could think of a few better ways to spend an evening.
Feeling fully miserable by the time he left the building, he didn’t even want to answer his cell phone when it rang. It was Jo, probably calling to see when he’d be back so they could go visit the two ladies.
Somehow, he just didn’t feel up to it right now.
“Hello?” he said, trying not to sound preoccupied and distant.
“Are you still in Moore City?” Jo asked breathlessly.
“Yeah.”
“Super. There’s an errand I need you to run.”
Sure enough, Simon made it back to the house before Wiggles had even stirred. He quietly put the keys in the tray, took care of the money and the note, and then changed from his suit into more comfortable clothes.
He needed to talk to Edna.
Trying not to make much noise, he threw together a quick breakfast sandwich in the kitchen, and then he went out back to see if the paint job had dried on the stolen bicycle. It had. It looked a little lumpy, but it would do.
He climbed on and took off, finding the road to the gas station pay phone much quicker via bicycle than when he had gone on foot.
Once there, he parked the bike, climbed off, and made the call. He was running out of change, so this time he decided that he would give it three rings and if she hadn’t answered by then, hang up. There was no need to leave another message.
He dialed the number, feeling his heart soar in his chest. This was going to work out fine, he just knew it. Edna would come to Florida and the two of them would make a new life for themselves.
“Hello?”
Simon hesitated, knowing the voice was not Edna’s. It sounded like the same person who had answered the phone the other day. This time, he spoke in his normal voice rather than trying to disguise it.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 19