“Is Edna there?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, no,” the woman said, sounding strange. Who was she?
“Can you tell me when you expect her back? I left a message on her machine.”
“Um,” the woman said, and suddenly Simon wondered if this was his niece, Sally, in town for a visit with her mother. He couldn’t imagine who else it could be. “Do you have some business with Edna?”
“Yes,” he said, “business,” and then suddenly his heart was in his throat. Was something wrong? Had Edna become sick or hurt—or arrested? “Is there something wrong?”
The voice at the other end hemmed and hawed for a moment and then spoke.
“I’m sorry, but Edna Pratt passed away. She had an accident.”
“An accident?” Simon demanded. “When?”
“Sometime last Friday night. They…um…found her dead Saturday morning. She had fallen and hit her head. I’m working for her daughter this week, trying to put her affairs in order. Is there a message you’d like me to pass along to her?”
The pounding in Simon’s head was so loud he couldn’t even hear what she might have said next. In shock, he hung up the receiver, one thought crowding out all of the others:
Edna was dead.
His sister was dead.
Blindly, he got on the bike and started pedaling, pedaling as fast and as hard as he could. He didn’t even know where he was going, but after a while he found himself at the beach, where the sidewalk ended in sand.
Dropping the bicycle there, he stumbled out toward the water, finally collapsing into a sobbing heap near the tide line.
Edna was dead, and he knew what happened.
She hadn’t had an accident. She’d had too much, just like their mother. Life was too much.
Edna had killed herself.
Simon closed his eyes and pictured Edna as he had seen her Friday night, the night everything went wrong.
“I’m going to the police, Simon,” she had said. “I just want to give you fair warning.”
They had fought about it, long and hard.
But she was adamant. She’d already spent the afternoon cleaning house, literally and figuratively, putting her things in order before she went to the cops and revealed all. When Simon finally understood that all the arguing and pleading and begging in the world couldn’t change her mind, he asked simply that she wait as long as possible before she called them.
“Noon tomorrow,” she had said. “That should give you enough time to get away. I can’t wait any longer than that.”
“But, Edna, don’t you love me?” he had demanded, tears in his eyes. It wasn’t just that all of their hard work would be for naught, or that he had to kiss almost half a million dollars goodbye. It was that his sister, his own blood, was turning on him.
“Yes, I love you,” she had said, tears in her eyes as well. “But this is something I just have to do. I can’t live a lie anymore.”
In the end, Simon realized now, she couldn’t do it after all. Rather than turn herself in, rather than rat out her big brother, Edna had taken the easy route and killed herself.
Just like their mother.
Simon sobbed, big gut-wrenching tears he had never cried in his life. He would miss Edna more than he’d ever missed his father or mother. Most of all, he would miss knowing she was there, that somewhere in this empty world where everyone was only out for themselves and what they could get, he would miss knowing he had someone who loved him.
“Why, Edna?” he cried, his voice lost in the swell of the waves. “Why?”
He curled into a ball and cried, crying for every hurt he’d ever felt in his sixty-two years of life. Finally, when he had cried himself out, when he couldn’t cry anymore, he simply lay there on the sand, watching the sea gulls, understanding now why the money had remained in the bank, untouched. It was his now, free and clear.
He’d give it all away tomorrow if only that could bring her back.
Jo felt like an idiot. The call with the jeweler was still so fresh on her mind that when the next call came, she just figured it was another business matter. It wasn’t until the man reacted with such shock to the news of Edna’s death that Jo realized it might be Simon, the man everyone was looking for.
The phone had gone dead, so she hung it up and pressed star sixty-nine. Unfortunately, it said that the call could not be identified because it was from out of the area. Frustrated, Jo hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen, replaying the messages on the machine. He said he had left a message, and sure enough, it was there.
This is a church call, the same voice said. It’s a brush, right? We’ll talk.
Such a strange message. Jo remembered the conversation she and Danny had had with the innkeeper of the Palace and all of the crazy con game terms that guy had used. She wondered if he could decipher this message for her now.
Jo wanted to pay the man a little visit. Before letting Chewie into her spotless car, however, he needed a bath. She brought him into the bathroom and washed him in Edna’s tub with some of Edna’s leftover shampoo, something that would have worked fine had the dog not chosen every minute or so to brace himself and shake furiously. By the time she was finished, there were water droplets on every single surface of the bathroom and her clothes were soaked.
After giving the dog a thorough towel drying and then a quick few minutes with a blow-dryer, Jo took a few minutes to wipe everything down. She would have to stop at her house for a change of clothes, but then it was on to the Palace for some help.
“Come on, Chewie,” she said, grabbing her keys and the answering machine. “We’re going for a ride.”
Danny had a bit of trouble finding the jewelry store. The place was tucked away on a side street, a little hole-in-the-wall he drove past twice before spotting.
Once he found it, he still had to park, which took another ten minutes. Finally, he got to the store, went inside, and asked for the order for Edna Pratt.
“That’ll be two hundred and fifty dollars,” the man said, reaching under the counter for a manila envelope and then handing it over.
Danny swallowed hard and dug out a credit card, hoping very much that someone would pay him back for this from Edna’s estate. This was two hundred and fifty dollars he could not afford to lose.
“Plus tax,” the guy added. “Comes to two hundred sixty-seven dollars and fifty cents.”
While he rang it up, Danny dumped out the envelope onto the counter, curious about what he was buying. Two women’s pins slid out—though one was a stained and faded metal while the other was a shiny gold. Both pins were identical in size and shape, an image of a just-blossoming rose.
“I don’t know why this guy pressured us to hurry and then didn’t even pick it up on time,” the man said, waiting for the credit card slip to spew from the machine. “It’s been ready since Monday.”
“Yeah, he, uh, he had to go out of town,” Danny said.
“He’s usually waiting at the door when we open, ready to pick up his order.”
Danny studied the gold pin, thinking there wasn’t really anything remarkable about it.
“Usually?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “How many orders have you done for him?”
The machine sprung to life, the credit card approval obviously having gone through. The man tore off the printed sheet and slid it toward Danny with a pen.
“This is about the tenth one, I guess,” he said. “Always the same thing. He brings me some cheap metal trinket and tells me to replicate it exactly in gold.”
“So he brought you this,” Danny said, holding up the metal rose, “and you made him this?” holding up the gold rose.
“Yeah,” the man said. “I don’t know what it’s for. But the work’s been pretty steady, so I’m not complaining.”
Jo was actually glad she had the big dog in the car. When she had come to this hotel the first time, Danny had been with her, making her feel safe and protected. Now that she was alone, she was star
ting to have second thoughts. It really was a seedy part of town.
She clipped the leash on Chewie’s collar and climbed out, glad to see he was behaving. With her free hand, she scooped up the answering machine. Then she tucked some money in her pocket and went inside.
As before, the counter was deserted, and as before, she rang the buzzer. As soon as the man came out from the back, though, Chewie started barking.
“Whoa!” the guy said, stepping back. “No dogs allowed, lady. No pets of any kind.”
Jo set the machine on the counter and knelt down to calm Chewie. She got him to stop barking, though he kept his body on full alert, a low growl escaping now and then from his throat.
“I’m not checking in,” she said. “Do you remember me from the other day?”
“Uh, sure,” the guy said, still looking uncertainly toward the dog. “Smell it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Smell it? I did the baking soda in the carpet like you suggested and put out the bowls of apples. The housekeeper was afraid of getting fruit flies, though, so she threw the apples out.”
Jo nodded, stifling a smile.
“It definitely smells better in here,” she said. “I think it made a real difference.”
The place was still a little rank, but he was right: It wasn’t as bad as it had been before.
“Anyway,” she said, “I was wondering if I could get a little more help.”
“You still looking for Simon Foster? Ain’t seen him.”
Jo pulled out a ten and set it on the counter in front of him.
“Time is money, right?” she said, meeting his eyes.
He took the ten and pocketed it.
“What do you want to know now?”
She lifted the plug from the answering machine and handed it to him.
“I want you to listen to a message and tell me if this sounds like Simon to you. He’s using some kind of code. I wondered if you could tell me what he’s really saying.”
The man hesitated before plugging in the machine.
“Ten bucks for telling you if it’s him,” he said. “Another ten if I can explain what he’s saying.”
“Fine.”
He plugged the machine in behind the counter and she pressed the buttons to make the message play.
This is a church call, the message said. It’s a brush, right? We’ll talk.
When it was finished, she pressed the stop button.
“Yeah,” the old guy said. “That’s Simon, far as I can tell.”
Jo reached into her pocket and came out with two fives. She gave them to the man, and he told her to play the message one more time. She did, and when it was finished, he nodded.
“He’s saying two things here. A ‘church call’ is a discussion about a con. Like, when you’re ready to get the team set up, you sit down and go over the plans. That’s a ‘church call.’ ”
“What’s a brush?”
He shook his head, chewing on his lip.
“A brush is usually a hand signal,” he said, demonstrating with a sweep of his hand. “It means, ‘The game is called off. Permanently.’”
22
Jo wasn’t sure what to do with Chewie while she paid a visit to Mrs. Chutney. She didn’t dare risk putting him inside her house, as he might eat one of her couch cushions. Finally, she decided he could go back to the fenced yard at Edna’s. She dropped him off, made sure he had some water, and then kept going. She checked her voice mail as she drove, surprised to hear that she had a message from the handsome history professor.
“Hey, Jo, it’s Keith McMann. I hope you don’t mind; I looked you up in the phone book. I was just thinking about our conversation and wondered if maybe you’d like to get together and talk about it some more. Well, to be honest, I was just thinking that maybe I could take you to dinner. I hope you don’t think I’m too forward. I don’t even know if you’re seeing somebody. I’m not. But now I’m rambling, so I guess I’ll go. Call me back when you get a chance. Bye.”
The message ended without leaving a number. The second message, not surprisingly, was also from Keith.
“Keith McMann again. Sorry, I guess if you’re going to call me back, you need my number.”
He gave the number and then said goodbye a second time.
Smiling to herself, Jo decided that was one call she would return later. For now, she dialed Danny’s cell phone to ask how things had gone at the jewelry store.
“Long story,” he replied mysteriously. “I’ll show you when I get back to town.”
Finished with that call, Jo turned onto Mrs. Chutney’s street and drove slowly, looking for the right house.
She knew it was rude to pop in on someone unexpectedly, but that was the whole point. The more likely she was to catch Mrs. Chutney off guard, the more information she might be able to get out of her.
She parked in the street and then took the long stone walkway to the front door. The trees in the yard were just turning to their fall colors, complementing a lush row of yellow rose bushes. It was all so beautiful that by the time Mrs. Chutney answered the door, Jo had to bring her mind back to the task at hand.
“Jo Tulip!” Mrs. Chutney said, looking truly perplexed. “How are you, dear?”
Jo smiled, hoping she’d come at a good time.
“Hello, Mrs. Chutney,” she said. “I’m sorry about popping in like this. I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment.”
The woman momentarily looked confused, but she stepped back and held open the door politely.
“Of course,” she said. “Come in. Is this regarding the Christmas pageant?”
Jo didn’t reply, letting the woman hold onto that notion until they were inside and seated. For the Christmas pageant last year, Mrs. Chutney had loaned Jo’s committee several gorgeous tapestries that they had carefully fashioned into capes for the wise men, so it was a natural assumption as to why Jo had come calling today.
“Actually,” Jo said once they were across from each other in the formal living room, “I just wanted to talk to you. And I need to show you something.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you. This shouldn’t take long.”
Jo reached into her tote bag and pulled out the photo of Edna as a child, with everyone posed on the stoop. She handed it over to Mrs. Chutney, who immediately stiffened up.
“I know you’ve seen this photo,” Jo said quickly. “And I know you know the man in the upper right corner.”
Mrs. Chutney did not respond.
“I wonder, however, if you’ve seen this version of the same picture. The original version.”
Jo handed her the smaller picture, the one without Simon added in. Mrs. Chutney studied them both for a long while, speechless.
“Mrs. Chutney, you and the other ladies were the victims of a con game,” Jo said gently. “I’m not sure why no one will talk about it, but the proof is coming out anyway.”
Jo pulled out the other two pictures for which Danny had found the originals and gave them over as well, along with their corresponding, doctored versions. Mrs. Chutney stared at them all, her face white as a sheet.
“He brought in experts,” Mrs. Chutney said softly. “An art historian. A history professor. Local people with sterling reputations who I know would not have lied.”
“They didn’t lie,” Jo said. “They were duped as well.”
Mrs. Chutney studied the pictures even longer, but to Jo’s relief, she didn’t start to cry.
“I told Louise we needed to put a stop payment on our checks,” she said softly. “But she was afraid that would mess everything up—especially now that we were so close. She said we needed to trust Simon, that we would surely hear from him by the end of the week.”
“As far as I can tell, Mrs. Chutney, Simon is long gone. Your money is probably long gone as well.”
She nodded, closing her eyes.
“We were such fools. No one lives forever.”
He
r statement sat there between them while Jo tried to puzzle that one out.
“Immortality?” Jo asked finally. “Is that what he was promising you?”
Mrs. Chutney’ eyes snapped open. She gathered the photos into one pile and held them out to Jo.
“Darling, I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything more right now. Let me talk with the other women first. We took a vow. I’m sure you understand.”
Jo didn’t understand, but she could tell from Mrs. Chutney’s posture that the interview was over. The woman stood, and Jo had no choice but to follow suit.
“I tell you what,” Jo said. “My house, tonight, seven o’clock. Anyone who is willing to talk to me about this can show up there. Then you can decide how to proceed as a group.”
Jo started to give her address, but Mrs. Chutney stopped her.
“I know where you live, dear. I was friends with your grandmother.”
“Then you know you can trust me,” Jo said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Mrs. Chutney simply pursed her lips and led the way to the front door.
“My house, tonight, seven o’clock,” Jo said. “I’m trusting you to spread the word.”
Simon was lost. He had ridden the bicycle to the beach in such a frenzy that now he couldn’t even figure out how to get back to Wiggles’ house.
It didn’t matter. He could ride around all day and not care.
His sister was dead.
Almost like picking at a wound, Simon insisted on going back over in his mind the origins of this last con. He just couldn’t understand where it had all gone wrong.
The idea for the game actually started several years ago, when Simon was visiting with an old buddy, a guy named Moses whose specialty was insurance fraud, particularly helping shady homeowners collect more than was rightfully theirs. The man was putting together a bogus portfolio of “proof of possession” when Simon stopped in to shoot the breeze and see if there were any good games floating in the wind and looking for another member.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 20