They often had significant savings, for one thing. For another, they were trusting and lonely and a bit socially isolated. Finally, they were always reluctant to go to the police once all was said and done. Not only would doing so be horribly embarrassing, but many elderly women feared that if their families found out how they had been duped, there would be serious consequences—like losing control of their own finances or even being placed in an old folks’ home. To most of them, it wasn’t worth it, and so they kept quiet.
The perfect pigeons.
Simon dropped the bike and went inside just as Wiggles was getting ready to go out.
“You look like death,” Wiggles said, reaching for his car keys. “What happened?”
Simon realized he hadn’t cleaned himself up after spending several hours on the beach. He was dirty, sandy, and tired, and his eyes were still swollen from crying. He knew he was a sight.
“Yeah, I’ve had a rough day,” he said, for some reason reluctant to tell Wiggles that his sister had died. As long as he didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t real.
“Well, I’m going down to the Surf and Turf for all-you-can-eat shrimp night. Wanna come?”
Simon looked at Wiggles, probably the only true friend he had left in the world.
“Sure,” he said tiredly. “Can you wait while I hop in the shower? It’ll just take a minute.”
“I’ll wait,” Wiggles said. “But if we get there too late for the early bird special, you gotta pay the difference. For both of us.”
Simon sighed, heading for the shower. What difference did it make? Two days from now, he’d be filthy rich.
Danny sat on the couch beside Jo’s test kitchen, watching as she pulled on an apron and some rubber gloves. When they’d arrived there, she had a few messages on her voice mail, including one from the science professor saying he could not decipher the notebook and that he had a feeling it was just nonsense. There was also a call from Iris Chutney, saying that no one would be coming to Jo’s that night but that the club was having a private meeting and deciding what to do. If they could agree, they would come over the next day at noon, if that was all right.
Since that left the evening clear, Jo decided she would run a few simple tests on the viscous liquid. At the very least, she said she should be able to draw some basic conclusions.
Danny was just enjoying watching her work. He sat on the couch, Chewie curled at his feet, a part of him pretending that this was their life, together, as husband and wife.
What would it be like to be married to Jo Tulip?
It would be beyond any expectation for marriage that Danny had ever had, that was for sure. To marry someone who had been a friend first had to be the very best possible scenario for a happy life. All that remained was how to help her realize, without scaring her off or risking the friendship, that there were deeper feelings involved here than she ever realized.
“Stop watching. You are making me nervous,” she said.
Smiling, Danny turned his attention to the book in his lap, one of the ones on alchemy. Together, they both felt that they were on the homestretch of understanding what was going on with this con game—even if they still had no clue why Edna Pratt ended up dead.
“Chewie, get off the couch!” Jo said, glancing toward the dog. He had been curled at Danny’s feet, but in the last half hour he had decided to take over the bottom half of the couch instead and make himself at home there.
After she fussed at him, though, he climbed off, found a spot on the rug, and settled down again.
“Smart dog,” Danny said, glancing up from his book. “He knew what you said.”
“Yeah, a smart dog for the Smart Chick,” Jo replied, pouring a little of the chemical into a glass. “Just what I need.”
Jo’s theory was that the liquid was a substance known as molten salt. That was a salt, like sodium chloride, but one in which the cation was bulky and oddly shaped, and the anion was something soft, like tetrafluoroborate. Being oddly shaped and soft, the ions in molten salt didn’t stack well, giving them a strange, almost mystical appearance. It also helped that molten salt was viscous and odorless because it had no vapor pressure. If Jo were pulling off a trick like this, she decided, that’s what she would use anyway.
So far, her theory held true as far as the solubility of the liquid went. She still wanted to check the pH, but she had a feeling that a dye had been added because the compound was an interesting deep blue color. With the right equipment, she would probably be able to identify the exact dye. Rather than go to that trouble, however, Jo decided simply to conclude her rudimentary analysis by determining the freezing point and boiling point of the liquid. With the data she had gathered, she would at least be able to preliminarily confirm or reject her theory. If the police became involved, they could have it sent to a lab, which would use expensive, specialized analysis equipment—such as infrared, nuclear magnetic resonance, neutron activation analysis, X-ray scatter, thin-layer and gaseous chromatography, and more—to analyze the compound more completely.
Jo worked for several hours, finding enormous comfort in the presence of Danny and even Chewie. The whole scene reminded her of days past, when she was the one hanging out on the rug, her grandmother sitting in the chair, and her grandfather working in the lab area.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, she thought. And, oh, how things had changed.
The phone rang around 9:00 P.M. It was Keith McMann, following up on the message she had never found time to return.
“You must think I’m a babbling idiot,” he said, “leaving two messages like that.”
“Not at all,” she replied, bracing the phone against her shoulder so she could continue to work as she talked. “I thought it was cute.”
“So, how about it? Would you like to go out sometime?”
Jo glanced over at Danny, who seemed to be thoroughly immersed in the book on his lap.
“Thank you so much for asking,” she said. “I’m very flattered. But the truth is, I’m kind of in dating limbo right now. Going through a breakup.”
“Ah. The musician?”
She glanced again at Danny.
“No, Danny’s just a friend. This was…well, it’s been a big mess. My fiancé left me at the altar. On Saturday.”
“Saturday. Last Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
“Ouch. I’m so sorry. How big of an idiot is he?”
Jo smiled.
“A really big idiot,” she replied. “I think he’s out of the picture for good, but I’m not up to starting something new just yet. Why don’t you hang on to my number and give me a call in a month or so?”
“A month or so. Hmm… I don’t know if I can go that long without looking into your beautiful green eyes again.”
Jo was both startled and secretly pleased with his boldness. Her ego had taken such a bruising on Saturday that it felt good to be admired by a handsome and intelligent man.
They ended the conversation a few moments later, and after she hung up the phone, she began whistling as she worked.
“Do you mind?” Danny snapped, strangely irritable. “I’m trying to read here.”
“Sorry.”
She went back to working in silence.
When her final test was run, she pulled off the gloves and apron, sealed the remaining liquid back in the can, and looked over at her two companions.
Chewie was back on the couch, snoring soundly. Danny, too, was asleep, the book open on his lap, the light still shining over his shoulder. Somehow, at that moment, all of the mess with Bradford and her mother seemed a million miles away.
Reluctant to disturb the scene but knowing they all needed to get to bed, she walked over to Danny and shook him awake with a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly, and as he focused in on her, she felt an odd sort of surge, like a longing mixed with safety mixed with something she couldn’t identify.
“Time to go home, sweetie,” she whispered. Then, unable
to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed his cheek, thanking God that she had such a dear friend in her life, one who had always been there for her—and always would.
The all-you-can-eat shrimp at the Surf and Turf wasn’t sitting well. Simon sat up on the couch, his mood as sour as his stomach.
There was one angle he hadn’t covered, one phone call he knew he ought to make. Wiggles had gone to bed early, and Simon could hear deep snores coming from the bedroom. The man was down for the count, for sure.
Simon didn’t want to use Wiggles’ telephone for a business call, so despite his exhaustion and his upset stomach, he pulled on a pair of pants, took Wiggles’ car keys, and headed out the door. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and Wiggles would never be the wiser.
The streets were dark and quiet, and as Simon neared the pay phone, he was reminded of the horrible call this afternoon, when he got the news about Edna. Putting that out of his mind for now, he dropped in the last of his change and dialed the home phone number of Angus Young, his inside man at Golden Acres Retirement Village.
Angus answered with a muffled voice, and Simon realized he must have been asleep.
“Angus?” he said, making sure he had the correct person.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Simon.”
That was met with a long, cold silence.
“Simon,” the man’s voice said finally, his tone sounding angry and disappointed. “I thought you fell off the end of the earth.”
“No, I just found it necessary to go out of town for a while. I suppose you’ve heard the news about Edna.”
“Yeah, that’s too bad. I know you two was close to each other.”
Simon looked away, trying not to tear up again.
“The thing is,” Simon said, “I haven’t talked to anyone there in town since I left. I wonder if you could tell me the general mood at the retirement village.”
“The mood?” Angus asked. “The mood is getting desperate, if you really care to know. There’s lots of whispering and meeting and threatening going on. I don’t think they’re gonna stay quiet about things much longer.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, really. You shoulda called some of ’em, Simon, kept them calm. Mrs. Louise is holding them off as long as she can, but it’s a fight she’s about to lose. There’s this girl, Jo Tulip, going around and asking a lot of questions. People are starting to panic, thinking you ripped them off.”
“What about the police?”
“The police? What about them?”
“Are they…looking for me?”
Angus sighed loudly.
“I already told you, ain’t nobody talked yet. But soon as they do, you can bet everybody’ll be looking for you—police, FBI, you name it.”
“You think I should call some of the women and assure them that everything’s right on schedule?”
“I don’t think nothing. I don’t care what you do. I’m just glad to see you’re gone, wishin’ you’d be done and out of here.”
Simon didn’t blame Angus for his attitude; after all, he was being blackmailed. And good thing, too, because he had been a valuable help in the last few months as the con came together.
Simon had first spotted Angus while visiting some wealthy potential pigeons at Golden Acres, and that night he showed up at his house with his proposal: Angus would keep an ear to the ground at the home, let Simon know who the wealthiest residents were and what people were saying about him. In return, Simon would withhold from Golden Acres management—not to mention the local high school—the interesting tidbit that Angus’s real name was Fred Jackson and that he had done fifteen years in the Florida state penitentiary for murder one. Simon knew this because their prison terms had intersected. The scar that ran from Angus’s nose to his chin had come compliments of a fight in the lunchroom one day, between Angus and another inmate. Simon could still remember the sight of that guy using a food tray to try to shut Fred up permanently.
“Is this thing over yet, or you coming back to finish things off?” Angus asked.
Simon hesitated, knowing he was a thorn in Angus’s side—a very irritating thorn. While he knew he had the upper hand, he sure didn’t want to press his luck.
“Just keep your ears open,” Simon said. “What I do from here is my business.”
“What about Jo Tulip?” Angus asked. “I know her, from the school. She’s a pretty sharp girl. I think she’s close to figuring some things out.”
“Then you’d better turn your attention in her direction,” Simon threatened. “Because if the cops get wind of this game before I get my money, the first person I’m bringing down with me is you.”
24
Not knowing what else to do, Jo let Chewie sleep on a blanket on the floor in her bedroom. When she awoke the next morning, however, he was pressed up next to her, sound asleep, on the bed. Jo didn’t know what to think about that—though she was glad she had taken the time the day before to give him a bath.
Before doing anything else, Jo spent half an hour getting the house ready for company—dusting, vacuuming, setting up the coffee machine and a tray of treats. The house was already spotless, but it felt good to run over it again just in case.
Jo had a lot going on that day, including—she hoped—a meeting with the women’s club at noon and her radio show at 2:00 P.M. She also wanted to drop off the forms she filled out applying for a full-time teaching position at the high school. She brought Chewie along with her, noting that he really seemed to love riding in the car. Once Jo was there, she cracked the window and ran inside the brick building, glad that it was cool enough outside so that he would be fine.
Simon opened his eyes, knowing that today was the day the bank would get his notarized letter requesting the funds from his account. He had included a return overnight express form, prepaid, so if all went according to plan, tomorrow he would receive a bank check for nearly half a million dollars. That meant that as long as nothing went wrong in the next twenty-four hours, he would be home free. Tomorrow he would probably spend the entire day on Wiggles’ front steps, waiting for the delivery.
Of course, so many things could still go wrong. The pigeons, for one thing, might not remain silent much longer. According to his conversation with Angus last night, in fact, it was time to do some damage control. If only he had known sooner that Edna didn’t go to the police, this whole thing would have turned out much differently
Simon got up, dressed, and rode the bike to the pay phone, where he dialed Louise Parker, the one he considered the ringleader. Louise had obviously had both wealth and beauty in her youth, and though the wealth remained, the beauty had long since faded. She still carried herself as if she were something to look at, however, which was kind of sad. She had been making a play for Simon since the day they met.
Throughout the con, Edna had confided to the other women that Simon was her grandfather’s best friend, a man she remembered quite well from her childhood. To keep up that pretense, for propriety’s sake, Simon didn’t even stay at Edna’s house but instead rented a room in a fleabag motel across town.
Once the con was rolling and the women were starting to take the bait, Edna announced to the group that she had taken the magic formula and felt wonderful, as if she really were going to live forever. Once a shill, always a shill.
Now that Edna was dead, of course, Simon had some explaining to do. He should be able to wing it, as he only needed to string the women along until his bank check arrived.
Simon dialed Louise’s number, relieved when she answered rather than letting it go to the machine.
“Louise, it’s Simon,” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve had the hardest time getting hold of you!”
She was angry. He let her rant for a few minutes, but when it sounded as though she was winding down, he spoke. His voice warm and apologetic, he explained that he’d been called out of town unexpectedly on business, but that it had all worked out for the best because while he was away h
e had spent some of his time perfecting the formula—which meant it would work better than ever.
“But it doesn’t work at all!” she cried. “Edna Pratt is dead. If it worked, she couldn’t have passed away. No matter what kind of accident she had, she shouldn’t have died.”
Simon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of guilt for what he was about to do. Simon rarely felt guilty about anything, but at this moment even he was ashamed of himself.
“Oh, but Louise, that’s partly why I had to go away. I learned that Edna lied. She lied to all of us. She never did take the formula like she said. She wasn’t as honest and upstanding as we all thought.”
“I knew it!” Louise said, eager to pounce on a common enemy.
Forgive me, Edna, Simon thought. But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
“Edna wasn’t like you, Louise,” he said. “You’re the kind of woman I know that I can trust. Edna didn’t believe in me; she only pretended that she did. But you really do. I know that you do.”
“What are you saying?” she cooed breathlessly.
“I’m saying that I’ve been alive now for two hundred and ninety-one years and I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Louise. A little patience is all you need, and then I’ll be back with the formula, you can take it yourself, and we’ll be together forever. Just think about that—we’ll never be separated by death. And since we can change metal into gold, we’ll always have money and our needs will always be met. Just don’t tell anyone about us—not yet, anyway.”
That should calm her down and shut her up for a day or two, which was all he needed to be free and clear.
“Oh, Simon,” she whispered after a moment’s silence. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say all of this.”
Jo ran into Angus as she was leaving the school, and he walked with her all the way out of the building, simply making conversation. He was much more animated than usual, almost agitated. Certainly, he didn’t seem like himself. Once outside, he walked with her all the way to her car, a little startled when Chewie began barking from inside.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 22