Danny finished at the studio, gave his statement to the police downtown, and then rushed home, afraid of what he might find once he got there. Jo had asked if she could lock Chewie inside his guest bedroom during the meeting at her house and the following radio show. He had agreed, not really thinking, but now all sorts of questions ran through his mind, primarily: Was the dog really housebroken?
When he came inside, Chewie began barking immediately. Danny had to admit that it was fun to come home to something other than a quiet, empty house. He went to the back bedroom and opened the door to find the dog, tail wagging furiously. It didn’t look or smell as if there had been any accidents. On the other hand, there was something odd all over the top of the bed. After petting Chewie and rubbing him behind the ears, Danny stepped closer to see. Yellow blobs littered the surface of the bedspread, and after a moment, he realized what they were: little pieces of foam rubber.
“Hey, boy, where’s the pillow?” Danny asked. As if in reply, Chewie’s stomach growled loudly. Danny’s stomach was growling, too, so he led Chewie to the kitchen and set about making himself a bagel. He called Jo as it was toasting.
“How’s Chewie?” she asked. “Did he survive there by himself?”
“Yeah. I think he ate one of my good foam rubber pillows, though,” Danny replied, reaching for the leash, which Jo had left on the table. He clipped it to Chewie’s collar. “There’s tiny pieces of foam all over the bedspread.”
Jo apologized profusely, promising to buy him a new one once all of this mess with Edna was over.
“He sort of has a thing for pillows,” she said. “I forgot to tell you.”
“No harm done.”
“Good. Because until I get a fence, I may need to put him over there again.”
“Whatever you need Jo. Mi casa es su casa, you know that.”
Danny glanced over at the dog and yelled, dropping the phone. He lunged for Chewie but wasn’t quick enough to stop him from gulping down an entire package of cream cheese from off the table.
“News flash,” Danny said when he came back on the line. “He’s got a thing for cream cheese too. You might want to keep an eye out for that silver packaging to pass. Otherwise, you’ll have to call a vet.”
They moved on from talk of the dog to planning their next moves. Jo was on her way to the police station, she said, so Danny described his experience with giving his statement. As he talked, he looped Chewie’s leash over a chair and settled for spreading his bagel with butter.
“What did the chief say about Edna’s lungs?”
“He called the coroner while I was there,” Danny said. “Maybe by the time you get there, they’ll know something.”
“Okay, well, depending on what happens, I guess once I’m finished at the police station, I’ll head back over to Edna’s and work some more. I’m ready to be done with that job—especially since I have a feeling that Sally Sugarman is going to be firing me real soon anyway.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Want some help?”
“You know it. I think we make a good team.”
That we do.
Once Danny hung up the phone, he sat at the table, and took a bite of his bagel. Chewie was looking at him so longingly, however, that Danny relented. He carefully set half of it on the floor.
“Okay, boy,” he said gently. Chewie went to town immediately, making quick work of the whole thing. By the time Danny had taken three bites, Chewie was completely finished eating and looking at him for more.
“Let’s go outside,” Danny said.
He led the dog out back and waited patiently while Chewie did his business. As Danny waited, he looked through the trees at Jo’s house, feeling a longing deep in his soul.
“Father, I know You want the best for me,” he prayed softly out loud. “And I don’t think You would put someone like Jo in my life and give me these feelings of love for her unless You had something very special in mind. Please give me the patience and goodness and insight I need to bring this relationship in the direction You see fit. Thank You for the blessing of an amazing friendship. If it’s Your will, please work on her heart to make it something much, much more.”
He hesitated and then added, “And keep Keith McMann out of the picture, will You? Competition is the last thing I need.”
Jo was in the right place at the right time.
That’s what she decided as she sat quietly in the corner of the police station and listened to all that was going on. The officer who was taking statements was tied up at the moment, but while Jo sat and waited her turn, the whole place seemed to spring to life. From what she could tell, the cops had located a joint bank account for Simon Kurtz and Edna Pratt—and just in the nick of time too, because the bank had already closed out the account, issued a bank check for the balance, and put it in an overnight delivery envelope to be delivered to Simon the next day!
The chief spoke excitedly into the phone—from what she could tell, going back and forth between the DA, a judge, and the bank’s lawyers—as he worked out the legalities that would force the bank to hold that envelope. Once he was finished, he banged down the phone triumphantly and said to another cop, “Not only did we stop the money, but we got an address too!”
After that, almost everyone, including the chief, disappeared into a different part of the building, so Jo was no longer privy to the breaking news—or the excitement. Still, she felt gratified to know that they might be able to collar Simon Kurtz very soon. She hoped there was still enough of the swindled money left over in the bank account to reimburse the women at least somewhat.
Eventually, Jo was invited into a small room to give her statement. The officer seemed weary but diligent, taking care to do a thorough job. He let her tell her story and then asked some clarifying questions. When they were finished, he thanked her and walked her out.
“Any chance I could talk to the chief?” she asked.
The man smiled and shook his head.
“He’s pretty busy,” he replied. “Right now I think you’d have a better chance of getting an audience with the Pope.”
Simon walked up the front steps, a brown bag clutched in each hand. Feeling spontaneous, he had sprung for the two-dish special at the China Dragon restaurant, bringing home enough takeout for him and Wiggles both. Once inside, he cleared off the messy kitchen table and then set out two plates, some utensils, and all of the Chinese food. He knew Wiggles would be home soon, and he wanted to surprise him.
More than likely, this was the last night he’d see his friend for a while. Simon had made a radical decision. Rather than settle down in Florida and go legit, as he had planned, Simon was going to take the money when it arrived, head straight for the airport, and use his remaining cash to buy a ticket somewhere out of the country. He hadn’t done his homework, really, but if he didn’t need a passport, he thought Brazil might make a great place to live. He could settle there quite cheaply, get in on a little con action now and then, and maybe even meet a senorita or two. All in all, not a bad deal.
Except for one thing. Edna wouldn’t be there.
An ache suddenly gripped deep inside of Simon’s chest, like a vise. He held onto the back of a chair, face white, breathing shallow, almost as if he were being crushed. In his pain, the enormity of the situation hit him anew: Edna really was dead.
The physical ache subsided, but the emotional one did not. Finally, he pulled out the chair and sat, tears once again filling his eyes. As the General Tsao’s Chicken and Beef Lo Mein went cold on the table, Simon sat there and cried.
Jo and Danny worked for the rest of the afternoon. He and his buddies had a standing basketball game every Thursday night, so Jo wanted to get as much time from him as she could before he headed to the Y.
So, while Chewie played in the yard outside, Jo and Danny emptied closets and sorted items and packed boxes. Jo kept listening for the phone, hoping she’d hear from the chief and hoping she wouldn’t hear from Sally. The phone remained silent in b
oth cases, and in the quiet they were able to get through the living room, the second bathroom, and the kitchen. That left only the attic and the basement and they would be done. Jo couldn’t believe how much they had accomplished.
As they worked, they kept tossing around different ideas about who might have killed Edna Pratt. During a break, Danny took one of the markers and made a list down the side of a box: Simon, Louise Parker, Iris Chutney, all the rest of the women.
“I can’t say why,” Jo told him, “but put down the name Angus. I just have an odd feeling.”
“Angus Young? The janitor?”
“Yeah. I was at the school this morning, and he was acting really weird.”
Danny wrote out the name, nodding.
“You know,” he said, “now that you mention it, he was asking me some strange questions about her death the day after it happened.”
“I suppose,” Jo said slowly, “that you might include Sally Sugarman. It’s a bit of a stretch, but if she had gotten wind of what her mother was involved in, she might have tried to nip it in the bud by having the old lady killed. Certainly, there was no love lost there.”
Danny added her name to the list.
“Who else?” he prodded. “How about the history professor, Keith McMann.”
“Write him down if you want, but I think he’s was just an unwitting pawn in Simon’s game.”
“How about the old guy at the Palace? He sure knew a lot about con games.”
Danny wrote Innkeeper.
“The next-door neighbor?” Jo asked, grasping for straws. “Betty.”
“I doubt it, but sure,” Danny said, writing the name.
When he was finished, he sat beside Jo on the couch, missing cushion and all, and together they stared at the list.
“I know who did it,” she said finally.
“Who?”
“Bradford. My almost husband.”
“Bradford? He didn’t even know Edna Pratt.”
“So? Let’s frame him, and then he’ll get arrested and go to prison and I’ll never have to see him again.”
Danny glanced sideways at Jo.
“Nah,” he said, “that’s just cruel. Bradford’s way too pretty to go to prison.”
Jo giggled.
“He is pretty, isn’t he?” she said. “He’d be a big hit on the old cell block.”
They laughed, and Jo realized that it felt good. She reached down and took Danny’s hand in hers. She entwined her fingers with his and squeezed, hoping he knew how glad she was that he was there for her.
She didn’t know what she’d ever do without him.
26
Jo knew she wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. It was bedtime, but her mind was still racing. She wanted to take a walk, so she called Danny, and though he sounded tired, he agreed to a short jaunt around the block. Jo was glad, as she didn’t think it would be prudent to walk alone.
Together, with Chewie between them, they made the bigger block, both of them quiet as they strolled past Edna’s dark, empty house. In the distance, a dog barked, and though Chewie’s ears perked up, he did not respond.
Across the street and down a ways from Edna’s house, Jo spotted the real estate sign for the other home Marie was representing for sale. The place looks a bit neater at night, Jo thought, and then she did a double take as she realized that the place was a bit neater. Even in the moonlight she could tell the big rust stains were gone from the driveway, and a small grouping of potted plants had been artfully placed along the front wall.
Good for Marie. Jo was always secretly tickled when friends took her household hint advice.
When their walk was over, Jo thanked Danny for walking with her. Then, rather than going to bed, she went into her home office, the best place to be when her brain was on hyperdrive and the night stretched endlessly before her.
She let Chewie come along, but she also brought a roll of aluminum foil. Once they were inside the office, she pulled out about five feet of the foil, tore it loose from the roll, and laid it on the couch. She put a blanket on the floor for the dog, settled down at the chair, and reached into the basket of reader mail.
Jo had been working so hard this week to solve Simon’s con and Edna’s murder that she had given short shrift to the problem that was sitting squarely in her own lap: her column! She decided to brainstorm with herself, thinking of different ideas that might work to bring this dying art form back to life.
She had been going through reader letters for fifteen minutes or so when the dog stood, stretched, and decided to relocate to the couch. He jumped up onto it and landed on the aluminum foil, which made a horrible crinkling noise. He leapt back down to the floor, circled a few times, and then glared at Jo, almost insulted that she had subjected him to such a frightening indignity.
She laughed.
“Serves you right, boy,” she said. “Maybe now you’ll stay off the couch.”
He went to his blanket, worked for a while to get it just so, and then collapsed into it. Jo watched the whole thing, wondering if it might not be so bad to have a dog around permanently. They had gotten off to a bad start, but he was a sweet dog and a smart one. Maybe if she had a fence installed and bought him his own bed and some chew toys and things, they might find themselves happily cohabitating. He certainly brought a feeling of security and comfort—and companionship. Jo had never had a pet before, but she was starting to understand the attraction.
Turning her attention back to her work, she put away the letters and reached for a pen and some paper. She wrote down the names all of the icons of the household hints business and what they had done to stay relevant. Martha Stewart, despite all of her legal problems, had positioned herself as a purveyor of elegance on a budget. Heloise stayed in the public eye primarily because she continued to write a razor-sharp column in a national women’s magazine. The Fly Lady—one the biggest up-and-coming household hinters—used the Internet as her primary medium, dedicating herself to helping the organizationally impaired.
Jo’s agent was correct that she needed a website too, and she decided to find a webmaster very soon. Besides that, she thought she might talk to a publicist—and a speaker’s bureau. Surely she could begin to make herself more of a household name, no pun intended. Suddenly, she felt very determined, knowing she would not go down without a fight!
Jo picked up the latest issue of the newspaper and flipped through it, skimming the articles and trying to get a feel for modern culture. As she did, she jotted down all sorts of crazy ideas of how she could proceed, sort of brainstorming with herself.
A reality TV show?
Focus groups?
Stay-at-home-mom support groups?
Women’s retreats?
Creative projects for latchkey kids?
Working-mom luncheons?
She kept thinking and kept writing, and soon she had filled an entire page with different directions she could go. She was particularly intrigued by the idea of a reality television show—not that it would be easy to get such a thing on the air, but she ought to look into it, at least. In her fantasy of how that could work, she decided she could create her own catchphrase, something like “Your Hint Takes the Cake!”
Smiling to herself, Jo was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. It had been a long and complicated day and the need for sleep was finally catching up with her. She put away the pen and paper, turned off the light, and then simply grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet, moved to the couch, ditched the foil, and lay down. She could hear Chewie readjusting himself at her feet, and something about him being there made her feel safe and complete.
Jo awoke to pitch-black darkness and an odd sound sending tingles down her spine. In an instant, she remembered she was out in the office. Then she realized Chewie was growling.
One glance at the softly illuminated digital clock across the room told her it was 4:37 A.M. She sat up and put a hand on Chewie’s back, softly whispering words of comfort.
But s
he didn’t feel comforted. He continued to growl, and Jo stood, moving silently to the window. Peering out, she saw movement along the back of her house, and from what she could tell, it looked as if someone was trying to break in.
Lucky for her they didn’t seem to realize she was out in the office. She only hoped she could keep Chewie from barking.
Heart pounding in her throat, Jo reached for the phone and dialed 911, muffling the receiver so the touch tone beeps couldn’t be heard. When an operator answered, she whispered sharply that someone was trying to break into her house. The operator quickly took her information and then told her to hold on while he contacted the police. While he was doing that, she grabbed her cell and dialed Danny’s number. He could get there a lot quicker than the cops could, if the intruder decided to turn his attention toward her.
“I’m coming right over,” Danny said after she explained.
“No!” she whispered sharply. “That’s too dangerous. Just stay on the line with me, in case.”
“All right, but I’m getting dressed,” he said. “Haven’t you got some acid out there, or something you could use as a weapon?”
“Hold on,” she whispered. “I’ll check.”
She set down the cell but kept the regular phone to her ear, listening as the 911 dispatcher gave her address to the police. She silently crept over to the chemical storage area and grabbed a spray can of toilet bowl cleaner, a substance that would be sure to stop anyone in their tracks. Then she returned to the window, shocked to see the intruder working on her back door knob.
Chewie couldn’t take it any more. He barked loudly and then barked again. Jo pulled her face from the window just as the intruder turned and looked her way.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 24