“I’ve done an historical study of all religions,” he said. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that all are valid. All say the same thing, just in different ways. My yin to your yang.”
Jo didn’t bother arguing with him. In her experience, religious arguments only served to entrench people more deeply into their own positions. Better she simply love the Lord with all of her heart, and love her neighbor as herself.
Finally, despite their differences, when they were finished eating, the professor reminded her that he’d be calling in a month or so, to officially ask her out on a date.
Jo merely smiled, knowing that when he did call, she would decline.
“Thank you for lunch,” she told him before leaving. “And good luck with the media.”
“We’ll see how it goes,” he replied. “After all, the journey is the reward.”
Jo had turned off her phone during their lunch, and there were three messages waiting for her when she turned it back on. She had heard from Danny, the police chief, and her agent, Milton. All three were calling to say that there would be a press conference at 6:00 P.M. in the main auditorium of the township building, and that all parties related to the case were encouraged to attend. In the chief’s message, he added that Simon Kurtz had been apprehended in Florida and was now in the temporary custody of the Florida state police.
Jo returned Danny’s call, but he was in the middle of a photography sitting and couldn’t really talk.
“That’s all right,” Jo told him. “Will you be home before the press conference? We can ride over together.”
“Yeah, sure.”
When Jo arrived at Edna’s house, a news van was parked out front. Milton had told her to remain accessible to the press, but Jo wasn’t ready to be interviewed just yet. She drove right past, peeking to make sure that Chewie was okay in the backyard. From what she could see, he was fine, sitting in the shade of a big tree.
She went home, knowing that if she wanted to come across in the media as articulate and intelligent, she would have to do some more reading about alchemy. Somehow, Jo’s education in chemistry had never included much about the topic. Fortunately, Danny had left the books he’d gotten from the library in her home office. She settled down there and started skimming. The things she learned were fascinating.
According to what she read, no one knew for certain the origins of alchemy, only that it had been around for a long, long time. From ancient Egypt to China to everywhere in between, the popularity of alchemy had come and gone throughout history, at some times being banned and other times being celebrated.
The symbols of alchemy throughout the ages were quite prevalent. Jo flipped past a lot of sketches and paintings, many of them similar to those in the velvet-covered notebook, most of them violent and disturbing. The images were so strange: Men and women bonded together, lions eating the sun, winged mermaids holding chalices. Architects and other artisans had inserted alchemical symbols in a number of public structures. Gothic cathedrals had facades full of alchemical symbols. Even the great Notre Dame in Paris featured an alchemic image: a woman with a lizard engulfed in flame.
No wonder Simon Foster thought this stuff was ripe for a con game. From what Jo read, it sounded as though he wasn’t even the first person to attempt this particular con. Supposedly the scientist Nicholas Flamel had been spotted in a Paris coffeehouse some 400 years after his “death.” No doubt, some lookalike person had tried to pass himself off as Flamel, bilking gullible Parisians and fooling them into believing that he had achieved immortality, just as Simon Foster had tried to do.
The final irony of all of it, though, was that in 1941, Harvard scientists did finally succeed in turning mercury into gold. Using a particle accelerator, they bombarded mercury with radiation until its chemical structure actually changed. Unfortunately, such a process was so expensive that it cost much more to conduct the experiment than the resulting gold could ever be worth. Jo looked up from the page, thinking about that. For centuries, men had tried to achieve the impossible. Once they did, it was useless to them.
She skimmed some more, flipping pages, until she ran across references to “Taoist alchemy” and “yin and yang.” Jo blinked, thinking of Keith McMann and his adherence to Taoist beliefs. She leaned forward, reading about the transformation of the physiological structure and function of the body, “while at the same time effecting parallel changes in the mind and spirit.” Sounded exactly like something Keith would say.
Was it possible he was an alchemist, that he believed these things as a part of his religion?
If so, then he must have lied about what happened that day at Iris Chutney’s house. In her gut, Jo had a feeling that Keith hadn’t gone there to validate the photos.
He had gone there to validate alchemy.
When Danny finished his final sitting, he learned that Jo had called back a second time.
“She sounded kind of frantic,” Tiffany said. “She said to tell you she had an errand to run and that she’d see you at the press conference instead of driving over together.”
“Frantic, what do you mean?”
Tiffany shrugged.
“I don’t know. She said she was looking through some books you left at her house and saw something really important, and that she had to go talk to somebody.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But she said she’d be cutting it close and for you to go on to the press conference. She’ll see you there.”
Danny tried dialing Jo’s cell, but it went straight to the message, which meant she had turned it off.
Please, Lord, don’t let her be foolish. Don’t let her put herself in danger.
Jo rang Iris’s doorbell, her pulse surging when she heard footsteps from inside. This time, once Iris saw who was at her door, her expression was much more guarded. The poor woman had been through a lot in the last few days, including the public humiliation of having her name leaked to the press as one of the victims.
“Mrs. Chutney,” Jo said. “I’m so glad you’re here. May I come in and speak with you for a few minutes?”
Mrs. Chutney hesitated and then stepped back to wave her in.
“I’m very tired, Jo,” she said. “Please make it quick.”
They went into the living room and sat, but this time there was no offer of tea or cookies. Jo was glad, as she wanted to get straight to the point.
“I think I may know who murdered Edna Pratt,” Jo said. “But I need some information from you first.”
“The police already have two suspects in custody,” Mrs. Chutney said. “Angus and Simon. Do you mean there’s someone else?”
Jo nodded.
“I was just doing some reading about alchemy. Much to my surprise, I saw that alchemy is very intermixed with the Taoist religion.”
“Oh? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I need you to tell me about a meeting you had here, where Professor Keith McMann came and authenticated Simon’s photographs.”
“Yes?”
“What did he say, exactly?”
“He taught us all about alchemy. He’s quite a scholar on the subject, you know. It was a fascinating presentation, tracing the history of alchemy from ancient times up to the present day.”
Jo nodded, understanding now that her suspicion had been correct: Keith McMann had been brought in as an expert to authenticate alchemy. The ladies had bought into all he told them—hook, line, and sinker.
The bigger question was, had Keith participated knowingly in the con, or did he genuinely believe that what he was telling them was true?
Before leaving the studio, Danny put away his supplies for the weekend, trying not to worry about Jo. She was a smart woman. She could take care of herself.
Tiffany was lingering also, finishing up her paperwork, but then she planted herself in her favorite spot, sitting on the counter across from Danny’s desk.
“So tell me about your weekend,” Tiffany said. “Now that you’
re practically famous, you’ll probably be kind of busy.”
Danny laughed.
“Oh, yeah, I’m famous all right,” he said. “I’m nationally known as ‘the neighbor.’ ”
Tiffany twirled a lock of hair in her fingers.
“Not after tonight. Once you get up there for that press conference, everyone will know who you are. You might even get some groupies.”
“Groupies,” Danny repeated, rolling his eyes. “I doubt it.”
“I’d be your groupie,” she said.
Danny glanced at her, not surprised to see that she was fixing him with her sexiest gaze.
“So how about it, Danny?” she whispered. “Are you ever going to get around to asking me on another date?”
He sat back, knowing the moment of truth had arrived. Let your yes be yes and your no be no, the Bible said. Danny had always tried to follow that rule in other ways, being as honest and straightforward as he could with everyone in his life. This situation would have to be no exception.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Tiffany, and a lot of fun besides. But the truth is that I only want to be your friend. The night we went for coffee wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that.”
She shook her head, clenching her jaw.
“You told me you liked my hair. You said it made me look sexy.”
“I said it made you look hot.”
“Right. Hot. Sexy.”
“No, hot. Heat. It’s so long and thick. We were sitting in an outdoor café on a night in August, for goodness’ sake. We were drinking coffee. You looked hot.”
She shook her head.
“Are you kidding me? You weren’t coming on to me?”
He held up his left hand and placed his right hand on his heart.
“I promise. I think you’re a great girl, but you’re not the one for me. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
She sat there, chewing on her lip, and then she rose and put both hands on the desk, leaning forward.
“You have no idea what you’re missing,” she proclaimed.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I can imagine,” he replied.
She stomped away, turning to look back at him from the doorway.
“I’m going to hate you for a little while,” she added, “but for the sake of my commissions, I’ll try to let it go. Eventually.”
30
Danny got to the township building about 20 minutes early, glad to have settled things with Tiffany. The place was already packed, but as he made his way into the room, the chief waved him toward the front, where they had set up a long table with seven chairs behind it and seven microphones.
“You can sit there,” the chief said, pointing to one end, “and Jo can go next to you.”
“Who else will be up here?”
“Me, one of my officers, the coroner, Senator Sugarman, Louise Parker, you and Jo.”
“Okay.”
Danny sat, and soon he was joined by Mrs. Parker. Though he would have thought she’d feel humiliated to be there, she was, in fact, simply glowing from the attention. She was all dressed up with her hair and makeup just so, and she made a grand entrance as she strolled down the aisle and took her place at the table up front. The coroner came in and sat next to her, and from what Danny could tell, she was actually flirting with him. Go figure.
Jo wasn’t there yet, so Danny tried again to reach her on her cell phone. He didn’t bother leaving a message but simply disconnected the call. Then he kept his eyes on the door, watching for her to arrive.
If she drove fast, Jo could pick up Chewie from Edna’s house, get him over to Danny’s, and still make it to the press conference with a few minutes to spare. She would have liked to skip Chewie altogether, but the press conference might drag on for hours, and she didn’t think the dog should be left outside at Edna’s for that long.
Jo’s heart was still racing after her discussion with Mrs. Chutney, and more than anything she wanted to talk to the chief, to tell him that Edna Pratt might not have been killed by Angus or Simon—she might have been murdered by Keith McMann.
Jo tried to think of a reason why Keith would have killed Edna.
To test the theory of immortality?
Out of anger when he learned this whole thing was just a con?
Whatever his motivation, at the very least Jo had now proven that Keith McMann was both a scholar of alchemy and a liar. Surely, when the chief reviewed Keith’s statement to the police, he would see that there was cause to bring the man in for further questioning.
Jo glanced at the clock and picked up her cell phone as she drove, dialing Danny.
“Where are you?” he demanded when he answered. “Everyone’s here but you.”
“Tell the chief I should just make it.” she said. “I have to stop at Edna’s and get Chewie. Can I put him in your guest room?”
“Of course. But where have you been? Who did you go talk to?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied. “But I think I know who killed Edna.”
Danny pulled the chief aside and gave him Jo’s message that she was on her way. The room was packed, with reporters filling the front few rows and townspeople in the rest of the seats and standing all along the back and the sides.
“If we get any more people in here,” the chief said to Danny, “we’ll be violating the fire code.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’ll be announcing,” Danny said, “but I was just talking to Jo. She said she knows who murdered Edna, and it isn’t either of the two men you have in custody.”
“She’s right that it wasn’t Angus,” the chief said. “His alibi checked out after all.”
“But Jo says it’s not Simon either.”
“That’s not true,” the chief replied. “We found a witness who saw him get on a bus near Edna’s house last Friday night. He had motive and opportunity.”
“Jo says it was Keith McMann, the history professor over at the college.”
“That guy? He couldn’t hurt a fly. What makes her think it was him?”
“I don’t know, but she’ll be here soon. She’ll have to tell you about it herself.”
Jo pulled into Edna’s driveway and jumped out, the car still running.
She almost stepped in a pile of dog poop, and as she hopped over it, she was glad to pick up the glint of silver. She leaned forward to look closer, thrilled to see that the cream cheese package seemed to have passed fully intact, thank goodness. That was one less thing she had to worry about.
Her relief was short-lived, however, when she got to the fence and saw that the gate was hanging open on its hinges.
Chewie was gone.
Had she forgotten to tie off the latch? She could have sworn she had done it when she first put him out there.
“Chewie!” she called. This was the last thing she had time for.
She ran next door and knocked, but no one was home. She ran toward the end of the block, praying Chewie would be across the street, on the slide, but the park was empty.
Jo didn’t know what to do. She had to get to the press conference. She had to explain to the chief about Keith McMann.
One time around the block, she decided, and then she would leave and come back to deal with this later. Chewie was a bright dog. He would be all right on his own for a while.
Jo ran past Edna’s house in the opposite direction, calling for Chewie as she went. She almost missed him, but something in the shadows over to the right caught her eye.
“Chewie?”
She ran up the driveway of the vacant house, the one with Marie’s For Sale sign in the front yard. There, against the garage door, lying in a crumpled heap, was her dog.
“No!”
Jo ran to him and felt for a pulse but she couldn’t find one. She wasn’t even sure how to feel for a pulse on a dog. Finally, she pressed her ear against his chest and there she could faintly hear the rapid, irregular beating of his heart.
“You got here much sooner
than I thought.”
Jo spun around to see Keith McMann standing behind her. Before she could react, he grabbed her, one hand on her mouth, the other around her chest. She kicked and struggled, but he dragged her around the side and into the door.
He threw her into the garage, where she landed on her hands and knees on the cement. She started yelling for help, but the next thing she knew, he had gripped her by the arm and held a gun to her head.
“Shut up!” he hissed. “Shut up!”
Jo began trembling. This man had already obviously poisoned Chewie. There was no telling what he might do to her now.
“What did you do to my dog?” she demanded.
“Took a little cue from Tips from Tulip.”
“What?”
“You had an item the other day about harmful house plants. From what I recall, dumb cane paralyzes the vocal chords and can even asphyxiate you.”
“You fed my dog a dieffenbachia plant?” Jo asked, aghast.
“Don’t worry, he’ll sleep it off. If it doesn’t kill him.”
“What do you want with me?”
“The notebook. Where is it?”
“The notebook? What notebook?”
“Red velvet cover, filled with notations. I know you brought it to that chemistry professor at the college. Where is it now?”
“I only brought him a photocopy,” Jo said. “The original is in my safety deposit box at the bank.”
Jo realized that it hadn’t occurred to her to turn the notebook over as evidence of the con to the police.
He let her go and paced, though he kept the gun trained firmly on her. She spun around and pulled her legs up under her, trying to make herself as small as possible, ignoring the scrapes on her knees and hands. Absurdly, she thought of the other night, when Danny tripped on the fence and scraped himself.
The Trouble With Tulip Page 28