The Trouble with Tulip by Mindy Starns Clark Page B

the two coach tickets and bought a single ticket to Bermuda, first class.”
    â€œHe
what?
”
    As the woman went over it again in detail, everything became remarkably clear: Though the wedding was off, Bradford had decided to take the honeymoon anyway. The agent explained Jo’s options at this point, but finally she just held up a hand to stop her.
    Rather than going all the way to New York City last night as Jo had assumed, Bradford must have driven to Moore City and stayed at their wedding night hotel and then shuttled over to the airport this morning to catch their honeymoon flight to Bermuda. Unbelievable!
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” Jo said numbly. “Let him have it. I don’t care.”
    Almost in a state of shock, Jo wandered through the terminal toward baggage claim. As angry and hurt as she was, she had to admit that Bradford was the one who had paid for the honeymoon in the first place. The tickets had gone on his credit card, as had the deluxe hotel, so in a way he was right to have taken the trip himself.
    Oh, who was she kidding? It was all she could do not to run down the hallway and throttle him. Luckily for him, there was just a little matter of airline security standing in her way.

    â€œHey, Mac, ain’t this your stop?”
    Simon snapped awake, his eyelids scraping across his eyes like sandpaper. The bus was sitting idle, and the fellow who had been on board and sitting across the aisle since Charleston was poking him.
    â€œThis Jacksonville?” Simon asked, running a hand across his face.
    â€œYep. Just pulled in.”
    â€œVery good, then. Thanks.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Simon gathered his things and climbed off the bus, waiting beside the luggage compartment as the driver opened it. He pulled out his suitcase, gave the driver a nod, and headed for the nearest pay phone.
    Before he got a meal or even cleaned himself up, Simon wanted to touch base with Wiggles. Wiggles was the only one of the gang who kept a steady address and phone number. He lived in a tiny, one-bedroom bungalow his mother had left to him when she died years before—not that the joint was any big prize. In fact, the place was so close to the tracks that a passing freight train could rattle the dishes right off the shelves. But at least it was permanent. Wiggles lived off disability, spent his days walking the beaches with a metal detector looking for lost change, and served as a sort of ad hoc clearing house for the comings and goings of Florida’s grifting underbelly.
    Simon got Wiggles’ answering machine, so he hung up without leaving a message, feeling at loose ends. The growl in his stomach told him he was long overdue for a meal. He used the bus station bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, and then, wanting to make the money in his pocket last as long as possible, he started walking in the general direction of Wiggles’ house. Simon knew he would come across a grocery store in a few blocks, and that he could probably make do with a box of crackers and some sardines or tuna or potted meat—whatever was on sale. Maybe if he slipped Wiggles a twenty, Wiggles would let him crash at his place tonight. Maybe for a hundred, he’d let him stay there all week.

    At church Danny’s mother was the first to corner him when he walked in the door.
    â€œDid you see it?” she asked, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œSee what?” he replied, motioning for her to hold the door open so he could carry in his heavy drum bags. Their family group was performing in the service, and they had just enough time to set up and run through the song before the sanctuary was opened to the congregation for early arrivals.
    â€œThe newspaper!” she said. “You didn’t tell me about Jo and the dead body. Poor dear. I can’t believe she had to deal with all of that on her wedding day. Well, her
almost
wedding day.”
    She