Elementary, My Dear Watkins (35 page)

“Absolutely. For my purposes, the dirtier the better.”

“I’ll get it right now. Should I just put it out in the studio?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

Consuela headed out to the garage, leaving Jo and Alexa in the kitchen alone. Jo realized that she had to concentrate on not showing anything in her facial expressions that would give away what she had learned about Alexa just a while earlier. Jo had no trouble believing the girl was a genius, but she found it almost impossible to picture her as she’d been before—a kid who could hardly get a passing grade in school.

“You look like you’re feeling better. Any fever? Nausea?”

“Nope. I think I was just tired, mostly.”

“That’s good. Sometimes we all need a break.”

Jo found the dishwashing soap under the sink and was squirting some into a paper cup when she noticed Alexa standing at the back door, watching Chewie through the glass.

“He’s really a sweet dog,” Jo said. “You can go out there and play with him if you want.”

“Okay. Maybe later.”

Jo was describing how to play double fetch with two tennis balls when Consuela returned, mission accomplished. She then grabbed her rag and spray cleaner and went toward the foyer, where Fernando was apparently waiting to hold the ladder as she cleaned the chandelier.

“Go ahead, Alexa,” Jo urged. “Try to make friends with him.”

Smiling nervously, the girl went outside, and Jo knew that she was in very good hands with Chewie.

Jo walked to the foyer to thank Consuela for the extra toaster. Unfortunately, when Jo walked in it was to see Consuela perched up on top of the ladder, spraying cleaner directly at the fixture. Jo gasped, unable to hide her dismay. Trying not to sound obnoxious, she explained that Consuela should spray the cleaner on her cloth and not directly at the crystals, because otherwise it might leech into the frame through tiny nicks and cuts and eventually corrode the finish.

“For that outer row of crystals,” Jo added, “you should take them down and hand wash them. Just use warm water with a capful of vinegar and only a drop of dishwashing liquid.”

Consuela thanked her for the advice.

“No problem,” Jo said, returning to the kitchen. “Sorry to be a pain.”

“You’re not a pain. Never. I’m one of your biggest fans. I never miss ‘Tips from Tulip.’”

Jo was surprised that Consuela was even aware of the connection. On the Bosworth side of the family, they were so embarrassed of Jo’s occupation that they rarely talked about it at all. Sometimes, in fact, she practically felt like a black sheep.

Glancing toward her grandmother’s office, Jo came back into the room and climbed halfway up the stairs so that she was closer to Consuela on the ladder and could speak softly.

“Just don’t let my grandmother catch you reading my column. You might lose your job.”

Laughing, Consuela asked why.

Jo shrugged. She never was sure what they had against it, but she suspected it was simply too pedestrian for them, as if writing about cleaning was just one tiny step up from being a chambermaid or a window washer.

“Let’s just say I think my grandmother would prefer I had a different occupation. Something a little more, um, corporate. Either that or be some sort of society matron.”

“Are you kidding?” Consuela said, spraying her cloth and then wiping a crystal. “Your grandmother’s so proud of you she could bust. Not that she’d ever let you know it, of course.”

Gran, proud of me? Never
.

“She’s always talking about how smart you are,” Consuela continued. “She reads the column too, every day when she eats her lunch. She likes it when people write in something dumb and you tell them to ‘Be a Smart Chick!’ She thinks that’s funny.”

Jo was truly surprised and deeply pleased.

“Thanks for telling me. I had no idea,” she said, going back down the stairs and returning to the kitchen. As she went, she wondered why the people in this family had so much trouble simply affirming each other.

Would it have been so hard for her grandmother simply to say, just once in her life, “I’m proud of you, Jo”?

Of course it would have been too hard.

Eleanor was a Bosworth, and the Bosworths never gave an inch.

High over the open water, Danny was being spoiled by business class, wondering how he would ever fly coach again. He hadn’t realized when booking the trip that not only would his seat be roomier and more comfortable, but that he would get much better service and all sorts of little amenities. From the cotton slippers for his feet to the hot towel he’d been given prior to the meal, he was starting to feel like a prince.

Of course, all of that pampering was the only thing that was keeping him from climbing the walls. Over and over, he kept reviewing his brief conversation with Jo’s grandmother, trying to figure out what on earth was going on there.

The police are doing what they can, but they don’t really have any solid leads. Jo’s safe for the time being, now that she has twenty-four-hour bodyguards. And Bradford’s still in the hospital, though he’s out of intensive care. Does that tell you what you need to know?

Based solely on those words, Danny had created a dozen different scenarios in his mind—though none of them gelled with her further statement that if Danny were to marry Jo, then this whole problem would be solved. What whole problem? Why? How?

He knew he’d make himself crazy if he tried to puzzle it all out without the facts. Better that he not obsess on it for now and just wait until he was there to get the full story. In the meantime, he thought he might try to get as much sleep as possible on the flight over.

Goodness knows, he probably wasn’t going to get much sleep once he got there.

Walking back out to the studio, Jo smiled at the sight of Alexa happily playing fetch with Chewie. From the girl’s relaxed body language, it was obvious that she had overcome her fear of the dog. Good ol’ Chewie. No one could resist his charms for long.

Jo’s bodyguard was just reaching for the door to the studio when it swung open and Winnie stepped out. Startled, Winnie jumped back and gave a little yelp.

“Jo, darling,” she said, patting her chest, “I’m glad you have a bodyguard, but could you please tell him not to sneak up on people like that? He almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Did you need something?” Jo asked, offended for her bodyguard’s sake, at the way Winnie had spoken about him as if he wasn’t even there or couldn’t understand, like a pet or a small child.

“I was taking a break and thought I’d check the guest house for a toaster,” Winnie explained. “Sure enough, there was one there. I didn’t know if you wanted the flowered cloth cover too, so I brought it just in case. I put mine next to the other appliances.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Jo and the bodyguard continued into the studio, but Winnie paused before heading for the main house.

“Jo, I’m sorry for my behavior earlier at the breakfast table and in the greenhouse. I’m just having trouble with all of this…drama.”

Jo wondered if Winnie realized the irony of her statement, that she herself was the root of much of the day’s drama.

“I understand,” Jo replied, trying to be kind. “The whole situation has been incredibly unnerving for all of us.”

Satisfied, Winnie continued on her way.

“Oh, and Jo,” she said, turning back one more time, “I heard from Neil. He and Ian are on the way from New York. They want to talk to you.”

C
hewie wasn’t so bad, not bad at all. He did have those big teeth, of course, but after playing with him for a while, Alexa had to admit that he was as gentle as a teddy bear—a big, slobbery teddy bear with bad breath, that is.

Once Alexa was finished playing with him, she went to the studio. She sat down at the piano, intending to practice, but she was really more interested in what Jo was doing.

Jo had lined up toasters and toaster ovens in a row on the far table and now she was looking closely at each one and making notes on a pad of paper. Alexa asked Jo what she was doing, and she said she was going to clean them. She was especially excited about the dirtiest one that Consuela had brought. It didn’t make much sense to Alexa, how somebody could get excited about cleaning, but then Alexa remembered what her Uncle Rick had said about Jo being a famous newspaper columnist. Maybe her column was about cleaning.

“You can go ahead and play,” Jo said, glancing up to catch Alexa staring at her. “You won’t bother me. I just hope I don’t bother you.”

“Okay.”

Embarrassed, Alexa began her scales. Once she was warmed up, she propped open the sheet music in front of her and began. It felt a little weird with someone listening, but soon she forgot all about that.

Something about playing the piano always sort of took Alexa away, as though she could climb inside of it and go for a long, beautiful ride away from everything except that strange connection between the marks on the page, her brain, her fingers, and her ears. It was like a big loop that she didn’t understand. If she put her hands in position and looked at the page, it was almost as though the music just happened, independent of her. Somehow, her eyes told her brain what she needed to do, and her brain sent that information down to her fingers. It was magical, and the more she practiced, the easier it all became.

When the first song ended, she held the pedal for a long moment and then released. The room was silent except for Jo, who let out a loud sigh. Alexa turned to look at her.

“That was amazing. I think you have a real gift, Alexa.”

“Thanks,” she replied shyly, turning back to her music.

She was about to try it again, with the metronome this time, when Consuela appeared at the doorway, followed by Alexa’s mom and her Uncle Rick.

“Excuse me, but we have some visitors,” Consuela said, stepping into the room. “Everybody’s showing up at once.”

Jo looked up to see a woman, painfully thin, who resembled Alexa, albeit a much older, battle-weary version, wearing dark shades and sporting an inch of black roots in her bleached blond hair.

This must be mom.

Behind her was a tall, lanky fellow in a muscle shirt, with tattoos down his slim arms and a silver loop in his eyebrow. A heavy silver chain hung around his neck with an even heavier one around his hips, in place of a belt. A boyfriend, maybe? As they stepped into the room, the bodyguard suddenly stood up straight, on full alert.

Before Jo could even take off her rubber gloves and introduce herself, Consuela told her she was needed in the house.

“Jo, your uncle and cousin are here to see you,” she added before exiting.

Jo’s stomach churned at the thought. She hated confrontation, especially with family, but she had a feeling this one was going to be a doozy. Quickly, she put down her cleaning supplies, took off her gloves, and washed her hands at the sink, all while Alexa awkwardly hugged her mother and the fellow who was with her.

“Sorry about that. I’m in middle of cleaning some toasters,” Jo said to them after drying her hands on a towel, folding it, and setting it on the counter. She walked over to the woman and reached out for a handshake. “I’m Jo Tulip, Mrs. Bosworth’s granddaughter. You must be Alexa’s mom.”