Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage (24 page)

“How was last night’s bingo?” asked Sammi Jo.

“Your Aunt Phyllis won the first game, and Fats gave her a lovely lady’s wristwatch for a prize. She’s decided to give it to Megan,” said Alma.

“Phyllis is a sweet lady, and we adore her,” said Isabel.

“The wristwatch will make a cool gift for Megan,” said Sammi Jo.

 
“Sheriff Fox also showed up to hustle a few votes,” said Isabel in a disgusted voice.

“
S-h-h-h
, listen, you all,” said Sammi Jo.

A car engine’s drone on the street sent them fleeing out of the garage, its bay door left up. Alma bumbled on her bulky foot, and Sammi Jo helped her gimp to the sedan while Isabel sank down into its upholstery. Once seated, Alma turned the key in its ignition, and the sedan moved in a circle as if they’d intended to use Sheriff Fox’s driveway as a turnaround space.

After maneuvering to the sunny street, they saw the car had pulled to the curb. A six-footer, slender Asian man emerged from the driver seat. The lemons and limes topped the brown paper bag he carried in one arm. As Alma sped up to go by him, the man ogled them, and Sammi Jo gave a congenial salute, but he didn’t return a wave, just stared.

“That was a close call,” said Sammi Jo.

“We did fine,” said Isabel.

As the sedan bumped over the railroad crossing for the straight shot down Main Street, Alma had a thought. “Could Clarence beat Sheriff Fox in the political race?”

“I wouldn’t bet more than two nickels on it,” said Sammi Jo. “People don’t cozy up to Clarence, and well-liked is what wins you elected office.”

“Look, our street corner oracle is open for consultation,” said Isabel.

“Hearing you say that dumbfounds me,” said Alma.

“Why? I’m not totally down on the gentlemen,” said Isabel.

“Particularly when you hope to nick them for a favor,” said Alma.

Isabel’s hands made a shooing motion. “Just stop without your commentary.”

Alma parked in one of the many vacant slots, and they double-timed it across Main. However, only Ossie Conger and Willie Moccasin sat on opposite ends of the wood bench. The shade cast by Lago Azul Florist behind them hadn’t let in the day’s sunlight. Again, Isabel surprised Alma by speaking to ask the first question.

“Where is Blue Trent, fellows?”

Probing a tongue inside his cheek, Ossie nodded at Willie to respond. “Blue Trent says he isn’t feeling up to par.”

“He’s been playing hooky more often,” said Ossie. “We don’t know what all he does, but I’d put my dog tags on he’s been lazing around in bed.”

“What odds do you give Deputy Fishback to be our new sheriff?” asked Alma.

Ossie made a sarcastic growl. “He stands a better chance to fly with one of Willie’s little, pop-eyed aliens.”

“I heard Sheriff Fox might slip Clarence a few dollars under the table to drop out,” said Willie.

“Clarence is crooked enough to go for it,” said Sammi Jo.

A pressing thought prompted Alma. “Have you seen a truck hauling file cabinets go by this morning?”

“Yes ma’am, we saw Bexley driving a flatbed rumble by no more than an hour ago,” replied Willie.

“Were they green metal ones?” asked Sammi Jo.

“They were the file cabinets from Jake’s office,” replied Willie.

“Ladies, I’ve got a question for you. Are you trying to spring Megan from jail?” asked Ossie.

Sammi Jo snapped her eyes on him. “Of course we are. Do you have something to give us?”

“We heard where the stuff in Jake’s file cabinets went,” said Willie.

“How are you privy to that?” asked Isabel.

“Once told, Bexley can’t keep a secret at all,” replied Willie.

“Let us in on the secret,” said Sammi Jo.

Willie stabbed a gnarled finger. “Over in Clean Vito’s you’ll recall a broom closet is located by the soda machines. If an inquisitive soul poked inside there, they’d spot the reams of paper and folders dumped from Jake’s file cabinets.”

“Who put the stuff in there?” asked Sammi Jo.

“Bexley bragged how clever Sheriff Fox was to stash it there,” said Willie.

“Now he’ll return to Clean Vito’s to fetch the stuff,” said Ossie.

Sammi Jo consulted her wristwatch. “Not if we beat him to Clean Vito’s just opening now.”

“Hey all, look at who’s coming,” said Alma.

They pivoted around and saw Blue Trent’s coming toward them. His Bermuda shorts displayed his matchstick legs, and the dog tags at his neck jangled at each jerky step he took.

“Aw right, pipe down, you guys,” said Blue Trent. “I can lie in the fart sack and feel crummy, or I can haul my skinny butt down here so you are honored with my presence.”

Pleased to see his friend, Willie tapped the middle seat. “We kept your spot reserved, Blue Trent.”

Blue Trent assumed his throne and asked, “How much did I miss out on?”

“I’ll spin you up later,” said Willie.

“Nuts on later. I want to hear it all now.” Blue Trent sized up their lady visitors. “Can we get a little privacy here?”

The ladies returned to the sedan and headed over to Clean Vito’s unfilled lot. Sammi Jo doubled her pace to keep up with the sisters entering the soapy smelling laundromat. A cross-breeze between the open doors on the opposite ends blew over them. No early birds had yet schlepped in with their baskets of dirty clothes.

Sammi Jo saw a pay phone, arcade video games, and soda machines as they tramped down the middle aisle. The bubble glass doors to the front-load dryers lined the walls. The rows of washing machines, their metal flaps pulled up, squatted front-to-back. Give it a more few hours, she thought, and the laundromat would bustle like at the zoo. She used the back of her wrist and swiped her sweaty brow.

“There’s the broom closet,” said Alma.

They bunched at its door. A cheap zinc padlock securing the door had Alma and Isabel looking to Sammi Jo.

Laughing, she said, “Okay, but I’ll need a bobby pin and some luck.”

“I haven’t used a bobby pin since I don’t know when. Will a bent paperclip suffice?” asked Isabel.

“Yes, I believe we can make do with that,” replied Sammi Jo.

Two deft jabs of the paperclip in the keyhole, and a couple of jiggles sprung the padlock. She turned her shoulder and gave the door a ram to open it, and she beheld the columns of manila folders, stapled papers, and automotive manuals stacked in the closet’s corner. She picked up a manual on Volvo repair bearing a name—
THE PROPERTY OF JAKE ROBBINS—
printed in bold red across its top edge.

“Pop the bubbly, gals,” she said.

Alma edging up to Sammi Jo eyed the manual she held and then the stacks. “We can’t sift through so much stuff in here.”

“Back your sedan to the doorway, and I’ll load the paper into your trunk,” said Sammi Jo.

Alma rattled the car keys from her purse.

“I’ll go stand guard at the front door,” said Isabel.

Sammi Jo tugged on a string switch inside the closet. A dolly, its handles wrapped with duct tape, lay under the tub sink. She wedged the dolly’s shiny-scuffed lip under a stack of paper. After tipping up the load, she rolled it out of the closet and laundromat to its rear door. Alma reversed the sedan into position and bundled out. Smiling at Sammi Jo, she grabbed an armful off the dolly and heaped into her opened trunk.

“Uh-oh, a visitor is rushing this way,” said Isabel from her sentry post. “Sheriff Fox’s face is radish red, and he’ll keel over from a heart attack.”

“I don’t know CPR,” said Sammi Jo.

Alma dropped the next bundle into the trunk and flung down its lid. She closed the rear door and moved into the laundromat with Isabel and Sammi Jo. She walked to the other corner, knelt by a large pasteboard box labeled on the outside as “Lost And Found”, and started sorting through the different items. The boot soles scraped up the concrete steps outside before the door opened on them.

“Good morning, ladies.” Sheriff Fox’s abrasive greeting boomed through the laundromat. “You’re searching for lost articles of clothing, huh?”

“Is that a problem?” said Sammi Jo.

“Did you come over to see us, Sheriff Fox?” asked Isabel, stepping up.

“That’s a fact. Old Man Conger from across the street told me where to find you.” The ladies noticed Sheriff Fox’s nervous eyes lingering on the closet door and the cheap padlock securing its hasp. “My neighbor phoned me to say he saw three ladies leaving my driveway earlier this morning. Granted Old Man Ting’s eyesight isn’t the keenest, but he believes that he knows what he saw.”

“If you’re making an accusation, spit it out, Sheriff,” said Sammi Jo. “Of course by your own admission, your eyewitness Mr. Ting is unreliable.”

“He isn’t
that
unreliable,” said Sheriff Fox. “I just put what I heard out there for your benefit, and I’ll also tack on that trespassing is a misdemeanor.”

“Sheriff Fox, don’t try and bully us,” said Alma.

He wagged his head, brooding over why every time he bumped into the Trumbo sisters he left in an exasperated frame of mind. They’d been cordial enough before the present troubles, but Jake Robbins had been murdered, and he as the town sheriff had arrested his prime suspect, their niece. Well, that was his sworn duty, and his toughness on crime went a long ways to assure his reelection in November. So that was that.

“Where can I find all of you today?” he asked them.

“You can reach us at Alma and Isabel’s house,” replied Sammi Jo.

“We’ll be playing Scrabble and drinking iced tea like the sensible ladies do in late August,” said Isabel.

“As well as hashing over Megan’s situation,” said Alma.

“No big surprise there.” Sheriff Fox removed his Smokey the Bear hat and swiped a palm over his hair damp from perspiration. “The actual reason I’m here is because of an interesting call I took from Mr. Oglethorpe who grants licenses to the professional PIs in our Commonwealth.”

“Why should we give two hoots in Hades?” asked Alma.

“He laid out for me why he’s kept tabs on you,” said Sheriff Fox.

“We’ve spoken to Mr. Oglethorpe on several occasions,” said Isabel. “He informed us no PI license is necessary since we’re amateur sleuths, not professionals.”

Sheriff Fox replaced his hat and knitted his heavy eyebrows. “Yeah, so were the Hardy boys and Nancy Drew. But they were kids’ fiction, and that’s a far cry from what you’re trying to do. If I catch you interfering in my homicide investigation or accepting one red cent for your hokey detective services, I’ll lower the boom on you.”

“You falsely arrested Megan, and we have every right to prove her innocence,” said Isabel with quiet fortitude.

“She can tell it all to the judge and jury during her day in court. Good morning, ladies.”

Vain of his military precision, Sheriff Fox enacted an about-face and paraded out to his cruiser. It growled to run and then spewed up gravel on his dash out to Main Street and hard turn making for the highway. The dust devils kicked up in the lot by the sheriff’s tires earned Sammi Jo’s contemptuous glare out the door.

A growing frown reflected Alma’s new concern. “Who in town apprises Mr. Oglethorpe of each time we sneeze?”

“Somebody is getting itchy,” said Sammi Jo.

“Somebody has something like a gory murder to cover up.” Isabel dabbed a tissue to mop the perspiration off her forehead. “We can sift through our treasure taken from here at home.”