Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage (12 page)

Sammi Jo assumed their chauffeuring duties from Alma who wanted her hands unoccupied, sure that it’d help her to focus better particularly since they’d not seen any shady suspects at Jake’s funeral. She covered a sneeze from her allergy. Finding any signal was troublesome to Isabel, and her finger taps on the cell phone didn’t improve its range. She gave up trying to contact the sheriff’s office.

“Sammi Jo, are you sure you’ve never been in an auto accident?” asked Alma.

“Alma, you’re safe as milk,” replied Sammi Jo.

Isabel replaced her formal, dark hat with the floppy straw one. “Sammi Jo, may I have your opinion on something? Does this hat make me look dowdy or frumpy?”

She gave it an obligatory glance in the rearview mirror. “Nothing of the kind, Isabel. Your hat has a real flair.”

“Yes, I’d like to think so as well,” said Isabel.

Alma stayed mum on Isabel’s hat style though her dim opinion of it wasn’t swayed. They took the baking blacktop to town as the cemetery crowd thinning out slowed their progress. The graveside service had been an object lesson in mortality, but ladies getting along in their years such as her passengers, Sammi Jo knew, never dwelled on death. They lived in the present moment, seldom reminiscing except on their landmark birthdays: 80, 90, and, the Good Lord willing, 100 years old.

“I bet Megan could do with some company this afternoon,” said Isabel.

“We won’t breathe a word about Jake or his funeral,” said Alma.

“Sheriff Fox will say it’s late,” said Sammi Jo.

“Surely for today he’ll make an exception,” said Isabel.

Sammi Jo parked and they marched into the station house to find the duty desk. Their excuse of Jake’s funeral didn’t win over the presiding squat deputy with the bushy sideburns.

“Visiting hours ended at three
pm
, funeral or no funeral. Strict adherence to regulations is the hallmark of a well-administered penal institution.”

“Quit putting on speechy airs, Rodney,” said Sammi Jo. “We’re hardly impressed.”

He cracked his knuckles, rocked back in his chair, and tweaked his lips into a leer. “Should I call in Clarence? He can better explain it to you.”

“Call Clarence or the Seventh Cavalry for all I give a fig.” Angry, Sammi Jo leaned her weight on her other hip.

Isabel interrupted them. “The deputy is correct, so tomorrow we’ll return during the scheduled visiting hours.”

Rodney’s smirking nod addressed Sammi Jo. “You see, Ms. Trumbo is a smart lady. You should take a page from her.”

“Oh drats, where are my sunglasses?” While pawing through her purse, Isabel leaned forward into the stronger light under the duty desk. “I had them right here.” Just then a crumpled ten-dollar bill spilled from her purse to land on the desktop. Her search was distracting her, but Rodney fastened his eyes on the money.

Alma’s elbow jab clued in Sammi Jo to pipe down.

“Didn’t you wear them inside?” said Alma.

“Did I? I must have, yes.” Biting her bottom lip, Isabel delved further in her purse. “Lately, I’m so mixed up, and I’d like to die if I lost those particular sunglasses.”

“Well, Rodney, which is it: yes or no?” asked Sammi Jo.

“On reconsideration, you do raise a good point.” His meaty hand swallowed the ten-dollar dollar bribe. “It’s not like a dude can pick his time to go. I’ll allow some leeway to approve of a five-minute visit.”

Frowning, Isabel rooted deeper for her errant sunglasses. A second balled up ten-dollar bill dropped to the desktop near the same spot. His eyes latched to the money as his tongue scraped his thick lips.

“Ten minutes rings twice as nice,” said Sammi Jo.

“Oh yeah, and fifteen minutes rings nicer still.” Grabbing the second ten-dollar bill, his greedy eyes moved up from the desktop to Isabel’s purse.

“Ten minutes will do us fine,” said Alma.

“Then ten minutes it is then.” Rodney, twenty dollars richer, sprang to his feet. “Hang loose and I’ll be back in a flash with Megan.”

A rolling strut sent him into the station house’s recesses, and Isabel slipped her sunglasses from a dress pocket and into her purse for safekeeping.

Sammi Jo grinned at her. “How did you know he’d go for the bribe?”

“He has a dishonest smirk, so I plucked out a trick I’d read from a mystery book,” replied Isabel.

“Smirkers are dishonest and can be bought,” said Alma.

In a few minutes, he strolled back to the duty desk. “Ms. Connors is in Interview Room Two. Head on down, if you like. But first for the record, are you toting any weapons or contraband on your persons?”

“Did you win the lottery?” asked Sammi Jo.

“Wow, you cracked a joke, and here it almost sailed right by me,” he said.

“Jake’s file cabinets disappeared,” said Sammi Jo. “Do you know their whereabouts?”

“I have no idea,” replied Rodney. “All right, go on and finish your visit.”

The window air conditioner installed in Interview Room Two was chuffing away in its labor. After hugging the ashen Megan, Alma punched off the power switch for quiet and they sat.

“Megan, Sammi Jo is our new assistant,” said Isabel.

“We went to school together,” said Megan, her voice husky and tight.

“Actually I was one grade behind you,” said Sammi Jo.

Megan quit fidgeting with her hands as her pale face contorted in its anger. “Why are you helping my aunts, Sammi Jo? What’s in this for you? Are you Sheriff Fox’s hand-picked spy?”

“Not at all. Clarence made me look foolish, and I’m thrilled to knock him down two or three pegs,” replied Sammi Jo. “As for me and sneaky spies, no, my style is more like in your face.”

“You can trust Sammi Jo,” said Alma. “We do.”

Megan let her glare drop from Sammi Jo. “Okay, I will. For the time being.”

“Megan, how have you been?” asked Isabel.

“I missed not being at Jake’s funeral. How was it?”

“Everybody was there, and Bexley recited the Dylan Thomas poem you like so much,” said Isabel.

“It was a dignified funeral,” said Alma.

“Thanks for being there in my stead.” Megan fidgeted again with her hands. “It’s not as creepy as you might imagine. The food is pretty drab, but I’m alone in my cell. Since it has a bunk bed, my status might change. I spend a lot of my time reading paperbacks the lady deputy lent me. I have gotten blisters from pacing back and forth so much.”

“First off, we get you out of that orange hazmat suit,” said Alma. “Then we negotiate another deal with the deputies to keep your accommodations private.”

Megan’s distressed eyes sought Isabel’s, then switched to Alma’s. “You’ll negotiate another what deal with the deputies?”

“Alma is just letting off a little steam,” said Isabel.

“Just a little,” said Alma. “Have any new details while at Jake’s shop occurred to you?”

Eyes downcast again, Megan’s head wagged. “No, I’ve replayed the scene over and over, but I can’t add more.” Her tone grew matter-of-fact and her sentences choppy. “I stopped at Jake’s. He wasn’t in the house. Or the office. I ran to the shop. Went inside it. Jake lay in front of me. Shot dead. His chest bloodstained. It was horrid. In a daze, I phoned the sheriff. That’s it.”

“You should’ve called us first, said Alma.

“Megan did fine. It’s not like we’ve got any influence with Sheriff Fox,” said Isabel.

“You’d have to tell it all to him anyway,” said Sammi Jo.

“Did you see a handgun on the floor, Megan?” asked Alma.

“If I did, I’ve no memory of it,” she replied.

“Do you own a handgun?” asked Sammi Jo.

“No, I’ve never touched one. Guns scare me,” replied Megan.

“Then the .44 can only be a plant,” said Sammi Jo.

“Clarence, I can recall hearing, is the one who discovered it,” said Megan.

“Then sneaky Clarence definitely left the .44,” said Sammi Jo.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” said Alma.

“Think back, Megan. Did you smell any whiffs of cordite?” asked Isabel.

Megan scratched at an eyebrow. “What’s cordite?”

“Gunpowder smoke that has an acrid smell so you’d’ve covered your mouth and nose,” replied Isabel.

“The strong fumes made my eyes water,” said Megan.

“She came in seconds after the murderer had left,” said Alma.

“I don’t recall hearing any gunshots fired,” said Megan.

“Did a car engine start up?” asked Alma.

“No, I heard nothing at all,” replied Megan.

“The murderer escaped into the woods,” said Isabel.

“We’ll go canvass there.” Alma looked at Megan. “Dwight should’ve met with you.”

“No Dwight. I assume he’s been too busy working on my case.”

“We know Jake kept several file cabinets locked up. Did you open them?” asked Isabel.

Megan’s eyebrows canted. “They’ve always sat by the big walnut desk, but he rarely undid their padlocks. I believe he told me once he stored old car manuals and business records inside them.”

“Rodney might know if we grease his palm again,” said Sammi Jo.

Megan’s face knotted into an anxious tangle of furrows. “You bribed the deputy out front right under Sheriff Fox’s nose?”

“Bribe has a negative connotation. We did like the Senators and CEOs do to expedite their business,” said Sammi Jo.

Before Megan responded, Isabel asked, “Did Jake tell you Clarence owed him money?”

“I know Jake and Clarence owned and raced a car,” replied Megan. “But something, probably money, caused a rift. They quit speaking, and I played their go-between for a while, but I never learned many details. Clarence fell out of the picture, and I was only glad to see him go since I don’t like him much.”

“You ain’t alone in feeling that way,” said Sammi Jo.

“Did he two-time you?” asked Megan.

“He’s no better than a rabbit hopping from one girl’s bed to the next,” said Sammi Jo.

“Welcome to the fold. Jake pulled the same crap until we had ‘The Talk’. As far as I know he flew straight, but the distrust lingered like a bad taste in my mouth.”

“But you both had weathered that storm. He had to grow up, and he worked hard at the shop,” said Isabel.

Megan averted her teary eyes. “I’m sure you must be right.”

“Did Sheriff Fox run paraffin tests, or whatever they’re called now, for gunpowder residue on your hands?” asked Isabel.

“After my booking, I’ve only sat in my cell except for a trip to the prison showers,” replied Megan.

“He doesn’t need more physical evidence with the .44 handgun as his Exhibit A,” said Alma.

“So it appears.” Isabel tipped up her watch. “Alma, do you have any parting words? I hate to rush us along, but our allotted time is almost up.”