Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (13 page)

Chapter 22

“How was
I supposed to know you were keeping Sammi Jo’s move to the Cape Cod hush-hush?”
asked Alma. “Nobody said anything to me about mum is the word.”

“She
assumed you’d have enough tact to realize it for yourself,” said Isabel at the wheel.
The three ladies rode in the sedan on their way to meet Sheriff Fox who said he’d
be at his office if they’d like to come by right away. “You shouldn’t just
blurt out something personal about someone without first checking with them if
it’s okay.”

“Oh, for
Pete’s sake, that is a bit much,” said Alma.

“Nevertheless,
that is how it is done,” said Isabel.

“Eustis said
he doesn’t care if I do or don’t move, so let’s drop the subject,” said Sammi
Jo.

Liking
Sammi Jo’s proposal, Alma let go of her exasperation. Other more pressing things
needed their consideration. The depraved acts of evildoers never ceased to stun
as much as they repulsed Alma. Take Ladybug Miles’s homicide. Who had pent up
enough hatred or rage to plot a scheme to murder her and try to hide it from
the world?

“Are you also
deliberating on the case?” asked Isabel.

“My gray
cells are focused on it like a laser beam,” replied Alma.

“And…?”

“And
frankly, I’ve got nothing new to give you. Are you faring any better than I am?”

Isabel
laughed although not much humor was behind it. “Not a whole lot better, I have
to confess.”

“Aren’t
we the dynamic crime-fighting duo at work?” said Alma, her tone sardonic. “Even
our combined efforts have fallen short of making any headway on Ladybug’s case.
We couldn’t have picked a worst time to go into a slump.”

 “We have
to be making a little progress even if we can’t see what it is right now,” said
Isabel.

“I’d like
to think the same nice way,” said Alma.

“It’s the
right positive attitude for us to be taking,” said Sammi Jo.

They
parked on the street in front of the Quiet Anchorage Sheriff’s Office. Alma noticed its streaky windows needed cleaning, and its unkempt grass mowing. She made up
her mind to pin down Sheriff Fox on the actual reason why he’d taken the
unprecedented step and reached out for their help. His acting so strangely troubled
her even after he’d reassured them he also just wanted Ladybug’s killer put behind
bars. He could sing that song all day, and he’d never win over Alma’s complete trust.

The gum-chomping
high schooler sat at the receptionist’s desk and twisted a lock of hair around
her index finger. She said Sheriff Fox was in the rear lot where he was tinkering
on his cruiser.

“I
didn’t realize he knows his way around a socket wrench,” said Sammi Jo.

The high
schooler shrugged, snapped her gum, and pointed at the door marked “EXIT.” The
three ladies used it as the high schooler checked her cell phone for a text
message.

They entered
a small shady courtyard paved and enclosed on all sides by a tall chain-link
fence. A cruiser with its hood flipped up sat parked diagonal to them. Leaning
over its front grill was Sheriff Fox who turned around at the sound of their tread
and nudged up the brim to his Smokey Bear sheriff’s hat. He knew this moment of
reckoning was coming, and he might as well get it over with right now. He was
on his own turf where he was in charge. Or so he kept reminding himself.

“Hello there,
ladies,” he said. His smile was fake as that of a car title lender in a polyester
necktie and jacket. “What a pleasant surprise it is to find you at my station house
on this fine day.”

“We’ll skip
exchanging pleasantries if you don’t mind, Roscoe,” said Alma. “Why haven’t you
been more conscientious about keeping in touch with us?”

“Well,
you know how it is with one thing or the other always coming up,” he replied.
“I haven’t found a slow moment to drop a dime on you.”

“Nobody
drops a dime in a pay telephone anymore,” said Alma. “They are called cell
phones, and you can use them anytime you like. Everybody does that except for you
it seems. How long does it take out of your busy day to give us a holler?”

Sheriff
Fox couldn’t stifle his growing smirk. He acted as if he’d won a jackpot at the
slot machines, and in a way, he had done just that. For the first time in his
tenure as the town sheriff, he’d outsmarted the Trumbo sisters at their own
game. Even his stalled out cruiser couldn’t put a damper on his joy. He could use
his sleeve to buff his sheriff’s badge to add an extra shimmer to it.

Sensing his
arrogant attitude, Isabel reacted to it first. “You look mighty full of
yourself, Roscoe. Something big must be going on, and we’d like to be let in on
it.”

By now, Alma had tuned in to the old, familiar Sheriff Fox, and the clandestine manner he liked
operate. His leopard spots hadn’t changed, after all. He’d been hoodwinking
them probably since making his first appeal for their cooperation. The hot resentment
fanned through her like a grease fire surging up from the hot frying pan on the
gas range. She trembled from the fury shooting through her.

“You have
made an arrest,” said Alma. “Haven’t you, Sheriff Fox? While our backs were
turned supposedly doing your bidding, you went out and slapped the handcuffs on
the person you’ve wanted to arrest for Ladybug’s killer all along.”

“Aunt
Alma, I am shocked,” said Sheriff Fox, pretending her blunt pronouncement took
him aback. “I’m shocked by your accusation.”

“Don’t
you Aunt Alma me. I’m not your aunt when you act like a stinkpot.”

“Everything
was done according to Miranda,” said Sheriff Fox. “You shouldn’t forget I wear
the sheriff’s badge, and I am the one in charge of enforcing the law.”

Alma looked at Sammi Jo. “Who do you think our good sheriff has seen fit to arrest while he
was enforcing the law?”

“Aunt Phyllis,”
replied Sammi Jo, narrowing her eyes on Sheriff Fox. “Who else is there left
for him to lock up?”

A hurt scowl
clouded Isabel’s face as she came to grips with her naïveté

to have given
him a second chance. “I’ve never heard of anything more reprehensible,” she said.
“No wonder your sheriff’s cruiser is on the fritz. Even it can’t stand the
double-crossing scoundrel likes of you.”

“Now see
here, Isabel,” said Sheriff Fox, folding his arms across his chest. “That will
be quite enough out of you. I was just doing my job which the church-going,
hard-working, and law-abiding taxpayers of our town expect from me.”

“What
proof do you have Phyllis is guilty?” asked Isabel.

“I’m not
sharing my evidence with you,” replied Sheriff Fox. “You know it’s proprietary
until the time of her trial. You are more than welcome to sit quietly in the
courtroom and observe the legal proceedings.”

“Where
is Aunt Phyllis?” asked Sammi Jo. “What have you done with her? I demand you take
us to her at once.”

“Our prison
visitation hours are posted on the wall to the right after you exit my office,”
said Sheriff Fox. “We also have them available to peruse online. My department does
it by the book, and we make no exceptions, including with you three women. If I
let you in after hours, then I’ll have to do it for everybody. You’ll have to return
at the correct time to see Phyllis.”

“We’ll
be back then,” said Sammi Jo. “You can count in it.”

“I’ve
heard you, Sammi Jo,” said Sheriff Fox.

“In the
interim, we’ll round up a lawyer for Phyllis,” said Alma.

“Dwight
Holden is our attorney,” said Isabel. “He’ll be glad to serve as Phyllis’s legal
counsel, as well.”

Sheriff
Fox reverted to his smug leer, barely resisting his temptation to rub his palms
together in glee.

“In case
you haven’t seen Dwight work lately, I should warn you,” said Sheriff Fox. “He’s
gone to seed over the past six months, and the courthouse scuttlebutt says his
wheels have come off. The best of the lawyers hit skid row. The court sessions
are dog-eat-dog fights, and I guess he just couldn’t hack doing it anymore.”

“Thanks
for the update, Roscoe,” said Alma. “It sounds as if we also better bring in a
little backup for Dwight.”

“How do
you plan on doing that since he is in practice alone?” asked Sheriff Fox, his behavior
bordering on churlish. “Dwight is like a one-man band playing a broken drum and
bent cymbals. Not that he was ever any great shakes as a criminal lawyer when I
saw him in action.”

Alma set down her pocketbook on the fender to the sheriff’s cruiser, she opened the clasp,
and she pawed through the contents. “Drats, I have misplaced my cell phone. I
should wear it around my neck on a lanyard like the Three Musketeers do with
theirs.”

Oh
gee golly, that’s too bad
, Sheriff Fox delighted to think.

“Mine is
right here,” said Sammi Jo, taking it off her belt’s carrying case. She didn’t
like lugging around a purse. “Who do you want to call? I’ll be glad to do it
for you.”

Ghostbusters
thrilled Sheriff Fox.
This is rich. I’ll relish this special moment if I
live to be ninety, and I’ll always look back on it for a chuckle. Putting one
over on Isabel and Alma Trumbo who think they are so clever has to be one of
the highlights to my law enforcement career.

“Helen Redfern is always happy to take our call,” replied Alma.

“Judge Helen
Redfern?” said Sheriff Fox, paling as he lost his smugness and gasped for
breath. “Is that who you just said?”

Alma nodded. “Didn’t you know we are old friends?”

“How
could I have forgotten that detail?” His eyes grew large as pie tins, and his
complexion drained of healthy color to show a hue looking dull as cookie dough.

“Roscoe,
what is the matter with you?” asked Alma. “You look as if you just saw a ghost.”

“I think
I just did,” said Sheriff Fox.

“Surely
you are exaggerating,” said Isabel. “Granted Helen has the deserved reputation
for being a barracuda, but she’s also a fair-minded and even-tempered judge.”

“I’m
feeling better,” said Sheriff Fox. His eyes were still wide, but his natural
color was returning to his ashen face. “Our meeting is over. I have lots of important
work to finish.”

“You should
be at your desk sitting down when you take Judge Redfern’s call,” said Alma. “Pay close attention to what she has to say. If I were you I’d take copious notes
because she doesn’t like to repeat herself.”

“She and
I already have a history,” said Sheriff Fox with sarcasm.

Chapter 23

If a motorist
out for a Sunday drive took the notion to head down Route 29 South and passed through
Warrenton, Virginia, he’d next arrive at the river hamlet of Quiet Anchorage.
If his stomach was growling, he might stop at Eddy’s Deli for a spot of lunch.
The discerning locals recommended it as their top eatery over the fast food
chain restaurants, spaghetti joints, and truck-stop diner operating on the
outskirts of town.

If the motorist
also wished to indulge a whimsy to shop for an inexpensive but genuine curio, he’d
have to look no further than paying Uncle Jimbo’s Vault a visit. He was the tall,
rangy, and copper-bearded fellow seated behind the counter in his fashionably
messy antique shop.

The old Boombox
radio on the shelf behind him played the eternally young Elvis crooning his early
hits when Uncle Jimbo wasn’t listening to the Washington Nationals baseball
broadcasts during the warm months. Uncle Jimbo never played an inning of
sandlot baseball, but his greatest passion was to see his beloved Nats go all
the way and win the World Series. The most cynical townies said Uncle Jimbo had
better plan to live to be one hundred years old.

If Uncle
Jimbo didn’t right away greet the motorist with his customary affable smile and
wave, the motorist had to be patient. The likelihood was Uncle Jimbo had just dozed
off behind the counter. His overstuffed armchair was well broken in to accommodate
his frequent snoozes. There was a stemmed brass doodad on the mahogany countertop
by the cash register.

The posted
sign read, “Please ‘ding’ for service.” Uncle Jimbo preferred his customers to tap
the stem and ding the doodad to alert him. Several dings if it was necessary
but not tapped with annoyance or impatience. Easy always did it at Uncle
Jimbo’s Vault. His customers had to plan to stay awhile if they wanted to do
the shopping experience the right way.

A
pinch-faced Dwight Holden stepped foot into the antique shop for the first time.
In the background, he could hear young Elvis letting it rip on “All Shook Up.” The
delicious aroma of fresh roasted peanuts filled the shop. Dwight surveyed the row
over row of amethyst purple, sapphire blue, and carnelian red glass bottles. The
sunrays streaming in through the windows made the bottles’ colors dazzle his
eyes like peering at a cathedral’s stained glass window.

His closer
browsing identified the gaudy glass bottles as patent medicine containers long
since emptied of their miracle performing elixirs. He marveled how a sick
person back in the good old days could heal whatever ailed them by drinking one
of the bottled elixirs salesmen often sold door to door. Uncle Jimbo paid a fair
price for the glass bottles from a couple of enterprising kids who found them discarded
in the area’s old barns, dumps, and cisterns.

Dwight’s
peevish expression wasn’t due to any physical disorder. Rather he’d just heard
Sheriff Fox had arrested Phyllis Garner for the homicide of Ladybug Miles. Dwight
had winced as if in pain at getting the news. Big trouble was astir. Phyllis
was the aunt of Sammi Jo whom he knew was close friends with Isabel and Alma. Sure
as the cherry blossoms opened every spring, the Trumbo sisters would be coming around
to see him. They were nice little old ladies until a fool dared to cross them
as the foolish Sheriff Fox had done. Then the fur started to fly. Nobody messed
with them and got away with it.

“Why, hello
there, Dwight,” said Uncle Jimbo, standing up from the overstuffed armchair behind
the counter. “You’ve never before graced my establishment with your esteemed
presence. However, already you wear a dour face as if you just ate a green crab
apple. Is my antique shop so unpleasant it has already turned you off?”

“No sir,
that’s not it at all,” replied Dwight. “Just the opposite, in fact. You display
the most intriguing glassware that makes the ideal gift I might give my lady
client.”

“Hogwash,”
said Uncle Jimbo. “No ethical attorney like you ever gives their lady client a gift.
So I’d say she must be your new girlfriend who has impeccable tastes in antiques.”

“She is
my new girlfriend,” said Dwight. “Do we have to go into who she is? I’d like to
keep our budding romance under wraps until it has had a chance to blossom into
something sweet and special.”

“Congratulations,
Dwight, and your love secret will be safe with me,” replied Uncle Jimbo before doing
the zipped-lips gesture. “But that leaves us short of an explanation to account
for the dour face. What’s up with that if I may be so bold as to ask you, my
good man?”

“You must’ve
heard about the terrible fate of Ladybug Miles.”

“I’m at
a loss for the right words to describe how sorry I am to hear it. ”

“Yes, well
that’s not all of it. Sheriff Fox within the past hour arrested Ladybug’s best friend
Phyllis Garner for the homicide.”

“Hey,
don’t look at me. I didn’t vote for Roscoe Fox.”

“My troubles
begin after Isabel and Alma rope me in to represent Phyllis as her legal
counsel.”

Baffled,
Uncle Jimbo shrugged a shoulder. “So what if they do? That’s your job, and it just
means more cash going into your pocket. You can’t beat that with a drumstick.”

“You
don’t fully grasp how it is to deal with Isabel and Alma,” said Dwight. “They are
a pair of cyclones. Trust me, I know. Whatever you do, never let them into your
antique shop unless you want to sweep up the glass shards they leave strewn
everywhere in their wake.”

“You
must be going soft in head. Isabel and Alma Trumbo are the town treasures who are
also two of my most loyal customers.”

Dwight had
to crack a smile at Uncle Jimbo’s apparent naïveté. “Boy have they got you snookered.
Every time I accept a criminal case from them, I suffer another nervous meltdown.”

“It sounds
like it is serious.”

Dwight
nodded. “It is direly serious, Uncle Jimbo, believe you me.”

“How
many of these nervous meltdowns have you suffered?”

Dwight didn’t
have to think. “They hit me at least once a week, and I’ve stopped counting
them up.”

“Goodness
man, you must be almost at the end of your tether.”

“I’m
hanging by a frog’s hair, Uncle Jimbo. Only by a frog’s hair, I tell you.”

Uncle
Jimbo flicked his eyes with an amused twinkle in them to check out the front
window before he regarded the lawyer. He tried to suppress his smile as he slicked
down his beard. “Well, I hate to rain on your sunny day, Counselor, but the cyclones
Isabel and Alma just blew up, and they are climbing out of their sedan as we
speak.”

“Say what?”
Dwight’s head swiveled around like a weather vane to face the front window
where he also saw them stalking up to the doorway. They wore the stony expressions
of two women on a mission. Dwight whipped back around to Uncle Jimbo. “Quick,
do you have an emergency rear exit I can duck out?” asked Dwight.

Uncle
Jimbo shook his head. “Sorry, but I haven’t gotten around to putting one in
yet.”

“Rear window?”

“Same
thing.”

Trapdoor?”

“I have
no plans for installing one.”

“Then do
something to help me. Please. Just name your price, man.”

“The
best I can do is offer you a snort from the little brown jug I keep under the cash
register for medicinal purposes. Shall I pull out the cork for you to take a
swig?”

“It’s too
late for taking any strong medicine.” Dwight swallowed hard as he braced his
shoulders and squared his hips. “I’ll just have to buck up my nerves and face
them like a man.”

Uncle
Jimbo rested his calming hand on Dwight’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll
be rooting for you.”

Dwight managed
a grateful smile. “I really appreciate your doing that, Uncle Jimbo. I’m going
to need all the moral support I can husband in the next hour.”

“You circle
on back here after you finish talking to the Trumbo sisters and wake me up,”
said Uncle Jimbo. “I’ve got a special nostrum that will put gorilla hair on
your chest and leave you feeling cool-nerved as a top gun fighter pilot.”

“Does
your little brown jug bear an XXX marked on its neck?” asked Dwight, suspicious.

“That
one is for sissies,” replied Uncle Jimbo. “I got the XXXX jug because it works
better and faster. Just be careful and don’t jostle its volatile contents.”

“In that
case, you can look for my return as soon as I can get the Trumbo sisters out of
my hair,” said Dwight.

“You
know where to find me, and my offer always stands,” said Uncle Jimbo.