Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (18 page)

Chapter 32

Isabel
smiled as much as anybody could when it came to solving murder mysteries. “Then
give us the possible sequence of events that took place on the bridge.”

“I need
you to help guide me through the rough spots.”

“That is
how we always do things, and this time will be no different.”

“Get on
with it,” said Willie. “The suspense is getting so thick I can cut it with a knife.”

“Willie,
isn’t it past time for taking your nap?” asked Blue, checking his wristwatch.
“Just shush your piehole.”

“Please go
on, Alma,” said Isabel.

“First off,
I’ll say Mr. X took his final breaths right about where we are gathered on the
bridge,” said Alma.

“I agree
with you,” said Isabel.

Ossie,
Willie, and Blue taking long steps backwards—they collided with each other
while doing it—left Isabel and Alma standing alone on the cursed spot. Neither of
the sisters reacted to the Three Musketeers’ display of superstition.

“Let’s
suppose Mr. X came here for a dark reason,” said Alma. “He intended to leap
from the bridge and commit suicide by dying from the fall.”

“Mr. X jumped
off the bridge without a bungee cord tied around his ankle.” Ossie’s complexion
paled as he rubbed the back of his neck still in one piece. “It was boom and out
went the lights in this world.”

Willie was
also massaging his neck. “Talk about taking your hard bounce.”

“Or one
way to use your head,” said Blue, his fingers also checking on the intact status
of his neck.

Alma
gave the Three Musketeers a sidelong glance. The old
warriors bearing their army dog tags were acting squeamish about death, but she
didn’t comment about it and risk hurting their feelings.  

Not
seeing any gain made from dwelling on Mr. X’s suicide, Alma moved on with telling
his story. “The main channel’s force was dynamic enough to move his dead body along
with the current until he was intercepted and got lodged on the driftwood log
where you observant gentlemen spotted him earlier today.”

“Did any
eyewitnesses see him do it?” asked Isabel.

“He made
sure nobody with their cell phone cameras out loitered near the bridge,”
replied Alma. “Perhaps he took the plunge by moonlight. The semi-darkness helped
to mask how far down the fall he planned to take was in case he lost his nerve
at the last second and chickened out.”

“Now for the
sixty-four-dollar question: who is Mr. X?” asked Blue.

“I can’t single
out any distraught townie who’d do such a terrible thing,” said Willie.
“Everybody stays upbeat, especially during October’s glorious stretch of weather.”

“Mr. X probably
wasn’t one of us,” said Alma. “He was from out of town.”

“I bet Mr.
X was one of those shifty-eyed interlopers,” said Blue.

“Where
did Mr. X come from?” asked Willie.

“Possibly
San Francisco,” replied Alma. “Mr. X was last seen alive on the Golden Gate Bridge. He staged his suicide jump there convincingly enough to confuse the
authorities. Then he slipped out of Frisco and made his way east to reach Quiet
Anchorage. Mr. X might be Curt Miles.”

Isabel
nodded in agreement.

“Curt journeyed
an awful long way just to hop off our bridge,” said Ossie. “I would have taken
advantage of the Golden Gate Bridge if I had the same crazy idea he had in mind.”

“Ladybug
told Phyllis the authorities never recovered Curt’s body from the bay,” said
Isabel. “Earlier Sammi Jo started to ask me if Curt really made the jump, and my
ringing cell phone interrupted us. I forgot about it until Alma brought up his
suicide.”

“What brought
Curt to our small town?” asked Willie.

“I suggest
he came here to do in his ex Ladybug,” replied Isabel. “After his alleged
suicide, he would be the last person considered as the guilty culprit for the
simple reason he was presumed dead. Then I can only assume Curt actually did take
his own life.”

“That’s a
humdinger of a story,” said Willie. “Have you got any idea of why Curt jumped?”

Isabel shook
her head. “Alma and I never met in person much less talked to Mr. Miles. Our
learning anymore will require further investigation, I’m afraid.”

“Look on
the bright side of things,” said Ossie. “You are now one step closer to figuring
out the total solution to Ladybug’s murder mystery.”

“I
suppose that’s one constructive way of regarding it,” said Isabel.

“We’ve
kicked this around long enough,” said Alma. “Shall we call and let Sheriff Fox
in on this latest twist?”

“I was set
to suggest the same thing,” replied Isabel. “He’ll be over the moon to hear
about it.”

Willie
scoffed with disdain. “Roscoe Fox gets paid the big bucks to handle the messy stuff
like this. If the young man can’t hack it, then somebody else had better pin on
the sheriff’s badge.”

“Hear,
hear, Mr. Moccasin,” said Blue, slapping Willie on the back. “Would you like to
keep the law and order as our new town sheriff? I will nominate you, and Ossie
will second it to place your name on the ballot.”

“Not
unless you and Ossie also agree to be my right-hand deputies,” replied Willie.
“So, I put it to you. How likely is that to happen?”

“I’d give
it no chance in a million,” replied Blue. He checked his Aloha shirt with its
deep red background and hibiscus floral print. “For one thing, the shiny silver
deputy’s badge would clash with my daily wardrobe.”

“Please make
the call to Sheriff Fox, Alma,” said Ossie. “Don’t mind us. We’re just three duffers
flapping our gums and telling lies when we’re not playing boyish pranks on each
other. Truth be told, I’m a grizzled eighty-three-year-old who feels every bit
as if I’m a fifteen-year-old kid reliving my salad days.”

“It beats
sitting in the porch rocker and screaming at the kids to stay off your lawn,”
said Willie.

“You
could just have a fence erected around your yard,” said Blue.

“Fences
don’t keep out the kids,” said Willie.

“We’re leaving
here next to go see Rosie and Lotus,” said Ossie. “Isabel wants to speak with
Lotus in private.”

“That’s
okay,” said Isabel, looking downriver at Curt’s dead body. “The topic of our
conversation has been overcome by events, so it isn’t necessary anymore. Am I correct
in saying that, Alma?”

“So it
would seem,” replied Alma.

Chapter 33

Isabel
and Alma along with the Three Musketeers left the old highway bridge spanning
the Coronet River. None of them wished to see up close and personal what the
deputies recovered from hanging up on the driftwood log. Isabel had told Willie
he should be the one to phone the sheriff’s office and report what the three men
out on their fishing trip had discovered while crossing the old highway bridge.

After
listening to Willie’s outlandish yarn, Sheriff Fox chuckled. He ribbed Willie
about seeing things due to his cataracts. He’d soon be contacting the sheriff’s
office about his sightings of Bigfoot, gremlins, or even young Elvis at the local
Wawa convenience store munching on a bag of pork rinds washed down with a cold
bottle of Pepsi Cola. The testy Willie revealed he’d undergone the corrective laser
surgery to fix his cataracts, and he could see everything just fine.

To
appease the fussy curmudgeon, Sheriff Fox promised Willie to take a spin out to
the old highway bridge and personally reconnoiter what boogie man had spooked
the Three Musketeers. They provided Sheriff Fox with better comic relief than
Deputy Bexley did. Sheriff Fox couldn’t stifle his snickering and chuckles while
driving to the bridge. He got out and trained his binoculars to glass Willie’s object
of interest. It was probably just some corn farmer’s scarecrow that had washed
downriver and gotten wedged on the driftwood log. He couldn’t recall ever
seeing a scarecrow caught in the river.

After sharpening
the focus to the binocular lenses by adjusting the central knob, Sheriff Fox
felt his jaw drop like a claw hammer on his toe. He got a little excited. With the
cruiser’s red and blue roof bar lights flashing on his face, he radioed his on-duty
deputies. They had to stop whatever they were doing and come running because he
had a “Code Red” emergency on his hands.

His Code
Red emergency, however, failed to impress the deputies upon their arrival at
the old highway bridge. With his arm waving and his bullhorn blaring, Sheriff
Fox directed his three deputies on their body recovery effort. They donned rubber
hip waders black as truck-stop coffee before they splashed and stumbled on the mossy
slick rocks to reach the driftwood log. They encountered none of the feared
snakes.

The irate
deputies were grumbling among themselves and glaring daggers back up at the
bridge where their boss made it sound easy as going on a Sunday picnic in July.
If he had so many bright ideas, why didn’t he pitch in to help them? Lugging
the deadweight strapped to the gurney made their return trip more awkward. Oddly
enough, the dead man wore a plaster cast and sling on his right arm.

***

Leave
it to Sheriff Fox to try to find a way to prove Phyllis had killed the dead man
recovered at the old highway bridge. His problem was he knew his arrest of
Phyllis for Ladybug’s homicide was crumbling apart, and he could do little about
it. Since the Isabel and Alma had no time for relaxing and sipping iced tea
from tall glasses, they drank the iced tea from aluminum cans. It was a poor substitute
for the real thing if you asked Alma. It was Isabel’s turn to drive.

“Sammi
Jo has been doing a little freelance sleuthing,” said Alma just off her cell
phone with Sammi Jo.

“She also
has the incurable sleuthing bug,” said Isabel.

“Somebody
helped her. Can you guess who it was?”

“Well,
since Phyllis is indisposed, I don’t know who else Sammi Jo might corral.”

“Eustis put
aside his pills and filled in admirably for Phyllis.”

Isabel
had an easy-going laugh. “I like Eustis, and I think he can be trusted.”

“Now can
you guess what they were after?”

“Alma, I’m not a panel member on
What’s My Line
? Just tell me the rest of their story.”

“Sammi
Jo is keen to know what became of Ladybug’s missing garden shovel.”

“It also
whets my curiosity. Maybe she flung it out into the tall weeds or chucked it
into the river.”

“A fellow
might think like that, but a practical-minded lady such as Ladybug would be
inclined to save it for later use.”

Isabel
sent Alma a puzzled glance. “Is that a scientific fact, or something you just thought
of on the fly?”

“It’s
more the latter, but let’s consider the money suitcase and how it fits in the
big picture. Whose money did we find crammed inside it?”

“The
money has to belong to Ladybug.”

“I
agree. Now the questions turn harder. Why did she decide to bury it?”

Isabel
shrugged. “I left my deck of tarot cards at home, but then I’m only a novice
reader. Seriously though, let’s shelve Ladybug’s garden shovel and her money
suitcase for the time being, so we can devote our attention to Curt Miles.”

“What is
it about Curt that should interest us?”

“Chicago is where he and Ladybug married, lived, and divorced. She told Phyllis it was an
amiable parting. Evidently Ladybug didn’t mind bending the truth, and things
weren’t so hunky-dory in the Miles’s household.”

Alma
tipped up her can of iced tea and drained the final swallow
left inside it. She took down the can and frowned at it. The soft drink
manufacturer’s name she read on it surprised her. All the while, she was mulling
over the elaborate fake suicide—some of the newer mysteries called it a pseudocide—Curt
had staged on the Golden Gate Bridge before he came to Quiet Anchorage. The fake
suicide wrinkle was one she hadn’t anticipated, and the murder case had too
many other wrinkles.

“We may
never resolve Ladybug’s murder mystery to our satisfaction,” said Alma after a sigh. “It may frustrate me so much I’ll quit playing detective.”

“Uh-huh,”
said Isabel. “I could see me doing that, but you? Not until pigs fly south in
reverse on broomsticks, I say.”

“I can drop
doing it anytime I feel like it,” said Alma. “It’s just a little something I do
to prevent the moss from growing on my brain.”

“Balderdash.”

“Okay, so
maybe I spoke a little fast there,” said Alma who rarely got away with fibbing
to her older sister.

***

Isabel
and Alma found Sammi Jo at the drugstore standing in front of the greeting card
display rack where she’d been reading and smiling at the funny messages to the
latest greeting card arrivals.

“Did you hear
the latest news?” asked Alma.

“Blue told
me no more than five minutes ago,” replied Sammi Jo. She returned the greeting
card to its right spot on the display rack and mentally designated it as a
possible future purchase. She didn’t like sending out duplicate greeting cards
in any subsequent years. “To be truthful, it is all so bizarre to me. What do
you think is going on?”

“Our most
likely scenario goes something like this,” replied Alma. “First Curt pretended
to kill himself while in San Francisco, and then he resurfaced here. When he
was set, he bumped off Ladybug. Then he decided to cash in his own chips.” Alma glanced at Isabel. “Is that the gist of it?”

“It’s leaky
as a colander, but that’s our timeline of events,” replied Isabel. “His motive to
kill her remains about as clear as mud. Other nagging questions abound. Why did
he make Ladybug’s death appear as an accidental drowning? How did he remain out
of sight? Why did he jump off the old highway bridge? Why did she plant the
money suitcase in the sand? Where did the money found inside the suitcase come
from? I’ll stop my list there, but you get the general idea.”

“Are you one
hundred percent certain Curt Miles is the dead man?” asked Sammi Jo.

Isabel
nodded. “Sheriff Fox called me with an update. They found Curt’s billfold with his
driver’s license and photo I.D. The DNA analysis and dental records from his autopsy
later should make it an official identification.”

“Did he
leave a suicide note crumpled up in his pocket?” asked Alma.

“Nothing
that easy has come to light,” replied Isabel.

“So
that’s the end of it for us.” Sammi Jo unzipped the front of her jacket. Eustis
liked to keep the drugstore as warm as it was back in his native Southern California. The ceiling fans stirred up the sultry air. “With so many questions still
left open, it doesn’t seem fair to us.”

Isabel
and Alma had nothing enlightening to offer since they felt the same way. The
trail had grown cold as the first frost glazing the Halloween jack-o’-lantern
pumpkins the townies had set out on their front stoops.

“Did
Sheriff Fox fling another hissy fit when he saw the latest dead body?” asked
Sammi Jo.

“Willie
told us the deputies said Sheriff Fox’s voice turned high pitched,” replied
Isabel. “He rattled off his words like a clacking typewriter.”

“Typewriter,
you say.” Confusion lined Sammi Jo’s forehead. “What is that?”

 “I’ll show
you the one we keep as a doorstop,” said Alma. “Most of the relics were sold
for scrap metal which is where they always belonged as far as I’m concerned.”

“All
thumbs, Alma was a bad typist,” said Isabel. “But my nimble fingers flew over
the typewriter keyboard.”

“Bully
for you,” said Alma.

“Moving
right along,” said Sammi Jo. “Did Sheriff Fox announce when he plans on freeing
Aunt Phyllis? It’s obvious Curt was up to no good, and he had lot more of a
motive to kill Ladybug than she did.”

“When I
asked Sheriff Fox the same question, he hemmed and hawed,” replied Isabel. “I
suppose there is a process he’s required to follow, but he’s in no hurry to
admit he arrested the wrong person again.”

“In his
rush to judgment, he digs his own holes, and then he falls into them, and he can’t
get out,” said Alma.

“My
prediction is he’ll find a way to spring Phyllis before Judge Redfern makes it across
the town limits,” said Isabel.

 “She
puts the fear of Zeus into him,” said Alma.

“I heard
Eustis went on his first sleuthing mission,” said Isabel. “Did he pass muster
with you?”

“He’s a bit
green, but I think we can work on the polish part,” replied Sammi Jo. “I had to
talk him into buying a fedora instead of a handgun. We can add him to our list
of good guys.”

Isabel
and Alma nodded their approval. Who could predict when the sisters might again require
the aid of a nerdy pharmacist?