Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud (6 page)

I
sabel missed the simple pleasures of using her own porch, front or back, since their brick rambler on Church Street lacked for one. Whenever she and Alma rode down the block, she had porch envy while observing the older homes offering their lucky dwellers the amenity. Their sturdy clapboard of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Quiet Anchorage had been blessed with a wraparound porch. Their mother, Gwendolyn, had referred to it as the “verandah,” giving it an eloquent sound.

You could loll on the verandah with plenty of room to spare and sip your mint juleps, or in their case, Mason jar glasses of iced tea. All the girls learned Southern ladies sipped their iced tea while the boys guzzled their beer. The heartthrobs and heartbreaks of boys
had lurked further on the horizon for the Trumbo sisters.

Isabel’s most memorable boyfriend was The Indigo Kid, so called because he played a blue guitar. His dreams of stardom far outstripped his musical talents, what she had told him during their stormy breakup. Much later, he made his fortune by playing the stock market. So it went.

The ideal hours to savor their porch sitting fell during twilight when darkness took its sweet, old time to drape its deep purple shawl over the farm. Mark Twain, relaxing dressed in his signature white linen suit while puffing on a stogie, was an avid porch sitter. If it was good enough for the creator of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, then it had to be good enough for everybody else in America.

Listening to their herd of dairy cows munching on the succulent pasture grass, she’d sway to and fro in the bentwood willow rocker. The sisters sat and gabbed, their deft fingers shelling the lima beans
and black-eyed peas they’d picked from the vegetable garden in the early morning cool. They collected the shelled lima beans and black-eyed peas in galvanized tin colanders for later washing, cooking, and canning. The filled Mason jars of lima beans and black-eyed peas stayed on shelves in the root cellar throughout the winter months.

Television was still the futuristic stuff of the Dick Tracy comic strips, and air conditioning was a ways off for the Trumbos. Electricity had arrived via the REA’s copper wires strung from the poles, and the Trumbos had interior lights. They banned the electric lights’ harsh glare from emblazing the porch and ruining its homespun tableau. Sometime right along there, Isabel had aided Watson and Holmes in tracking down the Baskervilles’ devil hound terrifying the Scottish moors. From then on, she was hooked for life as a reader. Later, Dame Agatha taught
Isabel the ladies could also be detectives, something she passed on to Alma.

There was more awesome porchside diversions for the
sisters. They often played popular card games like Hearts and Old Maid or board games like Monopoly and Mahjong. Scrabble came later after it’d been trademarked in 1948 and licensed to the Selchow & Righter Company. Isabel knew the manufacturer’s information printed inside the box lid since they still played using the same old game board.

Over the night insects’ loopy jazz, Isabel could discern the nearby
Coronet River gurgling over its sandbars and rocks with its bright musical notes. The distinct whistle to the steam engine express wafted up to her from further afield. Her exhilarated heart thumped. She couldn’t recall its exact arrival time at the Quiet Anchorage depot, but you could set your watch by it.

L
ightning bugs glinted like a host of flickering candles raised at a Christmas church service. She could never bring herself to capture the lightening bugs and cruelly trap them inside a Mason jar. The times she relished the best were to sit rocking and whistling back to the skittish whippoorwills trilling from beneath the close-by pine barrens and ironwood thickets.

On the other livelier nights she enjoyed the alto saxophone riffs blown by Charlie Parker. They came from his bebop 78s the sisters played on an old crank Victor-Victrola phonograph with its steel needle. She lounged in the bentwood rocker, tapping her toe along with Bird’s sax she’d heard blown dozens of times.

He never missed a bar he made up as he improvised his solo breaks. Louise once said the upbeat hens laid more eggs while listening to Charlie. She wasn’t kidding. Years later, Isabel’s husband Max, also a fan, said he’d once seen Bird play live along with the trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and pianist Bud Powell up in The Big Apple.

After the show, the enthralled Max had even met and shaken hands with Charlie Parker—“his palm was soft as a baby’s butt,” Max had said—in the jazz players’ green
room, which was really painted crimson red. Hearing that coup floored the saucer-eyed Isabel, but she’d already set her mind to wed Max at her first glance taken of him. The boy didn’t stand a chance.

Charlie Parker’s 78s were scarce as hens’ teeth now, said the collectors
of old records. Isabel had no clue of what became of their Charlie Parker 78s. The rural families often used old cisterns, ravines, and marshes for their rubbish dumping grounds. Isabel had forgotten where their dumps were made, if she ever knew the locations. Subdivisions now rested on top of them. She hoped their Charlie Parker 78s met a kinder fate than getting trashed as refuse.

Was it any big mystery after Isabel’s retirement and Max’s death why she elected to sell her residence, pull up stakes, and return to her native small town? As she viewed it, the good things in life ran in cycles. It wasn’t until you closed the loop that you could recognize it. Her return
to Quiet Anchorage had accomplished that.

Also retired,
Alma had seen the advantages to hitch on with Isabel. Now if they could only persuade Louise to move back to Quiet Anchorage, they’d be together as a family from their native small town. On the other hand, their niece Megan would probably never return to Quiet Anchorage after being run through the wringer over Jake’s murder.

The horror of a second murder, this time Sammi Jo’s dad Ray Bur, didn’t shake Isabel’s resolve to stay put
. Tenacious as a tick in her private eye role, she’d find a way to solve it.

D
ouble-timing it across Main Street, Sammi Jo overtook Isabel and Alma after she saw them filing into Matthiessen’s Hardware Store. Blaine, the proprietor, was nowhere in sight when Sammi Jo hailed the murmuring sisters who’d stopped at the display shelf of emergency battery-operated LED lanterns. She told them Phyllis had left the flower shop to do some dusting on her way home.

Isabel and Alma also smiled.

Alma picked up one lantern and inspected it. Every bad thunderstorm assailing Quiet Anchorage knocked out their electric power, and she was fed up with relying on flashlights and candles.

Isabel
flipped up the price tag attached by a string to the lantern’s handle. The wrinkles appeared in her forehead as she experienced the sticker shock.

Votive
candles and D cell batteries for the flashlights fell more within their fixed incomes budget. Alma pointed out how the LED lantern’s illumination was more brilliant, and if they bought a pair of them, Isabel would have one handy to use whenever Petey Samson scratched at the front door at night. Alma asked for Sammi Jo’s opinion.

“If you expect
Blaine to be willing to take our questions, he’ll want you to buy something expensive,” she replied. “Like the two lanterns.”

“Did you know
Ray Burl bought a shotgun here last winter?” asked Alma. “Corina from across the street said she saw him exiting from here with one.”

Sammi Jo
was left dumbfounded. “I had no idea. He never mentioned it to me if he did. I’ve got to wonder about that because he’d no liking to hunt or shoot.”

“M
aybe it was for his personal protection if he felt threatened or vulnerable,” said Alma.

“
Like I said before, as far as I know, he didn’t have any enemies,” said Sammi Jo. “Wouldn’t a handgun be a better self-defense weapon?”

“He could use a sharp hacksaw and crop off the shotgun
’s steel barrel,” said Isabel. “The unsavory elements are apt to do that in the hardboiled mysteries we like to read on occasion.”

Alma
nodded once. “The sawed off shotgun also instills boatloads of fear in any character staring straight down into one’s bore dark as the black hole of Calcutta.”

“I can imagine
how it does,” said Sammi Jo, never a fan of firearms. “Pick up three lanterns, one also for me. I’m down to using a penlight’s wimpy beam to fumble my way around my dark apartment after the current flickers off.”

“Three
brand new lanterns are coming right up,” said Alma.

She removed the
lanterns off the display shelf, and with Sammi Jo’s assistance, carried them to the back of the store to set on the waist-high counter.

The
cash register occupied the corner, but there was no sign of Blaine. The odors they smelled were a hardware store’s smorgasbord of paint thinner, plant fertilizer, and motor oil.

Sammi Jo jabbed her finger
tip on an identified black button that produced a rusty buzz in the backroom.

They waited.

Nothing.

Sammi Jo
glanced at Isabel.

“Just lean on the button, dear, until it wakes up
Blaine,” she said. “He installed it because he’s prone to take catnaps during the slow times.”

“
Owning the store has its privileges,” said Sammi Jo.

“For
Blaine, he comes by it honestly,” said Alma. “His grandfather and father took the same lackadaisical bent.”

“He better
dial it up a notch, or Home Depot will run him out of business,” said Sammi Jo. “It happens all the time.”

“
Evidently he doesn’t keep abreast of the business trends,” said Isabel. “Shush. I can hear him prowling around.”

Sammi Jo let up her
finger pressure engaging the button, and the obnoxious buzzer fell quiet. She gave Isabel a thumbs up as Blaine, half-dazed and tousled, entered from a doorway at the far end behind the counter. He’d stacked on ten pounds to his short frame since the last time Sammi Jo had seen him. He lumbered sloth-like down the counter until he faced them with a solicitous smile.

“
I’ve been going over my inventory list,” he lied. “But I can always use a break from doing my paperwork. May I be of assistance to you, ladies?”

The nearest
lady to the counter, Sammi Jo handled the transactions for the lanterns and information gathering.

“
Ring us up these three items,” said Sammi Jo, nudging the lanterns at Blaine. “Before you ask, yes, we’d like them bagged. Paper, not plastic, too.”

Elated
to be tossing some money in his till, Blaine punched up the purchases on the cash register despite the bar codes included on their price stickers. “Such a calamity about your dad, Sammi Jo. He will be truly missed I can tell you without reservation.”

“Yeah,
I know the turf farm keeps a big account with your store,” said Sammi Jo. “But thanks for your condolences just the same.”

“
He bought more stuff here than just for the turf farm,” said Blaine. “Matter of fact, he paid for a Mossberg pump 12-gauge shotgun earlier this year.”

Sammi Jo capitalized on
Blaine’s broaching the very topic she wanted to discuss with him. “Where are your firearms for sale?”

“I keep them
locked up over in the new annex.” Blaine hiked his thumb up over his shoulder.

“
A 12-gauge packs a lot of firepower,” said Sammi Jo. “Did he tell you why he needed to buy so much?”

Blaine
had a noncommittal smile. “We talked, but I don’t remember that coming up. Guys hunt big game like turkeys, deer, and bears.”

“Did he also buy a hunting license?” Sammi Jo
paid Blaine the amount the cash register had rung up.

“Well, let me see about that now…” Pursing his lips,
Blaine froze while he was counting out Sammi Jo’s correct change. “…uh, I guess I’m drawing a blank on that.”

“
No doubt you are,” said Sammi Jo. “Daddy had no use for killing living things, even for the so-called sport of it.”

“Hey,
don’t go knocking legal hunting,” said Blaine. “Hunters—gals and guys, alike—are among my finest customers.”

“
So they are,” said Sammi Jo. “My point is Daddy wasn’t picking up the shotgun for bagging an eight-point buck, black bear, or trophy gobbler.”

“I
see what you mean. What reason did he have for buying the Mossberg?”

Sammi Jo leveled her
penetrating eyes on Blaine. “That’s what I was hoping you’d be able to give me a hint about.”

Blaine
finished counting the change into her palm and bagged up each lantern. “I can’t help you beyond what I’ve told you. Your dad was a laconic sort. More than fifty words for him was a speech.”

“He didn’t
go on at length to get across his message,” said Sammi Jo. “But you knew where you stood with him after you heard what he had to say.”

Blaine
bobbed his head. “True enough, that.”

Isabel
asked her question. “Did Ray Burl bring up his job?”

His eyes
gleaming, the animated Blaine nodded. “Now I get it. You ladies are getting back to running your private eye club.”

“
Business firm, not a club,” said Sammi Jo. “Since we’ve been written up in the newspaper, that’s general knowledge.”

Blaine
leaned his forearms on top of the cash register. “You’re angling to beat Sheriff Fox to the punch to get Ray Burl’s murderer. That would be a feather in your cap, lots of publicity followed by loads of new
cha-ching
, something I also love hearing.”

“
Blaine, we’re not trying to drum up business at my late Daddy’s expense,” said Sammi Jo.

“No, of course, you’re not
.” Blaine backpedaled. “But to answer Isabel’s question, he never said how it was going over at Old Man Barclay’s place. Ray Burl gave me a list of what supplies he wanted, and I filled his order.”

“How did he
pass the time while you did that?” asked Alma.

“He leaned against the counter where you’re standing and watched
me. I tried to chat him up like in a game I’d play with him, but he just grunted and shrugged me off.”

“Did he
add any bullets to his order?” asked Isabel.

“Bullets?”
Blaine scratched his stubbly jaw. “For his shotgun?”

“Isabel
asks did he buy any ammo,” said Sammi Jo. “Shells for loading the Mossberg.”

“
I get you. He bought #00-buckshot. Ten rounds come in each box. Expensive loads, too. The-top-of-the-line I sell my customers. The copper-plated hard alloy pellets give the shooters a smoother discharge.”

Blaine
’s shotgun smarts failed to wow Sammi Jo since she wasn’t interested in buying one. “But the cheapies blow a hole in the victim’s chest just as big as the expensive shells will do. Am I right about that, Blaine?”

Isabel
and Alma exchanged eye twinkles. Their Sammi Jo demonstrated again how she was a tough
and
smart cookie.

“
That would be irrefutable fact,” said Blaine.

“Then
we’re all set by just ascertaining that much,” said Sammi Jo. “But thanks for your in-depth expertise.”

“I’m happy to
give it any time you need it.” Blaine tilted his head at her. His expression changed to a quizzical one. “I hear tell you’re dating the debonair Reynolds Kyle. Is there any truth to it?”

“You hear all types of things,
Blaine. Are you asking if I care to comment on the gossip you picked up?”

“
I just wondered about it is why I ask.”

“All I can say is you’ll
have to go on wondering because I’ve got no comment.” Sammi Jo, toting the sacked lanterns, led Isabel and Alma out of the hardware store. Once they returned to the baking sidewalk out of earshot, Sammi Jo made the most important observation.

“Why does a peace
loving man like Ray Burl who shied away from firearms get a hankering to buy one of the most lethal calibers sold on the market?”

“That
question might be what a Golden Age private investigator would call a conundrum,” replied Isabel.

“
I think conundrums stink,” said Alma, scowling. “They keep me awake more than Petey Samson does with his yodeling like Slim Whitman at the moon.”

“You must be dreaming,” said Isabel. “
I know for a fact Petey Samson does not yodel.”

“
Who is it I wake up to hearing raise a squall on your end of the brick rambler? Is it you? I sure hope not.”

“
Alma, a pack of coyotes might be the noisemakers,” said Sammi Jo. “They’ve taken up residence in our slice of heaven.”

“
Coyotes. Here in Quiet Anchorage. What’s next for us? Eddy’s Deli turns into a dancehall saloon, tumbleweeds skip across the lawns, and the men strut around bowlegged?”

L
eaving Isabel and Alma, Sammi Jo returned to her apartment, taking her new lantern, while the two sisters with theirs went back to the brick rambler. As they braked in the driveway, Alma asked Isabel a question.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking
of how this conundrum might be over our heads?”

Isabel switched off the ignition key. “I was
mentally listing the words beginning with the letter zee that can be made up in Scrabble. There’s zoo, zebra, and zig.”

“
Zounds, I wish you’d give this more of your attention since two heads are better than one.”

“It’s a temporary distraction I’m using to clear my mind.”

“Let’s recap then. What do you see as Ray Burl’s possible motives to have purchased the shotgun from Blaine?”

Isabel wasn’t alarmed as
Alma. “Maybe no connection exists between his doing so last winter and his getting killed now. Maybe one of his men at the turf farm gave him the money and asked him to buy it when he came to town.”

“
That sounds plausible enough.” Alma gazed across the front lawn. “We should let the grass get tall with this drought on, or we’ll have a patch of brown crinkling like a Brillo pad underfoot.”

“
Camilo and his crew need the work,” said Isabel. “I feel sorry for them toiling out under the blistering hot sun to earn a paycheck.”

“They do a
n honest job, and I like them,” said Alma. “I hope they’re still in business to use again next summer.”

“
We can water our lawn with sprinklers like the McKinleys and Lopezes do,” said Isabel.

“Let’s keep that idea
stashed in our back pocket,” said Alma.