Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud (8 page)

D
espite Isabel’s pronouncement, she did lie down on her bed after she finished washing up from her walk. The comfortable mattress promoted sleep, so she decided to take advantage of it since she was right there. She closed her eyes tighter and willed herself to capture forty winks. She could just as well have wished for banknotes to ripen on the trees like apples for all the good it did her.

Ideas, some more credible than others,
teemed and buzzed inside her brain. She harnessed them and focused to set them straight as the railroad line tracking like a backbone through Quiet Anchorage. As she saw things, Ray Burl hadn’t been the type of man she’d label as a trouble magnet. It wasn’t in his makeup to antagonize others and get into physical altercations. He had no bad reputation or arrest record. He’d been easy-natured and laid back like Sammi Jo was.

G
iven those facts, who killed cock robin?
mused Isabel.

She
sniffled. She held a disdain for late August when the ragweed and goldenrod grew with abundance, triggering her allergies. She had a prescription for a medication that did a halfway effective job of relieving her symptoms of a runny nose, frequent sneezing, and red shot eyes. All of Isabel’s sniffing, blowing, and rubbing drove Alma bonkers. Last year she’d suffered the allergies, and this August they’d switched places.

“
For the life of me,” Alma would tell her, “I can’t understand your reluctance to take your pills except to attribute it to your innate stubbornness.”

“
But I’m not that bad off,” said Isabel.

“
Not yet,” said Alma.

Whenever they left the house,
Alma remembered to tuck several extra tissues inside her pocketbook because Isabel always asked if she could “borrow” one. Alma wondered if Petey Samson’s dander and hair triggered Isabel’s allergies. If he did, it didn’t matter one whit since Isabel would never part with her beloved mutt. On the other hand, Alma had to admit she’d also grown rather attached to Petey Samson and couldn’t imagine their days and nights without him gallivanting under foot.

Isabel
liked hearing the chirring drone the cicadas sent up beyond her window open to expose its screen. Before she knew it, the field crickets would be moving in with them to escape the chilly autumn nights and chirping to beat the band. Petey Samson would ignore them because he wasn’t the breed of dog who hunted measly crickets.

Ray Burl
hadn’t been fond of hunting either. He derived no pleasure in bagging his game limit, and then cooking the wild meat on his Weber Grill.

“
Dig a little deeper into his past,” Isabel coached herself. “There was a Mrs. Garner, Sammi Jo’s mother. Now, who was she, Isabel?”

More often than not,
the names were tricky for her to recall, but not this time. She knew Mrs. Garner’s first name was Maureen, or Mo for a nickname. Isabel rolled over to rest on her side in bed. Mo hadn’t left much of a visual impression before she capered off to parts unknown.

Isabel could
n’t draw a mental sketch of Mo. Had she been a blonde, brunette, or redhead? She was another Good Time Charlene out to enjoy herself before her wanderlust got the best of her, and she blew town. Isabel had known a few Good Time Charlenes over the years and couldn’t wrap her mind around their scattershot thinking.

Sammi Jo had brought up her mom only twice
with the sisters and then in brief passing. Sammi Jo had to carry lots of hurt and anger caged up inside her. Estranged mother and daughter probably didn’t stay in touch. What reason would they have? It was Mo’s tragic loss, concluded Isabel, because Sammi Jo was a sweetheart.

Isabel tried to
paint a picture of the nomadic lifestyle Mo had adopted. Did she maintain any further contact, even the occasional postcard sent, with her ex? Did anything tie them together besides their daughter? Did the demons of guilt and remorse trouble her soul deep in the lonely midnight hours? Had she corralled another man, fallen in love with him, and started a new family, its members oblivious to her first one since she kept a tight lid on her past?

Such arrangements
developed even in this tell-all, show-all social media age. That made it a challenge for Isabel and Alma to excavate any useful data on Mo. Sammi Jo was their computer guru who was well-acquainted with Mr. Google. If there was any way to trace the will-o’-the-wisp Mo and assemble a dossier on her, Sammi Jo was the right expert to accomplish it, or it couldn’t be done.

Isabel reined in her thoughts,
deciding she was ranging too far ahead with the Mo idea. The cell phone was under the pillow. Isabel rang a familiar number, and Alma just out in the living room answered with a “
bon giorno
.”

“
Italian for good morning,” said Isabel. “Crossword puzzle?”

“Yes
, and today’s theme is foreign language phrases,” replied Alma tapping the ink pen, not pencil, on her chin. “What’s a seven-letter word for ‘running in circles?’”

“
T-R-U-M-B-O-S.”

“That fits. Thanks
, sis.”

“
You’re welcome. Let’s now talk murder.”

“Wait
one second, please…
clank
, there goes my shifting gears…okay, I’m all set…you may proceed.”

“
Funny. Now reflect back years ago with me. Wasn’t Ray Burl married to a Maureen?”

“Of course. She was Mo to everybody.
What a coincidence she also came up in my thinking while you and Petey Samson were out enjoying today’s steam bath.”

“What
can you dredge up on Mo?”

“She liked her
wine, men, and song. Sammi Jo inherited none of her genes. They’re made different as night and day.”

“Was there any scuttlebutt
about Mo carrying on any hanky-panky?”

“If
she did, no guy was mentioned in the same breath. On the other hand, a gal who’s the life of the party has to find a place to roost after the party is finished.”

“Didn’t she
wield a nasty temper?”

“She was like
Mount Vesuvius ready to pop off any time she didn’t get her way.”

“
Very interesting. Some townie might know of her fate.”

“Or if she had a
burning reason to lam off so fast and without saying goodbye to anybody.”

“I’m getting up in a few minutes. In the interim,
pick where our dinner out should be tonight. We’ll head up to Warrenton maybe. Are you in a more of tortilla or moo goo gai pan mood?”

“
Either is fine with me, but you’ll have to postpone dinner. Sheriff Fox just braked in the driveway, and I can see he took his meanie pills this morning. Something big has torqued him up.”

“
Oh brother, I can hear the rumblings of the Riot Act coming.” Isabel paused. “If he’s apprehended Sammi Jo, I’ll sic Petey Sampson on him.”

“See if you can beat
Roscoe coming into the living room. Petey Samson is bristling and growling like I’ve never heard the pooch do before.”

***

“I warned you once, but I’m not going to warn you twice about your meddling,” said Sheriff Fox. They conferred in the living room, him seated on the sofa and the sisters in their armchairs. He used his sternest cop voice while scolding them.

He
also used a handkerchief to mop the sweat droplets off his brow and forehead. Why they didn’t run the air conditioning baffled him. Freon or ice water had to circulate through their veins. More droplets beaded up, further tweaking his crabby disposition. Just then, a growl came, and he turned to see Petey Samson’s snarl and bare his fangs.

Hiding her smile
from Sheriff Fox, Isabel shushed Petey Samson.

“Have you arrested, or do you have plans to arrest Sammi Jo?” asked
Alma.

His
hesitation gave him away to the shrewd ladies. He couldn’t snooker them no matter how early he got up in the morning, and he’d pay a king’s ransom to bask in the satisfaction of having bested them just once. That would add an extra glint to his sheriff’s badge. They always seemed to be one step ahead of him, so he’d just have to take longer steps to catch up and overtake them.

Alma
resented his bossy attitude while seated in their living room, no less. “You harangue us to back off while you frame Sammi Jo for her dad’s homicide. Over my dead body first, Roscoe, and I’m not coining a pun either.”

“Are you defying my direct order?” he asked.

Again, Petey Samson growled.

Sheriff Fox
gave him a circumspect glance while tempted to growl back louder at the little, flea-bitten Cujo that needed to wear a muzzle.

“
What leads you to think we’ve been meddling, as you so ineloquently put it?” asked Isabel.

“I
just got an earful from Blaine about your wheedling him. For your edification, I’d asked the same questions, and my department already knows Ray Burl purchased the Mossberg shotgun on January 13
th
of this year from Blaine. I’d bet my bag of Dunkin’ Donuts you hadn’t dug up that nugget.” Sheriff Fox smirked at them.

Alma
cast her eyes to Isabel. Had Roscoe always been this careless? He’d just given away the information they now didn’t have to work to obtain.

“We stopped
at the hardware store while running our errands,” said Isabel. “Naturally our chat gravitated to the gruesome murder. Everybody is in an upheaval about it. Citizens wonder if their sheriff can protect them.”

“My deputy sheriffs are on top of it, so you can
allay your frets. I fully anticipate we’ll effect an arrest within the next week. At that time, I’ll convene a press conference at my station house to announce it, and you’re both cordially invited to sit in the front row where you can be sure to hear me.”

“If your
boastful optimism runs so high, you have a suspect in mind,” said Alma. “That suspect had better not be Sammi Jo. That’s a fair warning.”

Sheriff Fox sat up straighter on the sofa
, presenting a taller, more imposing authority figure in charge of this situation. “She’s been warned not to leave town, or she’ll be in big trouble, and that’s spelled with a capital T plus an exclamation point.” He mopped his forehead again.

“Roscoe, don’t
go taking that high-minded tone with us,” said Isabel. “We changed your diapers and fed you from a bottle.”

Sheriff Fox felt his jaw muscles tighten to jut
out his chin in a bellicose pose. He tamped down the rising embarrassment flushing red up his neck. He refused to let Isabel and Alma browbeat him with their disapproving scowls, schoolmarmish fuss, and berating words.

“
Aiding and abetting a fugitive is a felony,” he said. “I’d hate to charge you with it.”

“We’re
not harboring or helping any fugitives, Roscoe,” said Alma. “You know where to find us, day or night, to search to your heart’s content. Just be sure to bring the signed search warrant.”

“
Also try to use your cell phone and call ahead,” said Isabel. “Petey Sampson is set in his canine ways and doesn’t like getting surprises, as you can see.”

“I’ll make every effort to
extend that courtesy,” said Sheriff Fox, his cadence huffy.

Alma
met Isabel’s eyes again, and they agreed on something.

“Dwight Holden,” said
Alma.

Isabel nodded.
“We need to retain our legal counsel since Roscoe sees fit to throw around his threats of our arrest like wedding rice.”

He
laughed at them. “Dwight is a boob. He might know his law books through and through, but in real world terms, he’s clueless as a chimp shopping for a tuxedo and cufflinks.”

Pot calling
the kettle black
, thought Alma.

“Dwight will do
the right thing,” said Isabel.

“That includes making any necessary phone calls to
our good friend Judge Redfern,” said Alma.

“Judge Redfern?
Your good friend?” Sheriff Fox lost his smug levity and swallowed. Hard. How had he forgotten about that pesky detail? He cleared his tightening throat with a scratchy cough. “Is that who you just said?”

“Your hearing is up to snuff,” replied
Alma.

“
But she’s like the dragon lady,” said Sheriff Fox.

“Then
I’ll offer some free advice: you better strap on your fireproof suit,” said Alma. “Because we intend to fight your fire with our fire.”

“I
’ve got to get back to the station house,” said Sheriff Fox.

Pet
ey Sampson growled louder.

“I believe that would be for the best,” said Isabel.

D
wight Holden, as the best Alma could discern it, was powering through a midlife crisis, or perhaps it was male menopause, if such an ailment existed. In short, he’d become a bigger wreck than a demolition derby since they’d last seen the criminal attorney.

First he’d moved from his high-scale condo into a tinted glass A-frame he’d had erected on the southern edge of town
in a forested lot of weeping willows and sycamores. Then he wore his salt-and-pepper mane gathered into a Colonialist’s pigtail. As if all that wasn’t incongruous enough, he’d gotten his ear pierced and flashed a gold stud earring similar to the one of his sports idol, Michael Jordan.

Alma
, Isabel, and he conspired in his home office. They’d eaten dinner at home, and so had Dwight judging by the dirty dishes they observed stacked in the kitchen sink. The lingering charred odor matched to burnt pork chops. Even Alma with her diminished sense of smell could register how Dwight was a subpar cook in addition to a reluctant dishwasher.

Isabel
was also stunned. “Dwight, are you having a difficult day?” she asked.

A slight man not much taller or heavier than the
sisters, Dwight stroked his chin, acting is if her question flummoxed him. “I’m not sure I take your meaning, Isabel. Pretty much everything is coming up roses, thanks.”

Alma
could no longer stifle her exasperation. “What ails you, Counselor? We’ve heard of being stuck in the August doldrums, but seeing this is obscene.” She swept a hand to signify the A-frame’s disheveled condition. “For starters, you live in this glass fish bowl instead of the condo. Why is that?”

“I
like the tranquil views into the woods and Mother Nature.”

“What’s up with the
unwashed dishes left in the sink?” asked Alma. “Can’t you hire a maid service? Did you run out of dish detergent? Ever heard of keeping a shopping list?”

“I
find it more efficient to wash a large batch of dishes at once.”

“Meantime you attract
a plague of mice and roaches,” said Alma.

Dwight steepled his fingers and
centered his chin on them. “Oh.”

“
Yeah, oh. And why on earth are you wearing ladies’ jewelry?” asked Alma.

Isabel broke in. “
Gentlemen do that now, Alma. Earring studs are considered in vogue for manly wear.”

“Well, I
, for one, don’t like it,” said Alma.

Sighing,
Dwight clasped his hands in his lap. “Anyway. What brings you to my humble abode after my office hours may I inquire? I have a sneaky feeling I already know what the topic of this meeting is set to become.”

“If you
r sneaky feeling points to Ray Burl’s murder, then you’re correct because we find ourselves in the throes of its investigation.”

“Uh-huh,” said Dwight
, kneading his temples with his thumbs. “Have I ever brought up you are my most controversial clients?”

“That’s what makes us so interesting,” said
Alma.

Isabel smiled in sympathy. “
We can’t be blamed for getting into these jams. Believe it or not, we go to extraordinary lengths to avoid getting involved, but it runs counter to our nature. We must’ve been born to be Nosey Grandma Parkers butting into others’ business.”

“
I see.” Dwight stopped massaging his temples. “Don’t doctors prescribe anti-snooping meds to manage your, uh, condition?”

“
They’d be of little benefit,” said Alma. “Only an Act of Congress will make Isabel take her allergy pills.”

“My
allergy is much improved,” said Isabel, sniffing.

“Might either of you carry
any spare aspirins in your pocketbook?” asked Dwight. “I can feel a migraine is seconds away from hitting me.”

Alma
leaned forward and poked Dwight in the forearm. “When it rains it pours, and you’re our handy umbrella.”

“It’s nice to feel
needed,” he said. “This marks the first time I’ve been compared to an umbrella of all things.”

“Enough dithering,” said
Alma. “Roscoe Fox is giving us a lot of trouble over our helping Sammi Jo.”

Dwight
tilted his eyes upward to regard the stucco ceiling. He imagined how nice it would look if he painted it gentian blue. Right now he’d better get rid of his prickliest clients. “Sheriff Fox is perfectly within his legal rights to do that since you should not be interfering with his police work. I’ve talked myself blue in the face lecturing you on that concept.”

“Roscoe is taking the easy way out again by railroading Sammi Jo into a murder charge,” said
Alma.

“How might you know that
for a concrete fact?” asked Dwight. “Did he expressly tell you he’s set to arrest her?”

“We’re
no spring chickens, Dwight, but we’re not going senile either,” replied Alma. “History repeats itself. He pulled the same chicanery on Megan after Jake was murdered. It hasn’t slipped your mind what a quagmire that turned into for us.”

“
The nightmares from it still wake me up shaking like a leaf and in cold sweats,” said Dwight.

“Then you better get
behind us to prevent it from happening again,” said Alma.

Dwight narrowed his eyes into studious squints as if peering into a
laptop screen at Isabel, the sensible one. “Is the status quo nearly dire as Alma likes to portray it?”

“She’s never fibbed to you, Dwight. You can take everything she’s just told you as the
gospel truth.”

“Well, until Sammi Jo is charged with a
specific crime, I can do little for her,” he said. “My most prudent counsel is to wait and see what unfolds.”

Alma
wasn’t receptive to accepting that trite advice. “Nice try, Dwight. But we’ve hired you to fulfill your role in our finding Ray Burl’s killer.”

“Mother
implored me to go into medicine,” said Dwight. “But I was too rock-headed, and I knew better than she did. So I became an attorney. Now look where it’s gotten me. Things are a big mess. All right then, Isabel and Alma, I’ll play along with you, but I have one unshakeable caveat. I refuse to do anything that is regarded unlawful or unethical. I have to be able to sleep at nights.”

“
Just leave the dirty work to us,” said Alma. “We’re a pair of old, kindly grandmas no jury in the land will convict and send to prison.”

Dwight knew
that was a popular myth, but he didn’t share that insight only because he didn’t want to deal with the sisters any longer than he had to.

“I’ll write you a check, Dwight,” said Isabel, reaching inside her pocketbook for the checkbook.
“How much is your retainer?”

“Money isn’t a
priority right at the moment,” said Dwight. “We’ll settle that while at the office. Will that be all, ladies?”

“
One more action item,” replied Alma. “Get a haircut at Marvin’s Barbershop in case we need to appear before the bench. I’m not letting Tommy Chong represent us so we can get cited for a contempt of court.”

“
Again, that’s part of my new manly fashion statement,” said Dwight.

Isabel
nudged Alma for them to make a graceful departure before she made a regrettable comment on Dwight’s misguided manly fashion statement.