by Ed Lynskey
“It would appear Alma is all set to go,” she said.
“Our fun and games should come only after our sleuthing is completed,” said Alma.
“You are right, of course.” The acquiescent but disappointed Isabel sat back down along with the other ladies.
“Is Petey Samson off taking a nap on your bed?” asked Phyllis, looking around for the part beagle and part terrier mutt who was usually the center of attention. Isabel had given him the two names despite Alma’s opinion it sounded a little pretentious.
“We took him to our vet for surgery,” replied Isabel.
“Is it for something major?” asked Phyllis.
“Nothing that is too bad,” replied Alma. “Petey Samson is undergoing anesthesia, so Dr. Ruffian wants to play it safe and keep him overnight for observation. There’s no call to fret because Petey Samson will soon return full of his old energy.”
“He moved right in and made himself the top dog,” said Phyllis.
Alma snorted at trying to stifle her outburst of laughter.
It was Isabel’s turn to give Alma a sharp look. “He’s a well-mannered pooch regardless of what the other lady of the manor thinks. I’ve spent a lot of time training him, and my diligence has paid off.”
“Is that why he still greets us in bed with his morning breath and licks our faces? Or why he sits at the dinner table to eat with us?”
Phyllis smiled. “I’ve never heard of that. Do you also put out a dinner plate for him?”
“He gets the red carpet treatment,” said Alma. “Isabel sets his stainless steel dish on the table’s placemat between her and me. He wears a toddler’s bib tied around his neck and sits in the chair on top of the phone books where he crunches away on his dry dog food as we dine. It is quite disconcerting. The next thing you know he’ll be drinking through a straw and using a pair of chopsticks.”
“Is letting him eat at the table a good idea?” asked Phyllis. “Dr. Fox would lecture you, saying it’s a mistake to let your pet develop such habits.”
“Dr. Isabel says it’s permissible, and so I go along to get along,” said Alma.
“Alma, you know full well I just floated the idea, and we’ve never done it,” said Isabel. “Here I thought you liked having Petey Samson around for company.”
“I have to admit I have missed him since he’s been gone,” said Alma.
“He’s so much more than a pet to us,” said Isabel. “All I want is for him to get back home well and safe.”
“We can agree on that much,” said Alma.
“I also want him back so you’re not too distracted from your pursuit of Ladybug’s killer,” said Phyllis.
Just then, Isabel’s cell phone sounded with her ringtone of Charlie Parker playing a snappy jazz solo on his alto sax. Surprise flashed on her face when she discovered her caller’s identity. She arched her eyebrows at Alma who knew something was up.
“Hello there, Sheriff Fox,” said Isabel, looking at Alma. “What is the honor of this telephone call?”
As she heard the reason he gave, Isabel’s hazel eyes gleamed with new interest. “Let me see if I heard you correctly,” she said, repeating it for the benefit of the other ladies. “You wish to speak with us in your office at our earliest convenience. May I inquire what the subject of our conference will be?”
“Who cares?” said Alma. “Fat chance we’ll ever be there.”
He told Isabel.
“You wish to discuss the peculiar circumstances surrounding the recent demise of Ladybug Miles,” said Isabel.
He spoke again during Isabel’s pause.
“How soon can Alma and I get there?” said Isabel. “I’ll have to check with her, but I believe she’ll want it to be as soon as possible.”
Isabel’s prompt accommodation pleased Sheriff Fox.
“Let me ask you something first,” said Isabel. “What will the tenor of our meeting be?”
Sheriff Fox’s response left Isabel smiling for the first time during their phone call. “We’ll meet as colleagues. That is a refreshing change from our previous dealings. Be looking for us in a few minutes then.”
As Isabel hung up, the skeptical Alma wrinkled her forehead. “It’s got to be a trap he’s laying for us,” she said.
Isabel placated Alma. “I’m a firm believer in giving people second chances. We’ll go to his office keeping an open mind and a spirit of cooperation. Who knows? Maybe Sheriff Fox has seen the light.”
“Maybe the moon is made of green cheese,” said Alma.
“Come on, Alma,” said Isabel. “Let’s put our best foot forward.”
“Okay, I suppose it doesn’t hurt anything to hear what he has to say,” said Alma. “We don’t have to believe him if we suspect he’s up to one of his schemes.”
“He probably wonders if Ladybug was murdered instead of drowned,” said Isabel. “That is how we want him to be thinking about her death.”
“As Ladybug’s best friend, Phyllis is also invited,” said Alma.
“Oh sure, count me in,” said Phyllis. “I wouldn’t miss this meeting for anything in the world.”
Chapter 4
At various times, Sheriff Fox could be in Isabel’s words a “pill.” Alma once remarked to Isabel he was all right in his place, but it hadn’t been dug. He’d clashed with the sisters both times they’d taken on solving a murder investigation. In his peace officer’s heart, Roscoe Fox admitted with begrudging respect he had benefited from their meddlesome habits.
They had not been wrong in figuring out the solution to the two murders and fingering the guilty perpetrator. How they came to possess this knack and made it look so effortless stumped him, particularly since the chief law enforcer like him should have been its recipient. They’d even had newspaper articles published about their coups, the ink that should have gone to praising his exploits. To the retirees, it was a hobby, but he could use any publicity he could get to enhance his professional image.
Isabel and Alma were fearless. His huffy threats to slap the handcuffs on them and toss them into prison failed to slow them down. If he did act on his warning and jail the sisters, he knew how the townies would react. They’d whip themselves all up and come after him with their torches and pitchforks. He bemoaned how the sheriff’s job was an elected instead of an appointed position.
He was nervous about losing his comfortable job plus having to give up his cool sheriff cruiser with its noisy siren. He liked to flip it on in boyish glee while he was tooling around town. Since the sisters had recently cracked Ray Burl Garner’s homicide mystery, Sheriff Fox wanted to ask for their aid to ascertain the facts in the death of Ladybug Miles.
He knew Phyllis was going around telling everybody and his uncle that her friend Ladybug was murdered, and the townies might start believing Phyllis. Furthermore, he knew she’d gotten Isabel and Alma involved. If they proved Ladybug was murdered, it made him look incompetent for having called it an accidental drowning. He’d rather drink ink, but he went ahead and invited Isabel and Alma to his office where they sat. Phyllis Garner also being there ruffled his feathers.
“Why did you bring Phyllis?” he asked. “I did not okay it. This is a private discussion held between us, and she is not welcome to participate in it.”
“Roscoe, let me remind you of something in case you suffer from selective amnesia,” said Alma. “You came to us looking for help.”
“What does that have to do with Phyllis being here?” asked Sheriff Fox.
“We are a package deal,” replied Alma.
“I didn’t sign up for the package deal.” Sheriff Fox sputtered like a flooded carburetor. “Our meeting is not a coffee klatch to swap our favorite chocolate chip cookie recipes.”
“I’m more of a bear claws lady than a chocolate chips cookies lady,” said Alma. “By the way, have you got any iced tea?”
“Do I look like a waiter?” replied Sheriff Fox. “Now about Phyllis being here—”
“I’ll just sit and be quiet
as a church mouse,” said Phyllis. “How does that sound, Sheriff?”
Isabel intervened before Sheriff Fox blew off his wing nut. “Being as Phyllis was Ladybug’s closest friend, I believe Phyllis has lots of useful insights to offer us.”
“Phyllis is in to stay, so you better get used to the idea, or the Trumbo sisters walk,” said Alma. “Now we should press on, shouldn’t we?”
Sheriff Fox tamped down his disgruntlement. What he did next left him in a fouler mood, but he was convinced he’d no choice if he expected to get fast results. He used his clear cop voice. “A peculiar set of circumstances has come to my attention regarding the recent demise of Ms. Ladybug Miles—”
“Cut to the chase,” said Alma, horning in. “Ladybug was murdered. We got that. You want to catch her killer. We do, too.”
He nodded. “Exactly so.”
“Roscoe, let’s be clear on where we stand,” said Isabel. “Did you call us in to formally request us to consult on Ladybug’s homicide case?”
“No way!” Sheriff Fox caught his outburst and paused for some throat clearing before he lowered his voice to a civil tone. “I mean our get-together is unofficial and off the record. Nothing we discuss can go beyond these office walls and closed door.”
“In other words, you want us to play your silent helper elves,” said Alma. “We already pretty much do that.”
“That’s a cynical way of expressing it,” said Sheriff Fox. “Nonetheless it’s important you not give out any information to anybody, especially the news reporters.”
“We know how to keep our mouths shut,” said Alma not appreciating his sneakiness but also seeing they wouldn’t be butting heads with him. “Is our saying Girl Scout’s honor good enough for you?”
“It should be,” replied Sheriff Fox.
“Then get to the point,” said Alma. “What is your peculiar set of circumstances?”
“For starters, we found no pocketbook, no beach towel, and no shoes along either shore in the vicinity where we recovered Ladybug’s dead body. If she went to the Coronet River to go swimming, wouldn’t she have taken along with her personal stuff and left it behind on the riverbank?”
“Presumably,” replied Isabel. “Her belongings could’ve been pilfered after she died.”
“Maybe so but the main thing is I have to be correct,” said Sheriff Fox. “If I decide to rule Ladybug’s death as an accidental drowning, and it turns out she got the business, well, that’s not a messy situation I want to confront.”
“How awkward for you,” said Isabel. She realized the sheriff blowing a call that big would spur the voters to ask embarrassing questions. “Is there more tangible evidence leading you to believe Ladybug was murdered?”
“Water,” replied Sheriff Fox.
Isabel almost batted an eyelash. “Water, you say?”
“Water,” he repeated. “The Coronet River’s level is down from the dry summer we had. Ladybug didn’t have enough water to swim there, not even to dogpaddle, so I have to consider the possibility she was previously killed, and her death scene was a rigged one.”
“She might have swum in the main channel,” said Isabel. “The river’s deepest current provided her a clear lane to use.”
“Right now the main channel is a tick mark less than twelve inches deep,” said Sheriff Fox. “I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants cuffs, and waded into the water myself. Then I used a yardstick to measure its depth. So unless Ladybug was an ‘Oz’ munchkin, she wouldn’t be able to swim one stroke there.”
“If I was her killer, why would I make the homicide appear to be an accidental drowning?” asked Alma. “I could see how shallow the river is, and my scheme would backfire. No killer can be that rattlebrained.”
“Perhaps feeling rushed, he didn’t think to use a yardstick and check the actual depth of the water as I was smart enough to do,” said Sheriff Fox.
Alma wanted so badly to roll her eyes.
“Ladybug’s autopsy will determine if any water is present in her lungs,” said Isabel, drawing on her book smarts gleaned from a lifetime of reading mysteries. “The autopsy results will either conclusively prove or disprove your theory.”
“Dr. Coe is away with his wife Claire on a Caribbean cruise,” said Sheriff Fox. “I can ill afford to wait until I can locate a different medical examiner to fill in and perform Ladybug’s autopsy.”
“By then her killer will be gone,” said Alma.
“Her killer will be long gone, in point of fact,” said Sheriff Fox.
“So, what are you going to do?” asked Alma.
Sheriff Fox had a crafty smile. “You’ve got it backward, Alma. What are you sleuths going to do is the right question to ask.”
“You are asking a lot of us,” said Alma. “Suppose we sleuths fail to crack the case with the speed it requires?”
“Then I’d say the chances are good Ladybug’s killer gets off scot-free,” replied Sheriff Fox.
“Unacceptable,” said Phyllis.
“Then you better get busy doing whatever it is you do so well and get me some results,” said Sheriff Fox. “I’ll be checking in with you in a day or so.”
“We’ll do our sleuthing best,” said Isabel. “We also have a large stake in solving her murder.”
“Then we have reached an arrangement,” said Sheriff Fox.
“Not so fast,” said Alma, her words packing a punch. “This time had better not be another one of your dirty, underhanded tricks.”
“You must have your town sheriffs mixed up, Alma.” Sheriff Fox did his best to look earnest. “I don’t have to resort to dirty, underhanded tricks to do my job.”
“Except for the time you duped Megan to come to your office to give her written statement for Jake ’s murder, and then you jailed her.”
Megan Connors was the Trumbo sisters’ grandniece who lived in the same distant city that their youngest sister Louise did. Megan had left Quiet Anchorage after Sheriff Fox had falsely arrested and imprisoned her for the murder of her fiancé Jake Robbins. Isabel and Alma had to enter the fray, investigate the murder, and reveal the actual killer’s identity. Left heartbroken on top of humiliated, Megan felt she had no choice but to move away and restart her young life. They kept in regular touch, and she said she bore no grudges while she seemed content.
Isabel and more so Alma held out the hope Megan would feel reconnected to her roots enough to return to Quiet Anchorage. It would probably take some time for her change of heart to occur if it ever did. On the other hand, maybe she’d meet a nice young doctor or lawyer, and they’d start a family where she presently lived.
“Alma, you’ll find our working relationship will go a lot smoother if you lose your crankiness,” said Sheriff Fox. “Obviously whatever mistakes have been made in the past can’t be undone now. What can I say?”
“That you are sorry you did Megan wrong,” replied Isabel. “I’ll pass it along to her.”
“My apologies to Megan,” said Sheriff Fox. “There you go. I said it. Are you satisfied?”
“Marginally,” replied Alma. “Your apology came off as sounding a little too perfunctory and not contrite enough for me.”
“Tough noogies because it’s the best I can do,” said Sheriff Fox. “Give me an idea of what your first move will be.”
Isabel clutched her pocketbook and stood up from the chair. “We do just what you’d expect from sleuths. We investigate until we are tired, and we rest up only to do it again. Repeat as many times as necessary until we achieve the final goal.”
“I’ve questioned the three-man brain trust seated on Main Street if that tops your to-do list,” said Sheriff Fox. “As I expected, they were of little or no value to me.”
“You don’t enjoy the same rapport with them as we do,” said Alma.
“I can hardly believe that is true,” said Sheriff Fox. “I’m their elected sheriff, and I am sure they voted for me.”
Alma bit her tongue.
“There is on
e big difference,” said Isabel without a trace of smugness. “We are their longtime cronies.”
“Every town sheriff understands how cronyism works,” said Alma.
“Just leave me and go do your thing,” said Sheriff Fox, pointing a finger at the door behind them. He thought of something else and added, “My thanks for your help on this case, too.”
“You’re quite welcome, Roscoe,” said Isabel.
The cynical Alma gave Sheriff Fox her humph look.
The last woman to file out of his office, Phyllis slammed the door closed behind them. It was obvious she also didn’t like Sheriff Fox and trusted him even less than Alma did.
A nefarious idea popped into his thoughts. He sat visualizing the face of the suspect he could charge with murder. The office door banging shut had directed his attention to Phyllis Garner. The more he thought about it, the more he could see the town bag lady making the perfect fall gal to take the murder rap. He smiled with a nod.
Oh yeah, he was good. All he had to do was to lay the necessary groundwork to make his arrest of Phyllis stick like flour paste glue. Isabel and Alma would never catch on to his sneaky trick. He’d diverted their attention to go play his silent helper elves. Oh yeah, he was very good.
Chapter 5
Ossie Conger, Willie Moccasin, and Blue Trent served as the community’s main radar center where little of social note slipped by them. No detail was too trivial to escape their vigilance. Their wooden bench fronted the Lagos Azul Florist Shop freshly painted sky blue and dusty apricot back on May Day. The old codgers spent a large portion of their day catnapping. One of them always remained awake and watchful so as not to miss anything and to keep the others apprised.
Alma liked to tease Isabel about how Ossie was growing sweet on her. Alma had overheard him refer to Isabel as “a good ole gal.” She wasn’t nearly as amused when Alma passed on Ossie’s quote. This time Isabel had a comeback ready after Alma poked fun at her again.
