by Ed Lynskey
“He’s sitting at his desk cooling his heels and waiting for us to give him the killer’s identity.”
“You know about our doing that, we can’t always bat a perfect one thousand. There’s going to come a time sooner or later when our best efforts will go unrewarded, and we’ll not solve the mystery.”
“I’m willing to admit as much, but Phyllis is depending on us too much this time to let her down.”
Isabel rearranged her pocketbook to lie on her lap. She laughed at a thought. “I used to envision retirement as my golden years when I’d lounge about the house doing little or nothing all day long.”
“What you describe strikes me as a maddeningly boring existence and not right for us.”
“How much longer do you estimate we’ll be able to keep doing our snooping activities?”
“I reckon we’ll be sleuths for another ten, maybe fifteen years. I’m not just pulling that optimistic projection out of thin air either. There are precedents to support it. Jane Marple was an octogenarian while Jessica Fletcher was in her seventies. By the end of her illustrious career, Emily Pollifax had to be pushing her late seventies.”
Isabel laughed. “The three examples you just cited are the fictional characters found in our library.”
“Even if they are, I have every faith my comparisons hold up,” said Alma. “I’m just saying we’re only getting started on our geriatric capers and haven’t hit our stride yet.”
“Age is just a number and nothing more,” said Isabel.
“You said a mouthful, sister,” said Alma.
Isabel’s cell phone pealed out with its unique ringtone, and she checked on who her caller was. “What do you know? Sammi Jo is on the line.”
Alma did the cell phone pantomime with her hand put to her ear. “Answer it.”
Isabel did.
”Believe it or not, right at this moment I am standing inside of Ladybug’s townhouse,” said Sammi Jo.
Isabel’s glance at Alma showed surprise. “That is marvelous to hear but how did you manage to get past her locked door?” asked Isabel. “Voodoo magic?”
“I thought of a way to refine my lock picking technique,” replied Sammi Jo. “Are you busy? When you get over here, I’ll lay it out for you.”
“We’ll see you within the next fifteen minutes.” Isabel hung up.
“What’s up with our youngest sleuth?’ asked Alma.
“She got into Ladybug’s townhouse and is waiting for us to join her there,” replied Isabel.
“Did Sammi Jo crawl through a raised window?” asked Alma.
“She said she thought of how to fine-tune her lock picking technique,” replied Isabel. “She’s turned into our own Houdini where no type of lock fazes her.”
Alma did a nifty U-turn and they took off making a beeline for Ladybug’s townhouse. Petey Samson would have to tarry a bit longer at Dr. Ruffian’s office before his snooping mistresses had an opportunity to come and bring him home.
Chapter 11
Isabel looked at Sammi Jo. “Have you had the time to poke around much?”
Sammi Jo surveyed Ladybug’s tasteful suite of living room furniture. It included the sofa, two armchairs, low coffee table, and two end tables. The sunflower yellow ginger jar lamp on each end table was a recent acquisition. The darker gold carpet underfoot carried the new carpet smell and looked freshly vacuumed. The room looked picked up as if Ladybug had not tolerated the slightest clutter or speck of dirt complicating her life.
“I gave the downstairs a hasty go-through while I waited for you,” replied Sammi Jo.
“Did anything worthy of note turn up?” asked Alma. “Did you find the killer’s signed confession hidden inside the breadbox, for instance?”
“I’m afraid my lucky streak ended after I got past the locked door,” replied Sammi Jo.
“It’s a pity how good luck can only get a sleuth so far,” said Alma.
“Right off, something doesn’t appear kosher,” said Isabel with a circular gaze. “Ladybug was retired, so she spent a lot of time at home, but her place looks too neat and orderly. Her rooms should look more lived-in and messier where I’d expect to see a ladies magazine left out on the sofa or a diet soda can on the coffee table.”
“She may have used a professional cleaning service,” said Alma. “Several ladies in town get in enough work to do that for a living.”
“The housekeepers usually come once a week,” said Isabel. “This living room looks too spick and span.”
“Where are you taking this point?” asked Alma.
“What if Ladybug’s murderer sneaked in here and searched for whatever he was after? What if to cover his tracks he tidied up things but went a little overboard while he was doing it?”
“What interested him so much in here?” asked Alma.
“I can make at least one speculation,” replied Isabel. “Maybe Ladybug was blackmailing him, and he felt desperate enough to put a stop to it. He killed her and broke in here to retrieve the damning evidence like his DNA left on an object that she was holding over him.”
“Isabel, we’re talking about Phyllis’s best friend,” said Alma. “Not a hardened career criminal with a rap sheet as long as your rolling pin who is capable of committing murder and blackmail.”
“What if Ladybug wasn’t the nice lady she led us to believe she was?” asked Isabel. “Suppose she lived with a dark secret? Suppose she had a shady past?”
Alma turned to Sammi Jo. “Does your Aunt Phyllis have some dirt on Ladybug she hasn’t shared with us?”
“I believe Aunt Phyllis has told us everything she can remember, or she knows about Ladybug,” replied Sammi Jo.
“There goes your latest theory,” said Alma to Isabel.
“Then let’s spread out and be sure to look high and low in each room,” said Isabel, breaking out the 3X magnifying glass she carried in her pocketbook.
“What are you doing with that?” asked Alma, pointing.
“You are the one who called it a tool of our trade,” replied Isabel, polishing to clean its lens on her sleeve.
“I mean keep your naked eyes peeled for any clues,” said Alma.
“Hey, back off, little sister,” said Isabel. “You do your sleuthing your way, and I’ll do my sleuthing my way.”
Alma looked at Sammi Jo. “Isabel is trying to get my goat for the iced teas I insisted we stop and order from Eddy’s Deli. But I am too wise to her ways to freak out.”
Isabel moving the 3X magnifying glass back and forth inspected the top of the coffee table. When Sammi Jo glanced at her, Isabel couldn’t resist winking since she felt as if she had indeed gotten Alma’s goat.
***
Isabel and Alma combed the downstairs while Sammi Jo climbed the steps and poked through the four upper rooms that included the hall bath. She saw Ladybug had lived, for the most part, on the lower floor as evidenced by the emptiness in all but one bedroom. Sammi Jo envied Ladybug for having had so much spare living area. Sammi Jo would trade just about anything short of her old family photo album for an extra closet or cupboard in her cramped efficiency apartment.
She’d been intending to occupy the Cape Cod located not that far from Quiet Anchorage that had belonged to her late father Ray Burl. For one reason or the other, she’d postponed making the move even though the Cape Cod offered closets, three bedrooms, and a larger kitchen with a dishwasher. Her landlord Eustis Blake, the town pharmacist and drugstore owner, was a heck of a nice guy, and she hated to leave him. They kidded around a lot and liked each other enough to be good friends.
It wasn’t prudent to leave the Cape Cod unattended, and she’d wanted to keep a closer eye on it. Something more important, for instance like this present murder case, always came up. She’d bring a broom rake to clean up the locust tree pods dropped on the lawn. She’d also wear stout shoes for the locust thorns. The prospect of performing yard work on top of her regular job at the self-storage rental facility left her feeling tired. However, her co
mmitment right now was to assist Isabel and Alma.
Walking through Ladybug’s rooms unnerved Sammi Jo, but she didn’t retreat downstairs. Seeing all the empty space, she wondered if Ladybug had been a lonely person while she lived here by herself. Sammi Jo had been on her own since graduating from high school, and she stayed busy enough with her various activities to ever feel lonely.
Reynolds was usually around her enough to distract her from dwelling on her solitary life. Of course, she also had some expectation they’d get married at some point down the road. Ladybug had already been through all that stuff. Perhaps she’d reached the place in her life where she just wanted some peace and quiet when she was at home.
Sammi Jo found Ladybug’s exercise bike, a towel draped over its handlebar, in the last bedroom. Then Sammi Jo moved the hardback chair into the hallway, flipped on the light switch, and climbed up on the seat. She accessed the attic through the push-up panel in the ceiling. Nothing occupied the lit up space except for the uneven layer of pink fiberglass insulation covering the floor. When she heard Alma hollering from the bottom of the stairs, Sammi Jo put everything like it was and went to the stairhead.
“Sorry but I couldn’t understand you,” she said, looking down.
Alma had a sheepish smile. “I was too lazy to huff up the stairs, so I tried yelling it. I said Isabel and I have to leave and get Petey Samson at the vet’s office.”
Sammi Jo descended halfway down the stairs. “I thought Petey Samson is supposed to stay overnight,” she said.
“We can do a better job of caring for Petey Samson post-op than Dr. Ruffian can.”
“Why don’t you drop me off at Aunt Phyllis’s townhouse? I can bring her up to speed about our search made in here.”
“Doing that shouldn’t take you long.”
“Then I guess your search was as futile as mine was.”
Alma shrugged a little. “Don’t let it get you down, kiddo. Sometimes we find clues of no use right then, but later they take on significance. Meantime we’ll go back to the drawing board.”
“Our old drawing board gets a lot of use,” said Isabel.
Alma turned to her, asking, “Did your magnifying glass reveal anything? Does your home invasion idea hold up? Did somebody with evil intentions break into Ladybug’s townhouse after she was murdered?”
“My closer inspection leads me to think she was just a neat person by habit,” replied Isabel. “So, I have put my earlier suspicions to rest.”
“Then we should count that as having made progress and leave,” said Alma.
“Of course I reserve the right to revisit here,” said Isabel.
“I’m not sure I can pick the front door lock again,” said Sammi Jo.
“We’ll leave one of the downstairs windows cracked a wee bit,” said Isabel. “We can raise it and wriggle through the space later if need be.”
“Brilliant idea,” said Alma. “I wished I had thought of it first.”
Chapter 12
Sammi Jo’s boyfriend Reynolds Kyle owned and operated the local drag race track. Their relationship was an evolving one. It could either take the path of them veering apart or them merging. She didn’t know which direction they were headed. She proceeded with caution because she wasn’t about to open her heart and let him in to break it even if she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.
She’d dated a couple of egotistical men, and those relationships had gone nowhere fast. She was a smart cookie, as Isabel and Alma liked to say about her. At the same time, she also had her tender emotions to protect under her tough façade. She had discussed the complex topic of romance with Isabel, the more introspective while also articulate of the Trumbo sisters.
“Max and I met here in town,” said Isabel. “I was all of age seven, and he was almost eight. We passed by each other with our mothers inside of what is now Jumpy Blixt’s IGA.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” said Sammi Jo. “Did you hear the wedding bells chime in your heart? Were the tossed dried lavender buds already caught in your hair?”
Sammi Jo’s sentimental questions made Isabel smile. “Nothing so earth-moving like that happened. In fact, I’m not certain my first impression of Max was a favorable one. My mother Gwendolyn once called him a little whippersnapper, and she was right. The cheeky boy turned around and stuck out his tongue while pulling on his ears at me. I burst out giggling, and, from that moment on, he could always make me laugh. That is what really sold me on him.”
“Was Max a flirt?” asked Sammi Jo, her tone mischievous.
“Was Max a flirt?” Isabel laughed and clapped her hands. “My land, you wouldn’t have believed it unless you heard the silver-tongued devil speak with your own two ears. His blarney could put Don Juan or Romeo to shame.”
“When did Max first kiss you? Do you remember the moment like it was yesterday?”
Isabel shook her head. “You’ve got it backward. I made the first move and kissed him. It caught him off-guard just the way I planned it.”
“You were quite the devil yourself. What did Max and you like to do for fun?”
“I have two words: Charlie Parker.”
“Charlie Parker is a new to me. Is he related to Dennis Parker the cabinetmaker living by the Odd Fellows Hall?”
“There is no relation. Charlie Parker was a jazz musician based in New York City. They called him Bird. Max and I were his avid fans.” Isabel looked at Sammi Jo. “Have you had the opportunity to hear a bebop jazz piece?”
“My radio dial stays glued to the Country and Western music stations. Reynolds is a steak-and-potatoes dude who doesn’t handle change or experimentation as well I’d like him to do. I’ve just gotten him to eat Chinese takeout to introduce a little variety to our diets.”
“Then you owe it to yourself to give Charlie Parker a listen. He’s a genuine treat who Max once saw play live with trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and Bud Powell on piano. Max returned from New York City full of lively yarns. He told the story of how Charlie Parker once rode a rented white palomino down the middle of Seventh Avenue.”
“New York City is a long way from Quiet Anchorage and a big step up in the world for a country boy like Max,” said Sammi Jo. “Why did he go up there?”
“Max never gave me a reason, but then I never asked him for one either,” replied Isabel. “Most lucky for him the New York City trip came before we made our engagement formal. Otherwise, I would’ve had some straightening out to do as I would to a bent pipe cleaner. I feel safe in assuming he wanted to sow his wild oats before he was ready to settle down. But he quickly discovered he’d have to buy the cow if he expected to get the milk if you catch my meaning.”
Sammi Jo nodded with an impish smile she caught Isabel’s meaning.
Isabel went on chronicling their love story. “We never slept a single night apart after we exchanged our wedding vows, and I came to understand how they mean you really are bound together until death.” She paused, giving Sammi Jo a shrewd look. “When are Reynolds and you planning to get engaged?”
Sammi Jo had a half-hearted shrug. “We’re stuck at doing the stuff high school kids like to do. It’s mostly been attending Lynyrd Skynyrd concerts and such, but my high school days are history, and neither of us is getting any younger if you catch my meaning.”
“Time has a sneaky way of slipping away if you aren’t watchful,” said Isabel. “I’m feeling it more keenly with each passing year.”
“Do you like Reynolds’ new soul patch?” asked Sammi Jo. “I’m sitting on the fence about whether I do or not.”
“The soul patch gives him a jazzy flair like trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie’s soul patch did,” replied Isabel.
“Reynolds has been a good sport about quitting his cigarettes,” said Sammi Jo.
“Best move he’s ever made, trust me.”
“Maybe I better stop while I’m still ahead instead of pushing him to make a firmer commitment.”
“That makes sense.”
“On the oth
er hand, I won’t let our relationship coast merrily along like has been for much longer, so a three-month wait should be about right.”
Isabel shook her head. “Better yet, make it three weeks and then you give his leash a good stiff yank. Either he comes along with you, or you undo his leash.”
“Doing that sounds painful, Isabel.”
She nodded. “Sometimes young love experiences its growing pains. Just don’t let him grow too complacent and start to take you for granted.”
“Did Max ever take you for granted?”
Isabel smiled. “Let’s just say I kept him on his toes.”
As an ominous new thought flared up in Sammi Jo’s mind, her face darkened, and her eyes shone brighter.
“My walking the streets at night feels less safe,” she said. “Nita Redfern told me she had a second deadbolt installed on her doors. She’s getting a dog, either a Dobie or Rottie. Not long ago, the townies left their doors unlocked overnight. Fear rules the way we have to live now.”
“I think so, too, but don’t follow Megan’s example and leave Quiet Anchorage,” said Isabel. “Things have to cycle back to better if you can hang in there for a while.”
“Megan had her reasons to move, and I respect her decision,” said Sammi Jo. “But I’m wired a little differently than she is because I’m a townie, born, bred, and buttered. So, I’ll stick around and deal with the bad stuff as it comes along until the good times return.”
“Losing a father like you did pales in comparison to Megan’s loss of her fiancé, but I believe the grief from both tragedies hurts the same way.”
“You handle your grief over Max and Cecil passing away better than Megan and I did with our losses.”
“It was a double whammy for me. I found the right grit to get on with things like everybody does. I mean what else can a soul do?”
“Crack up from the grief is the only thing I can guess,” said Sammi Jo. “You’re right. That is no way to live your life.”
“Exactly so,” said Isabel.
