Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song

by Ed Lynskey

  “You should be at your desk sitting down when you take Judge Redfern’s call,” said Alma. “Pay close attention to what she has to say. If I were you I’d take copious notes because she doesn’t like to repeat herself.”

  “She and I already have a history,” said Sheriff Fox with sarcasm.

  Chapter 23

  If a motorist out for a Sunday drive took the notion to head down Route 29 South and passed through Warrenton, Virginia, he’d next arrive at the river hamlet of Quiet Anchorage. If his stomach was growling, he might stop at Eddy’s Deli for a spot of lunch. The discerning locals recommended it as their top eatery over the fast food chain restaurants, spaghetti joints, and truck-stop diner operating on the outskirts of town.

  If the motorist also wished to indulge a whimsy to shop for an inexpensive but genuine curio, he’d have to look no further than paying Uncle Jimbo’s Vault a visit. He was the tall, rangy, and copper-bearded fellow seated behind the counter in his fashionably messy antique shop.

  The old Boombox radio on the shelf behind him played the eternally young Elvis crooning his early hits when Uncle Jimbo wasn’t listening to the Washington Nationals baseball broadcasts during the warm months. Uncle Jimbo never played an inning of sandlot baseball, but his greatest passion was to see his beloved Nats go all the way and win the World Series. The most cynical townies said Uncle Jimbo had better plan to live to be one hundred years old.

  If Uncle Jimbo didn’t right away greet the motorist with his customary affable smile and wave, the motorist had to be patient. The likelihood was Uncle Jimbo had just dozed off behind the counter. His overstuffed armchair was well broken in to accommodate his frequent snoozes. There was a stemmed brass doodad on the mahogany countertop by the cash register.

  The posted sign read, “Please ‘ding’ for service.” Uncle Jimbo preferred his customers to tap the stem and ding the doodad to alert him. Several dings if it was necessary but not tapped with annoyance or impatience. Easy always did it at Uncle Jimbo’s Vault. His customers had to plan to stay awhile if they wanted to do the shopping experience the right way.

  A pinch-faced Dwight Holden stepped foot into the antique shop for the first time. In the background, he could hear young Elvis letting it rip on “All Shook Up.” The delicious aroma of fresh roasted peanuts filled the shop. Dwight surveyed the row over row of amethyst purple, sapphire blue, and carnelian red glass bottles. The sunrays streaming in through the windows made the bottles’ colors dazzle his eyes like peering at a cathedral’s stained glass window.

  His closer browsing identified the gaudy glass bottles as patent medicine containers long since emptied of their miracle performing elixirs. He marveled how a sick person back in the good old days could heal whatever ailed them by drinking one of the bottled elixirs salesmen often sold door to door. Uncle Jimbo paid a fair price for the glass bottles from a couple of enterprising kids who found them discarded in the area’s old barns, dumps, and cisterns.

  Dwight’s peevish expression wasn’t due to any physical disorder. Rather he’d just heard Sheriff Fox had arrested Phyllis Garner for the homicide of Ladybug Miles. Dwight had winced as if in pain at getting the news. Big trouble was astir. Phyllis was the aunt of Sammi Jo whom he knew was close friends with Isabel and Alma. Sure as the cherry blossoms opened every spring, the Trumbo sisters would be coming around to see him. They were nice little old ladies until a fool dared to cross them as the foolish Sheriff Fox had done. Then the fur started to fly. Nobody messed with them and got away with it.

  “Why, hello there, Dwight,” said Uncle Jimbo, standing up from the overstuffed armchair behind the counter. “You’ve never before graced my establishment with your esteemed presence. However, already you wear a dour face as if you just ate a green crab apple. Is my antique shop so unpleasant it has already turned you off?”

  “No sir, that’s not it at all,” replied Dwight. “Just the opposite, in fact. You display the most intriguing glassware that makes the ideal gift I might give my lady client.”

  “Hogwash,” said Uncle Jimbo. “No ethical attorney like you ever gives their lady client a gift. So I’d say she must be your new girlfriend who has impeccable tastes in antiques.”

  “She is my new girlfriend,” said Dwight. “Do we have to go into who she is? I’d like to keep our budding romance under wraps until it has had a chance to blossom into something sweet and special.”

  “Congratulations, Dwight, and your love secret will be safe with me,” replied Uncle Jimbo before doing the zipped-lips gesture. “But that leaves us short of an explanation to account for the dour face. What’s up with that if I may be so bold as to ask you, my good man?”

  “You must’ve heard about the terrible fate of Ladybug Miles.”

  “I’m at a loss for the right words to describe how sorry I am to hear it. ”

  “Yes, well that’s not all of it. Sheriff Fox within the past hour arrested Ladybug’s best friend Phyllis Garner for the homicide.”

  “Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t vote for Roscoe Fox.”

  “My troubles begin after Isabel and Alma rope me in to represent Phyllis as her legal counsel.”

  Baffled, Uncle Jimbo shrugged a shoulder. “So what if they do? That’s your job, and it just means more cash going into your pocket. You can’t beat that with a drumstick.”

  “You don’t fully grasp how it is to deal with Isabel and Alma,” said Dwight. “They are a pair of cyclones. Trust me, I know. Whatever you do, never let them into your antique shop unless you want to sweep up the glass shards they leave strewn everywhere in their wake.”

  “You must be going soft in head. Isabel and Alma Trumbo are the town treasures who are also two of my most loyal customers.”

  Dwight had to crack a smile at Uncle Jimbo’s apparent naïveté. “Boy have they got you snookered. Every time I accept a criminal case from them, I suffer another nervous meltdown.”

  “It sounds like it is serious.”

  Dwight nodded. “It is direly serious, Uncle Jimbo, believe you me.”

  “How many of these nervous meltdowns have you suffered?”

  Dwight didn’t have to think. “They hit me at least once a week, and I’ve stopped counting them up.”

  “Goodness man, you must be almost at the end of your tether.”

  “I’m hanging by a frog’s hair, Uncle Jimbo. Only by a frog’s hair, I tell you.”

  Uncle Jimbo flicked his eyes with an amused twinkle in them to check out the front window before he regarded the lawyer. He tried to suppress his smile as he slicked down his beard. “Well, I hate to rain on your sunny day, Counselor, but the cyclones Isabel and Alma just blew up, and they are climbing out of their sedan as we speak.”

  “Say what?” Dwight’s head swiveled around like a weather vane to face the front window where he also saw them stalking up to the doorway. They wore the stony expressions of two women on a mission. Dwight whipped back around to Uncle Jimbo. “Quick, do you have an emergency rear exit I can duck out?” asked Dwight.

  Uncle Jimbo shook his head. “Sorry, but I haven’t gotten around to putting one in yet.”

  “Rear window?”

  “Same thing.”

  Trapdoor?”

  “I have no plans for installing one.”

  “Then do something to help me. Please. Just name your price, man.”

  “The best I can do is offer you a snort from the little brown jug I keep under the cash register for medicinal purposes. Shall I pull out the cork for you to take a swig?”

  “It’s too late for taking any strong medicine.” Dwight swallowed hard as he braced his shoulders and squared his hips. “I’ll just have to buck up my nerves and face them like a man.”

  Uncle Jimbo rested his calming hand on Dwight’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll be rooting for you.”

  Dwight managed a grateful smile. “I really appreciate your doing that, Uncle Jimbo. I’m going to need all the moral support I can husband in the next h
our.”

  “You circle on back here after you finish talking to the Trumbo sisters and wake me up,” said Uncle Jimbo. “I’ve got a special nostrum that will put gorilla hair on your chest and leave you feeling cool-nerved as a top gun fighter pilot.”

  “Does your little brown jug bear an XXX marked on its neck?” asked Dwight, suspicious.

  “That one is for sissies,” replied Uncle Jimbo. “I got the XXXX jug because it works better and faster. Just be careful and don’t jostle its volatile contents.”

  “In that case, you can look for my return as soon as I can get the Trumbo sisters out of my hair,” said Dwight.

  “You know where to find me, and my offer always stands,” said Uncle Jimbo.

  Chapter 24

  “How did you both manage to track me down?” asked Dwight.

  Isabel tapped her index finger on the tip of her nose. “We followed your trail like a pair of bloodhounds hot on the scent.”

  “Woof,” said Alma.

  “I suspect one of the Three Musketeers, probably that busybody Ossie Conger, saw me stopping by Uncle Jimbo’s Vault and tipped you off as to my whereabouts.”

  “We make good use of our vast network of town spies and street informants,” said Isabel.

  “Is it too much for me to hope this is just a bad dream?” asked Dwight.

  “You are wide awake and sitting with us,” said Alma.

  The three of them—Isabel, Alma, and Dwight—sat in the privacy of his neat as a whistle law office at the sisters’ insistence. Before leaving Uncle Jimbo’s Vault, Isabel had bought a turquoise pear-shaped bottle to use as a new paperweight. She exchanged smiles with him. Meantime Sammi Jo had gone to Phyllis’s townhouse to ensure Sheriff Fox hadn’t sent his gung ho deputies there to tear it apart in search of any more evidence they could lay their hands on and strengthen their homicide case against her.

  “What can I do for you since you’ve waylaid me?” asked Dwight.

  “How do we give Phyllis her Get Out Of Jail Free card?” asked Alma.

  Dwight inspected his necktie for any mustard or ketchup stains even though he never used either condiment on his burgers and hot dogs. “Here we go again. Your contention is Sheriff Fox has arrested the wrong party, and this story I’m getting from you by now has a broken record quality to it.”

  “Ladybug’s actual killer is free as a bumble bee while smug Roscoe pats himself on back for a job well done,” said Isabel.

  Alma rearranged her pocketbook to rest in her lap. “The big difference is Ladybug’s killer is far craftier than the other killers ever were. He didn’t just murder her, but he made her death appear like an accidental drowning.”

  “Why are you assuming Ladybug’s killer is a he?” asked Dwight. “Couldn’t the killer just as well be a lady?”

  Isabel pretended to reflect on it for a moment. She decided against bringing up Lotus Wang as a suspect. Dwight had enough on his plate with serving as Phyllis’s defense counsel. “I don’t put a lot of stock in the possibility, and so you shouldn’t worry about it either,” said Isabel.

  Dwight let out his breath before he brought up a disturbing update. “Unfortunately for us, Judge Redfern isn’t available to tap as a resource. She has taken a long sightseeing trip to the Catskills for the autumn foliage.”

  “We have her personal cell phone number and are getting ready to call her,” said Isabel.

  “You’re behind the times, Isabel.” Dwight smiled but without a trace of snideness. “She only gave her new cell phone number to the bailiff for safekeeping, and I don’t think he’ll relinquish it except if we threaten him at gunpoint.”

  “Don’t you keep a loaded Saturday Night Special strapped in your ankle holster?” asked Alma.

  “Hardly,” replied Dwight.

  “Then we’ll scrape together enough money to bribe the bailiff,” said Alma. “What is the going rate for buying off a crooked one? Two grand should cover it quite nicely. Have you ever bribed a court official?”

  “Hardly,” said Dwight.

  “Alma, we can’t depend on Helen to help us this time,” said Isabel. “She won’t be returning to Quiet Anchorage soon enough.”

  “Exactly,” said Dwight.

  The piercing gleam in Isabel’s hazel eyes fixed on Dwight. “This is our plan of action. You’ll go directly from here and consult with Phyllis. Use one of the conference rooms in the prison annex and make sure the door is shut good and tight. Double check every square inch of the ceiling and walls for any electronic bugs or listening devices Roscoe may have concealed there. You know the room where all of us met with Megan right after she was arrested on the bum murder charge.”

  “That grim, little room is straight out of a film noir,” said Dwight. “How could I forget our sweating inside it? Can’t I meet with her out in the hallway?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Isabel. “You get some gumption about you and meet with Phyllis where I just told you.”

  “Should I smuggle in a steel file or a hacksaw with me?” said Dwight. “Phyllis can use it to break out of prison.”

  “Dwight, you better stop kidding around and get serious,” said Alma. “This is no time to be cracking bad prison jokes.”

  “I can assure you I didn’t intend for it to be a bad prison joke,” said Dwight. “That’s how desperate I am feeling right now.”

  “You just bring your best lawyer smarts to confer with Phyllis,” said Isabel.

  “What should I tell her?” asked Dwight. “Talking intelligently to our daffy bag lady poses a challenge even for a smart lawyer as you allege I am.”

  “But that’s just it about Phyllis,” said Isabel. “She is putting on a big act in front of the townies. Only a select few of us know the truth.”

  “You want to fly that last part by me again, only slower,” said Dwight, incredulous.

  “All this time she’s been hoodwinking the townies,” said Alma.

  “Look, if I can’t joke around, then I don’t think you should either,” said Dwight.

  “Alma is serious as a Sunday preacher,” said Isabel. “Phyllis has been pulling a fast one.”

  “Are you certain she doesn’t have split personality?” asked Dwight.

  “She is as normal and sane as you are, Dwight,” replied Alma.

  “Then she deserves to win an Academy Award for her bag lady performance,” said Dwight. “She has had me and everybody else fooled from the get-go.”

  “It’s a thespian gift is what she likes to tell us,” said Alma.

  “Since Sheriff Fox will keep your meeting time infuriatingly short, listen carefully to Phyllis,” said Isabel. “She’s like a giant radar screen, picking up every whispered rumor and secret. She’ll be able to give us a heads up on whatever evidence Sheriff Fox has gotten, if he has gathered any at all, to use against her.”

  “A throb is banging like a Chinese gong inside my head,” said Dwight, pulling open a desk drawer and pawing through it. “Where did I put my aspirin bottle?”

  “That’s just your brain kicking into overdrive,” said Alma. “Mine feels the same way. Do you want to make it three, Isabel?”

  “This old gray mare may not be what she used to be,” replied Isabel. “But her mind is still a steel bear trap, if you’ll pardon the mixed metaphor.”

  “Using mixed metaphors is the spice of variety,” said Alma.

  “Have you informed Sheriff Fox I will be representing Phyllis as her legal counsel?” asked Dwight. “He doesn’t like surprises sprung on him like a skinny shyster with a fat briefcase slinking into his station house.”

  “We paved the way but doing the rest will be up to you,” replied Alma. “See that you don’t let us down. Phyllis must come home as soon as possible.”

  Leaning forward, Isabel gave Dwight an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Our confidence in your legal expertise is boundless, and you’ll have Phyllis out of jail lickety-split.”

  “I’ll do my best but I can’t, and I won�
�t, make you any promises,” said Dwight. “Despite how dismissively you think of Sheriff Fox, he is a formidable adversary who doesn’t play by the rules.”

  “Good enough then.” Alma reached a hand into her pocketbook and drew out a tinfoil packet of buffered aspirin. “Here you go, take five of these tablets to knock out your headache so you can feel better and get to work for us.”

  “The maximum adult dosage is two tablets,” said Isabel. “Five tablets will knock out Dwight permanently.”

  “Then just make it the two tablets, Dwight,” said Alma. “You won’t be worth a hurrah to us if you are a stiff lying in a pine box.”

  Chapter 25

  Sammi Jo sniffed at the crisp air and registered the tang of wood smoke, and her downbeat mood took flight. October’s vibrant spectacle—its magenta pokeberries, green praying mantises, brown apple cider, and yellow goldenrods—could lift a pensive spirit like hers was today. October meant the daytime temperature wasn’t cold enough to see her puffs of breath, but the summer’s sticky humidity was gone until next year. The day’s bracing nip put the color in her ruddy cheeks.

  Sheriff Fox had allied himself with Isabel and Alma while all the time he’d intended for Phyllis to take the fall for Ladybug’s murder. Now Phyllis sat in his jail cell. Then he had the gall to gloat in front of them over his wily maneuver. His shortsighted thinking, however, had failed to factor in the re-election rolling up next autumn. Sammi Jo didn’t have a political bone in her body, but she true as November followed October had a bone to pick with him.

  Sammi Jo was seething. Sheriff Fox had better be good at taking the heat while he was out campaigning for the votes to keep his job. She had a few wily maneuvers of her own in mind to sink his chances for reelection. She might plant the wicked rumor about how their sheriff had embezzled thousands of taxpayers’ dollars. No, that wasn’t nearly wicked enough. He’d embezzled the money and bought a ritzy oceanfront mansion in Key West. Then he won’t be able to run for the local dogcatcher, thought Sammi Jo.