Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage

by Ed Lynskey

  “Next time, you bet, but I’m on the clock.”

  “What clock is that?”

  “I just told you I’m helping to bag a murderer.”

  “Well, good luck on that.” His meat cleaver whacked into the wood block, slicing the pork chop in half. “Just be sure and watch your back out there.”

  Sammi Jo had turned to leave. “Always good advice.”

  Chapter 22

  Sammi Jo met Alma and Isabel seated in Eddy’s Deli at a window booth. Isabel proceeded to fill in Sammi Jo on their morning prison visit with Megan. In turn, Sammi Jo briefed the sisters on what she’d gleaned from the three benchwarmers and Jumpy at the grocery store.

  Isabel gnawing on her upper lip moved aside her floppy straw hat on the tabletop. “Clarence liked to duke it out. Do boys outgrow their pugilist tendencies?”

  “You gals here for brunch?” asked the waspy, tall server at their booth.

  “No brunch for us, Tabitha,” said Alma with a nod and a sniff to include Isabel. “Bring us a cup of your freshest coffee. Both black, no sugar or cream. Sammi Jo, what’s your yen?”

  “You got any Hush Puppies?” Sammi Jo asked Tabitha.

  “They’re on our dinner menu, but this is brunch.”

  “How are you set on the deviled eggs?”

  “Deviled eggs are on our lunch menu, but this is brunch.”

  “Then I’ll take scrambled eggs, OJ, and sausage links.”

  “No, those are all breakfast menu items.”

  “Uh-huh, and let me guess: this is brunch. Tell you what, just bring me ice water and don’t look so put out. We won’t slink off and stiff you on the tip.”

  “I didn’t say you would,” said Tabitha, leaving them.

  Alma resumed their conversation. “If Jake and Clarence argued, one or both of them may’ve flown into a rage. Jake was easygoing, and Clarence always wears a scowl.”

  “Yeah, it’s his proudest merit badge,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Sammi Jo, you look as if you can hold your own in a fair fight. Did your arguments with him escalate to physical blows?”

  “Not unless he wanted his fists shoved up his—uh—nose,” replied Sammi Jo.

  “Why did Sheriff Fox mediate Clarence’s dispute with Jake?” asked Isabel.

  Alma smiled up at Tabitha who’d returned with their coffees. After she left for the kitchen, Alma spoke. “He most likely played the peacemaker because he didn’t want his deputies getting into brawls. We contacted the Election Board and confirmed that Clarence hasn’t filed any paperwork.”

  “By now I suspect everybody knows of his political ambitions,” said Isabel.

  Sammi Jo raised a neglected point. “The disappearance of Jake’s file cabinets is what bugs me.”

  “Bexley blabbed he took the file cabinets to Sheriff Fox’s house,” said Alma.

  “Why is he keeping Jake’s file cabinets under wraps?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “My biggest fear is Sheriff Fox is tampering with evidence,” replied Isabel.

  Sammi Jo shifted her glass of ice water back and forth like a chess piece. “He wouldn’t outright break the rules and jeopardize his election campaign. He likes his cushy job. On the other hand, he might sit on evidence.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Isabel.

  “The hidden file cabinets will be gone and forgotten,” replied Sammi Jo.

  “We won’t forget them. You’d better update Dwight,” Alma told Isabel. “We demand the full disclosure of the file cabinets’ contents and have them moved and stored at the station house.”

  Isabel did as asked on her cell phone, but any interest in the file cabinets got postponed for the moment.

  “Megan faces arraignment this morning,” Dwight informed her.

  “Sheriff Fox told us. We didn’t hear what time, however.”

  “It’s eleven on the dot. Your show of support might help a wishy-washy judge see things more favorably our way.”

  “We’ll be there. Now Jake’s file cabinets sit at Sheriff Fox’s place. Are some shenanigans at play? We don’t know, but we insist the file cabinets stay at the station house.”

  “I’ll take it up with Sheriff Fox.”

  “Just tell him that we can pass this unusual police tactic along to our reporter friend.”

  “I better omit any hints of a threat or blackmail.”

  “Have you deposited our personal check? Are you prepared to post Megan’s bail?”

  A sulky pause fell over their connection, and Isabel wondered if she’d insulted Dwight with her questions.

  “I did, so you can quit your fretting.”

  “Megan’s arraignment has to go off without a hitch.”

  “At this juncture, I think her making bail is just an administrative detail.”

  Isabel repeated Dwight’s message to the others as she closed her cell phone. She finished by saying, “Three ladies seated behind Megan’s defense table will make a forceful impression on the judge.”

  “You two should go, but I’ve got something else to take care of,” said Sammi Jo.

  Alma did a double-take at her. “I caught a gleam in your eye, and I know something is afoot. You better let us in on it.”

  “This morning while Sheriff Fox is tied up in court, what’s say I saunter over to that part of town and do a little innocent spying?”

  “You go case Sheriff Fox’s house?” Isabel took a sip, but her coffee cup only held the dregs. “Sounds too risky.”

  Alma held Sammi Jo’s gaze. “I always see Sheriff Fox’s cars parked out in the driveway, so his garage is probably a catch all and might also hold Jake’s file cabinets.”

  “I’m telling you this is playing with fire,” said Isabel.

  “Isabel, you go with Alma and lend Megan support.”

  Alma smiled. “I know the perfect excuse you can use. Sheriff Fox taped a For Sale sign in the window of his big, black Plymouth. Just tell any know-it-all who asks that you’re shopping for a used car.”

  “Since I’m being outvoted, I’ll add to tread with caution,” said Isabel.

  An optimistic wave marked Sammi Jo’s exit from Eddy’s Deli.

  “I hope Megan has overheard something by now,” said Alma.

  “Me, too.”

  “I thought you wanted her to stay inside and keep an ear out for any jailhouse rumors.”

  Isabel shrugged. “Not now. I don’t want her in the prison anymore. She belongs home with us.”

  “You know already who killed Jake Robbins, don’t you? Well, give. I want to know.”

  This time Isabel shook her head. “I’m not saying a word more and jinx us.”

  “And you say I’m superstitious.”

  “Just finish your coffee, Alma. We’ve got our day in court upcoming.”

  * * * *

  The late morning sun broiled all, and Sammi Jo picked up her gait as the sweat pilled above her brows. She appreciated walking under the leafy, shady Japanese elms. Arriving at the drugstore, she couldn’t resist the temptation to stop and buy a cold soda and went inside under the ceiling fans stirring a draft. A young lady with dun-colored hair standing at the cash register had locked stares with Vernon behind the counter.

  “Hey there, Jewel.” Sammi Jo was a step from the young lady’s elbow. “How’s your summer going?”

  Jewel half-turned. “Hi, Sammi Jo. Up until now, my summer has gone fine, thank you. But I can’t get my prescription filled with Vernon being a stinker.”

  Sammi Jo gave Vernon in his white smock the once over. “Vernon, has the cat got your tongue? What’s this all about?”

  “This is between Jewel and me,” replied Vernon. “There’s no need to concern yourself with it.”

  “He has decided it’s against his religion to fill my BC prescription,” said Jewel.

  “The law is clear saying you’ve got no choice but do it, Vernon,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Another pharmacy might feel differently, but I won’t cave on my principles,” said Vern
on.

  Sammi Jo dealt him a look. “She can’t very well go elsewhere beings as you’re the only game in town.”

  “I’m sorry but that’s I how feel about,” said Vernon.

  Before Sammi Jo could speak, Jewel went on. “I’ll just catch a ride up to Warrenton.”

  Sammi Jo trailed Jewel to the door when Vernon asked, “Sammi Jo, can I help you now?”

  “I came in to buy a Co-Cola, but I’ll keep my money now,” replied Sammi Jo.

  “Suit yourself,” said Vernon.

  The pair of young ladies left the drugstore and at the sidewalk the late morning sun burst into their flinching eyes.

  “I’ll go flag down a ride to Warrenton,” said Jewel.

  “I’d chuck those BC pills,” said Sammi Jo. “Tell your amorous fellow to take some responsibility and make it loads cheaper for you, too.”

  “Good point.” Jewel paused. “I heard you’re pitching in with Megan’s defense, and I hope you win it. She and I graduated together.”

  “Didn’t she go steady with Jake?”

  “Oh yeah, they were real high school sweethearts. You could see the love they felt for each other beaming in their faces. I always envied what they had.”

  “Some girls lasso their fellows early in life.”

  “Her murdering him doesn’t add up at all.”

  “Then who killed him?”

  Jewel shrugged. “He liked to hang out with a rough crowd at the drag strip. He probably rubbed one of them the wrong way. But that’s only my guess since I’ve never been there. Have you?”

  “I’m an old veteran,” replied Sammi Jo. “We’ll have to keep digging to find his murderer.”

  They exchanged sympathetic smiles and separated. Sammi Jo detoured across Main Street and walked in the shade of the grocery store. Her surreptitious glimpse showed Ossie, Willie, and Blue Trent sat slumped over in their sunny nook, a catnap holding them in its thrall. She pulled up short at the railroad crossing by the Co-op when the crossbars, wig-wagging their red-blue caution lights, descended to block the cars and pedestrians. She heard the banshee whistle before she saw the train gallop into view.

  A sooty black-and-silver Amtrak express barreled through the junction. She peered through the blur of the train car windows but saw no passengers in the rows of seats. Few rode the trains anymore, but she also had childhood memories of watching the ghostlike passenger trains just as empty flying through Quiet Anchorage.

  It left her to wonder why the trains still ran at all. She could next picture Alma and Isabel taking the courthouse by storm and winning Megan’s liberty. Sammi Jo patted at her belt and with a start realized her cell phone sat on the hamper in her apartment. She continued once the caboose shambled past, and the crossbars lifted.

  Sheriff Fox lived in his deceased parents’ ramshackle house a stone’s throw behind the old barbershop. A pair of African-American men had worked as the town barbers. Men waited in their shop’s folding chairs to chew the fat, and a few even paid to get a haircut. The older gentlemen in five-button dress jackets and narrow ties dropped in for their hot shaves.

  Sheriff Fox parents were the barbers’ landlords. After his parents passed within the same six months, he groused how the barbershop wasn’t profitable enough, didn’t renew the lease, and the barbers were out of a long-tenured job. Closing down the barbershop that way, she thought, revealed something about Sheriff Fox’s devious, petty nature.

  She angled off the sidewalk at his place. As Alma had predicted, the black Plymouth profiled out in front of the garage. A stand of Kentucky Coffee trees she strode under shaded the dustbowl lawn. She shuffled up the steps to the wraparound porch and rapped on the oval glass portion to his door. Her firmer knocks also didn’t rouse anybody. So, she went to the detached garage. Eyes shielded by cupped hands against the sun’s glare, she leaned in and peered through the garage’s window. What she detected—Jake’s file cabinets—caused her heart to vault up and thump harder.

  “It’s high time we caught a lucky break,” she said.

  Chapter 23

  On further thought, Sammi Jo searched for and found her cell phone. It lay buried at the bottom of her purse rather than left on her nightstand after all. She placed her call. Isabel grabbed it, listened to the good news, and replied.

  “Wait and I’ll put on Alma. Just be careful is all I ask.”

  “I won’t take any big risks,” said Sammi Jo.

  Alma hurried out to the courtroom’s anteroom and came on with a soft “hallo”. She let Sammi Jo tell of finding the jackpot hidden in Sheriff Fox’s garage. “Court is in recess, and Megan’s case hasn’t come up. Are the file cabinets empty?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s hope they’re not. Getting them back to the station house comes next.”

  Sammi Jo offered a solution. “Is Sheriff Fox there with you?”

  “He’s sitting in front of us.”

  “Daddy can borrow the turf farm’s truck, and I’ll use it to haul the file cabinets.”

  “Your plan is masterpiece,” said Alma before their hang up.

  She returned to the court just gaveled into session and spoke to Isabel. “Sammi Jo is taking care of business.”

  Isabel’s lips grew tight. “I only hope you two know what you’re doing. It feels bizarre stealing from the town sheriff in order to keep him honest.”

  Alma did some encouraging. “See your niece up there wearing blaze orange? Tell me she wasn’t railroaded, and then prove to me Sheriff Fox isn’t crooked as a barrel of fishhooks. Those file cabinets belong at the station house, not in his garage. We’re righting a wrong.”

  “Dwight hasn’t said boo. Why is he so quiet?”

  “This is the wrong time to take a siesta.” Alma frowned at him. “How can we light a blowtorch under him?”

  “We also didn’t iron a dress for Megan.”

  “Time is too short for doing such frills.”

  The gavel rapped. Judge Redfern, an angular lady with cider brown hair straight as a hatpin and large, dark eyes, stared down from her bench.

  “Ladies, I forbid talking in my courtroom unless it’s court business,” she said.

  Isabel buttoned up, but Alma shifted on her seat. Expecting the worst, Isabel closed her eyes, making a wish to vanish from the courtroom, but the redoubtable Alma got to her feet and spoke her mind.

  “Your Honor, we—Mrs. Isabel Trumbo and I—stand here on the defendant’s behalf. Megan’s attorney hasn’t presented our side, and we request he be afforded an equal opportunity to speak.”

  Judge Redfern almost smiled. “Alma, this is a bond hearing, not a criminal trial. Didn’t your niece’s counsel make the distinction plain to you?”

  Sheriff Fox pivoted in his chair, frowning with an adversarial look. “You’re out of line, Alma. Shut up and sit down, or I’ll slap the cuffs on you.”

  Judge Redfern fastened her icy glare on him. “Sheriff, you don’t issue edicts here. I do. Now you shut up, or I’ll slap the cuffs on you.” She again addressed Alma. “By the same token, I don’t brook outbursts either.”

  Alma held her ground. “Let Mr. Holden speak for our side, and we’ll pipe down as you like. Dwight, sing out and let’s be heard.”

  She resumed her seat and felt an elbow jab. Isabel didn’t roll her eyes, but Alma could imagine her doing it.

  “Counselor,” Judge Redfern said to Dwight. “Speak fast because my docket is overburdened, and I’m a breath from snapping my cap. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Never more so, Your Honor,” said Dwight, standing up at the defendant’s table. “As you know, Megan Connor is a Quiet Anchorage native. She has no criminal record, is employed as a hairdresser, and poses no flight risk. We request her bail be set at a reasonable amount.”

  “Your request is noted,” said Judge Redfern. The portly, clean-shaven Commonwealth Attorney Carl Goldenstein made a throat noise to speak, but she put up a firm hand. “I’ve already heard enough from your side
of the aisle, sir.”

  Sensing an opening, Alma lodged a request. “Your Honor, as Megan’s two aunts, we stand ready to have her released into our custody. You should take our offer into your deliberations.”

  Judge Redfern’s stern face softened a degree. “Tell me this, Alma. Can you keep a close eye on your niece, and do I have your solemn oaths she won’t fly the coop?”

  This time Isabel responded. “Absolutely.”

  “Very well. Murder is a serious matter, and I’ll want to take due time to render my decision. I’ll hand down my bail ruling by the close of court business on Thursday. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” said Alma, somewhat disappointed.

  Sheriff Fox gave an exasperated groan earning a reproachful stare from the bench.

  “One additional matter, Your Honor.”

  “Yes, Alma?”

  “We request a short, private talk with our niece.”

  “Permission granted.”

  This time a livid Sheriff Fox bolted up from his chair. “This is irregular—”

  “Roscoe, stick a sock in it. My migraine is back.” Judge Redfern’s pained glance attracted the bailiff’s solicitous eye. “Is there a bottle of aspirin in chambers?”

  “As you always wish it, Your Honor,” replied the bailiff.

  “It’s always a godsend.” Judge Redfern ranged up and gathered her robes to step through her chamber door.

  “Megan and Dwight, over here.” Alma gave them an urgent wave. “Let’s huddle up for a quick word.”

  They convened in a niche just beside the jury box. Dwight’s hands trembled as his white knuckles gripped the worn handle to his black attaché case, and the anxiety made his posture rigid.

  “I’ll probably get a letter of professional misconduct from the state bar association over your courtroom outburst,” he told Alma.

  “What did you expect from us? You just sat there like a toad in a mud puddle,” she said.

  “I was saving my best ammo to fire it at the trial.”

  “Dwight, we discussed this, and our goal is to never reach trial. Have you received Megan’s police report from Sheriff Fox?”

  “He’s been a little less than forthcoming.”