Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud

by Ed Lynskey

  “Take all the time you need,” said Alma. “Losing a father like you did is a big stress.”

  “Our father Woodrow died many years ago,” said Isabel. “Not a day goes by that I don’t touch on our parents. They never stop being your mom and dad, even in their deaths leaving this world.”

  “Doesn’t the greeting card verse say time heals wounds?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “Perhaps that’s true in love but not so much in death,” replied Isabel. “Our turn is rolling up fast, and we should phone Mr. Barclay and announce we’re coming to give him the third degree.”

  “I’ll just say we’re getting together for a neighborly cup of coffee and chat,” said Alma.

  She used her cell phone and made the call to the turf farm’s listed business phone number. Isabel was traveling down the potholed lane running between the washboard flat fields of emerald green bluegrass. The crews had mowed it trim and neat as the White House lawn is for the Easter Egg Roll as seen on the TV news. The stalks of wild Queen Anne’s lace and chicory bloomed white and blue flowers, respectively, alongside the lane shoulders.

  “The nice bluegrass belongs pictured on the front of a postcard,” said Sammi Jo.

  Alma’s phone rings attracted no greeter, and she gave up as they drew within view of the brick office and three varisized outbuildings, all fabricated from corrugated steel panels riveted together. Rolls of harvested sod on the wood pallets were stacked like hotcakes atop the flatbed that a tractor trailer would haul to the client’s site readied for planting. The forklift used to move the pallets was parked to the side of the OFFICE, as the door sign read. The shingle hung out below it identified the top banana as MR. AMBROSE BARCLAY, CEO.

  Alma thought Ambrose took himself a bit too seriously. He’d started out from the same modest beginnings as they all had in Quiet Anchorage. His luck happened to turn out better than the majority of his neighbors or peers. Not everybody could sit at the top of the heap. The townies knew of his hit-the-lottery fortune by heart, and it was the frequent talk of the town.

  Besides the fecund smell of tilled soil, Sammi Jo also registered the stronger, sweeter scent of the mowed grass. She’d read in a brochure Ray Burl had left that researchers determined cut grass gave off a natural chemical that revived people’s despondent moods. She was curious enough to volunteer to mow Isabel and Alma’s lawn the next time it was needed to see if the released grassy smells afforded her any relief to beat the blues.

  “Where is everybody?” Alma searched through the sedan windows. “Doesn’t the crew stay busy six days a week?”

  “Ray Burl can no longer crack the whip,” said Isabel.

  “Then wouldn’t Mr. Barclay step up and fill in?” asked Alma.

  “As the big shot CEO, he’s not inclined to deal with grass unless it’s on the links, and he’s taken along his caddie and bag of golf clubs,” said Sammi Jo.

  “I’ll tell you where I’d start our inquiries.” Alma aimed her forefinger at the brick office building. “If anyone is around, they’d be working in there.”

  Before they could haul out of the sedan, the office door gave way, and a young lady stepped outside. She was plain, a polite way of saying mousy, but she wore a smart professional suit. Her right hand shielded her eyes from the sun, and she squinted at the ladies who stared back from sitting inside the idling sedan. Isabel turned off the engine, patted at her hair, and tugged up her door latch.

  The professional lady, her eyes still shaded by her hand, watched their progress over the walkway up to the office. She tucked a black Etienne Aigner handbag under her other elbow as if she’d just stepped out of the restroom and not taken their phone call. She lowered her hand, and her nod coincided with her automatic smile at them.

  “Might I help you?” she asked.

  With that accent, she’s got to hail from New Jersey, thought Alma. “We’re hoping to spend a little time with Mr. Barclay,” she replied. “Is he available?”

  “Do you mean for placing a sod order?” The professional lady tugged at the cuffs to her business suit jacket. “I can process whatever your order is. Are you resodding your lawn in bluegrass or fescue?”

  “Let’s restart this proceeding. I’m Alma Trumbo. She’s my older sister Isabel Trumbo, and this young lady is Sammi Jo Garner.”

  The professional lady followed each of the introductions Alma made with nods until she finished with Sammi Jo. “Oh my,” said the professional lady, her fingers brought up to her mouth. “Garner. Are you related to Ray Burl, by chance?”

  “Since Quiet Anchorage isn’t exactly as big as New York City, you can pretty much assume I am,” replied Sammi Jo. “The late Mr. Garner was my father, and that explains why you see us here.”

  “My deepest sympathies, Sammi Jo. That was so awful and horrid. He was a sweet man and well-liked here.”

  “Thanks, but might we make this more civil? I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “I’m Karmine. Karmine Meriwether. I take care of the office needs around the turf farm.”

  “Are you a one lady band?” asked Isabel.

  She put on a nicer smile, and Isabel found herself drawn to and liking Karmine. “It’s just me holding down the fort,” she replied. “Mr. Barclay doesn’t like for me to work alone after what happened to Ray Burl. But I’ve got my cell phone and pepper spray close at hand. The windows and doors are locked up tight. I park my car around back so nobody from the road can see I’m here working by myself.”

  “Where is the work crew?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “Mr. Barclay gave them the Saturday off after everything that has happened,” replied Karmine.

  “You’re not a native, are you, Karmine?” said Sammi Jo.

  “I’m from a Hoboken neighborhood that is an easy stroll from Sinatra’s Monroe Street. I packed up the U-Haul to move down after Mr. Barclay offered me the job.”

  “Congratulations,” said Sammi Jo. “Why did he pick you over the pool of homegrown applicants?”

  Karmine scowled, the wrinkles furrowing her forehead. “Because I didn’t have to be trained on the financial software package he’d bought. I had the right skills to come in and hit the ground running, and it impressed him to pitch me a job offer on the spot. I snapped it up since I need the work.”

  Isabel nodded. “It looks as if you’re taking care of business in a marvelous fashion.”

  “Well, he doesn’t mind going off and leaving me in charge. Anyway, he’s not here, and I don’t expect him back until Monday.”

  “Did he leave town?” asked Isabel.

  “He likes to go with his family to his beach bungalow. I’ve got his private cell phone number, but he’d be livid and fire me if I gave it out, so I won’t.”

  “We’re not here to get you into trouble with your boss,” said Isabel. “As Sammi Jo says, we’re informally looking into Ray Burl’s murder.”

  Karmine’s frown deepened. She squared her shoulders in the business suit jacket, and she looked hot and flustered.

  Or else she wasn’t used to wearing the formal clothing, thought Isabel who couldn’t tell for certain which was the case.

  “I don’t get you,” said Karmine.

  “We’re private investigators like you may’ve seen in the movies,” said Sammi Jo.

  “I see,” said Karmine although it was unmistakable she didn’t grasp the uncommon concept of small town private eyes who were also female. She lifted her arm to point the way, and she dropped her handbag. It plopped on the pavement. “I can show you where I found Ray Burl’s body, if that interests you.”

  Sammi Jo stooped down and retrieved Karmine’s handbag.

  Its weight surprised Sammi Jo. She’d forgotten what a pain toting a handbag could be. She’d quit carrying one because her handbag upgrades had gotten larger and heavier from containing the more stuff she didn’t need. So, she jettisoned the handbag and now traveled light with her driver’s license, a sawbuck, and a credit card in her hip pocket.

  “We’
re very interested since you asked,” Isabel said to Karmine. “Lead us to the spot where you found him.”

  Isabel met Alma’s pleased eyes. They knew who reported the dead body to Sheriff Fox.

  Karmine paraded them across the asphalt lot. The door to the largest of the three outbuildings a softball’s pitch away was where they stopped.

  Karmine looked at Alma. “I figured the CSI techies would draw a white chalk outline of where Ray Burl lay on the pavement, but they did no such thing. They just tied up the yellow police line tape and snapped a bunch of creepy pictures. He didn’t leave a big bloodstain for the crew to scour away.”

  Isabel didn’t clarify how the chalk outline seen on the TV cop dramas was a stage prop, or so Sammi Jo had googled it for them.

  “You’re standing right about on the same spot where I found Ray Burl killed,” said Karmine to Alma.

  The superstitious chills rolling through Alma spurred her to take a backward pace. Isabel shuddered after Alma did.

  “Did Ray Burl make use of a locker, desk, or office we can search?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “None of the men do,” replied Karmine. “Our operation isn’t that large.”

  Sammi Jo tipped her chin at the outbuilding. “Then what’s done inside there?”

  “The mechanics repair and maintain our sod farm equipment,” replied Karmine.

  “Have you been inside it?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “My domain is strictly inside the office,” said Karmine.

  “Then how did you know my father was dead?” asked Sammi Jo.

  Bewilderment left Karmine stunned for a moment. “Because I first saw him from my office window.” Her upraised Aigner handbag directing their attention to behind them. Sure enough, there was a window in the office building.

  “I stood up from my desk and stretched when I looked out the window. Ray Burl was lying here on the pavement. I’d no idea he was dead, and I was alarmed he’d fallen from sunstroke, or Heaven knows what. I dashed out to try and help him before I called the guys from the shop and then phoned 911.”

  “Did you hear a single gunshot fired?” asked Isabel.

  Karmine did a curt headshake. “Even if I did hear a loud noise, I’d ignore it. The big diesel trucks are backfiring all day long, and by now I’m immune to hearing them.”

  “Do you happen to own a firearm?” asked Isabel.

  “I don’t believe in them,” replied Karmine. “My sister Loretta back in Hoboken came within a whisker of dying from the gunshot wounds she sustained during an armed mugging.”

  “Who in your opinion killed Ray Burl?” asked Isabel.

  “Frankly, I believe one of his old disgruntled workers returned and went postal on him,” replied Karmine. “He pushed them too hard, angered them, and a few malcontents soon quit the crew. I swear you just can’t find any hard workers anymore.”

  “Had Ray Burl worn any expensive jewelry like a gold wristwatch or a diamond stud earring lately?” asked Isabel.

  “Not that I ever saw on him,” replied Karmine. “We didn’t have that much contact. He worked in the fields and was only at the office when he came to work and when he left for home. I didn’t even know he had a daughter until you came just now.”

  “Has Sheriff Fox gotten with you?” asked Isabel.

  “He asked me a few questions that were different from yours,” replied Karmine. “He gave me his business card and told me he’d return with additional questions, but I haven’t seen him since then. I don’t like him. He’s too pushy and tyrannical.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Sammi Jo. “We expect him to turn green and grow scales any day now.”

  Karmine smiled, but her eyes slitted with tension. “Otherwise, speaking for me, it’s been nothing but a pure pleasure and honor to live and work in Quiet Anchorage. I crack up when I talk to the three old codgers parked on the wooden bench. They are town treasures. Do you know them?”

  “We’ve held a conversation or two with them,” replied Alma.

  “One was telling me a wild UFO tale,” said Karmine. “He swears up and down the aliens abducted him, but he used his wiles and escaped from their flying saucer. He said he passed a polygraph to prove he’s telling the truth. Can you believe it?”

  “That old codger would be Willie,” said Alma.

  “Willie is prone to indulging a rampant imagination, so I wouldn’t put too much credence in it,” said Isabel. “We’ve taken up enough of your valuable time. Thanks for giving us a few minutes. Alma, do you have anything left to ask Karmine?”

  “What time did you see Ray Burl out here?” asked Alma.

  “It was after-hours on Thursday, around sixish or perhaps a bit later.” Karmine pivoted to face the office and took her first step going that way. “I didn’t check the clock to give you a specific time. Sheriff Fox can tell you when I placed the 911 call.”

  Fat chance was Alma’s mental response. “Sammi Jo, is there anything else for you?”

  Her eyes fastened on Karmine, Sammi Jo gave her parting instructions. “We’d prefer it if you’d keep our meeting in confidence. Working behind the scenes gives us our best chance.”

  “I can be discrete,” said Karmine without batting an eyelash.

  Isabel printed their cell phone numbers on a memo pad’s page for Karmine since they didn’t carry business cards like Sheriff Fox.

  The three private investigators left in the sedan. Karmine watched, her right hand again shading her eyes, their departure stirring up a cloud of dust on the lane to the state road.

  Chapter 17

  “Were they close to each other?” asked Louise over their link.

  Alma nodded until she realized she was on the cell phone with her younger sister Louise. “Reasonably so as fathers and daughters go. Sammi Jo kept in regular contact with Ray Burl when he wasn’t putting in the loads of overtime at Mr. Barclay’s place.”

  Louise chuckled. “Ray Burl was always busy as a beaver. I bet Sammi Jo is a chip off the old block.”

  “She’s a tireless worker, too, but she also has a personal life, and she knows how it’s important to stop and smell the roses.”

  “Is she seeing anybody romantically?”

  “Reynolds Kyle and she are dating fairly regularly.”

  “Does she know that his daddy…”

  “…no, and don’t you dare breathe a word of it to her either. If Reynolds wants her to know, then he can be the one who tells her, not us. Plus we’ve got no concrete evidence except the rumors that flew around town.”

  “The apple might not fall too far from the tree.”

  “Infidelity isn’t an inherited gene. Maybe Reynolds saw the error of his father’s tomcatting ways and decided he’d become the better man because of it.”

  “I’m just saying I’d hate to see Sammi Jo get hurt because we felt it wasn’t our place to tip her off. I realize it happened decades back, but time doesn’t change a tiger’s stripes.”

  Isabel spoke up from also sitting in the living room. “I expect Sammi Jo already knows about Reynolds’ dad.”

  “Sammi Jo knows how to take care of herself,” said Alma to Louise. “Stuff a sock in it if you talk to her.”

  “Uh-huh. And after Reynolds does her dirty, are you going to bring it up then? Or will your guilt and shame over your high-minded principles still keep you silent?”

  “Maybe you and Isabel should take up this discussion.”

  “I heard her talking in the background. Put her on. I’ll wait.”

  Alma passed the cell phone over to Isabel in her armchair.

  “Louise is flinging one of her hissy fits with a tail on it,” whispered Alma. “You’ll have to settle her down because I don’t know what to do with her.”

  Isabel accepted the cell phone from Alma. “The two of you come to loggerheads, and I have to play the umpire.”

  Alma enacted a so what shrug. “The oldest sister has always arbitrated family squabbles since the dawn of time.”

&nb
sp; “Hello, Louise,” said Isabel, still looking at Alma. “How is your arthritis treating you?”

  “I’m still beating it down with my hickory cane. I suppose you just heard Alma’s side of our spirited discussion. What do you think? Should we tell Sammi Jo or stay mum about how Reynolds’ father was a skirt chaser?”

  “You both make valid points, but this time, I’m going to have to side with Alma.”

  Alma gave Isabel a thumbs up.

  “Moving right along then, why did she call me?”

  “Sammi Jo asked Alma and I to give her a hand. Despite her brave face, she’s all cut up and hurting inside. The only solace she can find is to punish Ray Burl’s murderer.”

  “I don’t blame her. Any suspects?”

  “A few make our shortlist, but none really stick out.”

  Isabel heard the tinkle of Louise stirring the spoon in her ceramic mug of hot green tea. “Was robbery the motive?”

  “Sammi Jo went to the crime scene and says Ray Burl still carried his wallet with the money left folded inside it. She can’t zero in on anything missing among his personal effects. Robbery most likely wasn’t the motive.”

  “Revenge?”

  “That is quite possible even though it’s out of character for Ray Burl.”

  “He was even-tempered, as I recall.”

  “You have an impeccable memory. Sammi Jo said he hardly ever raised his voice to her.”

  “My impeccable memory of his ex runs just the opposite.”

  “Maureen Lionheart.”

  “The very one, or she was simply Mo, as she preferred to be called.”

  “Mo was a live wire is our most striking memory of her.”

  Louise had to laugh. “‘Live wire’ is for openers. Mo never knew of a party she ever missed.”

  “Do you remember anything specific?”

  “All I ever heard was the same tired gossip over the fences that you did.”