by Ed Lynskey
However Karmine went on clutching the currency bag like a life vest in a sea of troubles. But she was sunk.
“I can hear the faint siren peals to the sheriff’s cruiser,” said Alma. “Roscoe will have a cow over finding us inside here.”
“We only make him look bad, something he doesn’t want to hit the newspapers,” said Isabel.
“Is that the leverage we can hold over him if we need to use it?” asked Alma.
Isabel nodded once. “How sweet it will be, too.”
Chapter 37
“Remember the sunset postcard I told you Mo had mailed to me?” said Nita over their cell phone connection.
“The one you had the dickens to find,” replied Isabel in the laundry room. “Did you dig it out?”
“As luck would have it, I did. It was stuck inside of my old bible. Maybe I should’ve prayed harder and longer for Mo. She chased after enjoying Saturday night’s sins without getting any of Sunday morning’s redemption. That’s no way to live.”
Isabel didn’t comment on what might have been but wasn’t. “What did Mo write you on the postcard?” she asked.
“I’ll read you her entire scribbles. ‘Hi, Nida’—that’s spelled with a ‘d’ and not a ‘t’—‘I think I’ve found my pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. Pinch me! Cheers, M—. P.S. I’ll call you soon.”
Isabel didn’t see much to make of the late Mo’s cryptic message. “Why did she take a sudden notion out of the blue to write and mail you the postcard?”
“For old times’ sake is all I can think.”
“She never called you, or vice versa, I take it.”
“The postcard was all I ever heard from her. I guess by then she was in deep cahoots with that evil-minded lady.”
“Karmine Meriwether, if that is her actual name or one of her several aliases.”
“I live right in town, but I never bumped into or set eyes on Karmine.”
“She had other matters occupying her attention than mingling with us locals.”
“So it would seem. This episode has been nightmarish, Isabel. I wished I’d seen Mo just once more. I believe I could’ve talked her out of what crimes she was scheming to do. We were that close at one point in our lives.”
“It’s a nice wish to indulge, Nita, but don’t you believe it for one second. Mo was a train wreck when she returned to Quiet Anchorage. She was committed one hundred-percent with Karmine to pulling off the heist on Mr. Barclay. Nothing shy of the Second Coming, much less your earnest counsel, would’ve disrupted their plans.”
“They would make off with slim pickings. The scuttlebutt I hear says the Sod King is in debt up to the hilt. I feel sorry for his wife Elsie Denise and the two kids.”
“Then Mo and Karmine aimed to bag up whatever they could grab and make fast tracks out of town. You know Sheriff Fox might consider Mo’s postcard as evidence.”
Nita was uncooperative. “I’m calling it a sentimental keepsake, and he’ll never get his grubby paws on it.”
“Your sentimental keepsake secret is safe with me,” said Isabel. “Thanks for calling, Nita.”
They hung up.
So, in a way the dead really do speak from beyond the grave, mused Isabel. She left the laundry room to fill in Alma on the latest development.
Chapter 38
“Watch this, Alma.”
Isabel, sitting in her armchair, extended her right hand. Also seated with his purplish tongue panting with glee, Petey Samson lifted his right forepaw, and they shook as if they were sealing a business deal.
“Slick, Isabel,” said Alma.
Isabel beamed with immense satisfaction over the new trick she’d taught the clever Petey Samson. She reached into the baggie, fished out a doggie treat, and slipped it to him as he thumped his tail even harder on the floor.
Then, after licking his chops, he turned, his tail still wagging, and sauntered over to Alma seated in her armchair. He flumped down before her and lifted his right forepaw to shake hands with her.
Isabel clapped with a delighted whoop. “He also wants to make a deal with you, Alma.”
“He’s just a big ham mooching for another treat. Why can’t you just teach him how to fetch sticks, or better yet, our newspaper?”
“Be a sport and humor the furry dear.”
“Give me a doggie treat first so I can spoil him rotten the right way.”
After Isabel did, Alma went through the same machinations as Isabel had with Petey Samson before Alma shooed him away. She sought a chance to converse with Isabel without any interruptions like the fun-loving Petey Samson further panhandling them. She’d already turned off her cell phone. After receiving the news from Nita about Mo’s postcard, Isabel and Alma felt ready to do the final wrap up on the case.
“Since Sheriff Fox is in a big hissy snit to share anything with us, when do you think Karmine Meriwether cooked up her turf farm caper?”
Isabel settled back in her armchair, took a deliberate sip of her iced tea, and looked at Alma. “I’ll give you my best conjecture of what transpired leading up to the murders of Ray Burl and later on of Mo.”
“Let’s pick up the main action at Mo’s leaving Quiet Anchorage on the Greyhound,” said Alma. “Where did she drift to next?”
“Her impulses led her to wherever suited her. She fell in with the riffraff element and learned robbery on a grander scale than shoplifting toys at the town drugstore was a lucrative trade. While in New Jersey, she bumped into the grifter Karmine Meriwether.
“Mo and Karmine were peas in a pod and hit it off. Mo had never forgotten how Mr. Barclay was reputedly worth more than Fort Knox. She probably obsessed over it. They found out he needed office help through the job ads he posted on Craigslist. They plotted, and Karmine ginned up a bogus résumé. Evidently she has some bookkeeping skills to complement her computer smarts to run the financial software package Mr. Barclay had bought.”
“Our Sammi Jo would find using it as easy a day spent at the beach,” said Alma.
“Probably. Karmine dazzled Mr. Barclay, and he pitched her the job offer, and she grabbed it. She moved from New Jersey along with the murderous roscoe she kept tucked away in her Aigner handbag. Did you notice how fidgety she acted in the business suit jacket on our first visit? I did but it didn’t register as a clue.”
“Now that you mention it, Karmine did look uncomfortable,” said Alma. “What about Mo?”
“She just hung loose out of sight so nobody would recognize her until their big move on Mr. Barclay came.”
“But not thoroughly enough since Fats spotted her and told Phyllis,” said Alma.
“Karmine and Mo probably saved up enough money for a stake,” said Isabel. “I asked Phyllis to keep her ears open for any further rumors she might hear.”
“Did Mo know Ray Burl was the foreman at the turf farm?” asked Alma.
Isabel shrugged. “Anyway, hardworking Ray Burl fell in love with the younger Karmine, and discounting him as just a harmless rube, she did nothing to discourage it. Since they worked together, they kept their assignation a secret from the rest of us.
“Mo probably wasn’t thrilled with the tryst, but they were more interested in fleecing Mr. Barclay, so she didn’t make too many waves. Avarice makes it a lot easier to overlook your dislikes. Meantime Karmine gained Mr. Barclay’s confidence enough that he entrusted giving her the floor safe’s dial combination.”
Alma posed a more cynical but likely shamus thought. “She slept with the boss, and he gave her the combination during their pillow talk. Big mistake. Anyway, Ray Burl perhaps overheard Mo and Karmine talking on their cell phones, but he discovered what theft they’d in mind to do, so he threatened to blow the whistle to Sheriff Fox.”
Alma beamed. She’d read the same mysteries as Isabel had and knew the ins and outs to executing a heist.
“Right. They went ahead as they’d planned,” said Isabel. “That’s why Karmine wasn’t at work on our second visit where you and I talked to Mr.
Barclay in his office. Mo or Karmine murdered Ray Burl at the turf farm to keep him quiet. She’ll claim it was Mo, of course. Always an opportunist, Karmine then figured why not keep all the money for herself. Or perhaps she planned all along to rub out Mo.
“Too late, Karmine realized she’d made a cardinal mistake by committing the second murder in our small town. The outraged townies would be up in arms, clamoring for a rigorous investigation, and her fake résumé and cover story couldn’t withstand that level of scrutiny. She panicked and was emptying out the floor safe to skedaddle when we overtook her in the nick of time.”
“Why did Mo take a cab out to the Cape Cod?” asked Alma.
“Karmine must’ve set it up that way to ambush Mo. Perhaps Karmine hoped it would throw the suspicion about Mo’s killer on Sammi Jo.”
“What do you make of Ray Burl’s uncharacteristic purchase of the shotgun?”
“Varmints, quite possibly. Sammi Jo heard the beavers have built pond dams on the neighboring farm to the Cape Cod. They’ve gnawed down every tree with a leaf in sight. Ray Burl may’ve feared they’d next bring their voracious appetites and level the saplings in his prized honey locust grove.”
“I’m glad he didn’t turn out to be crooked as Petey Sampson’s hind leg.”
Isabel nodded. “For Sammi Jo’s sake, me, too.”
“Okay, that brings us back to Ray Burl’s cashmere dress suit. How does it fall in line with everything else?”
“My pet theory is he simply put it on earlier Thursday evening because Karmine and he had made plans to go dine at a nice restaurant requiring a jacket. The cashmere was probably the only decent suit he owned. Quiet Anchorage has no fancy eatery—Eddy’s Deli hardly qualifies—but Warrenton touts three steakhouses that are definitely dress up places.”
“Do any of the steakhouses take reservations?” asked Alma. “Maybe the maître de took theirs phoned in, and kept a written record of it.”
“I asked Sammi Jo to scout at the restaurants, and none of them accept reservations, so that lead disappeared,” replied Isabel. “Helen Redfern correctly said Ray Burl’s dress suit was his cashmere shroud as he’ll probably be buried in it.”
Chapter 39
“Moving on to a less intense but more important subject, is Sammi Jo done with dating Reynolds Kyle?” asked Alma.
“They’ve patched up things since his tardiness of getting to the turf farm,” replied Isabel. “Tonight she told me they’re rewatching Beaches on DVD.”
“That’s a classic three-hanky tearjerker.”
“Reynolds prefers to see it with his beverages.”
“Ah, yes, I can take his point. Cigarettes?”
“None smoked since she lowered the boom. He’s on the patch, four of them, according to Sammi Jo. He has plenty of incentive not to light up a cigarette, she added.” Isabel dished a sly wink at Alma who understood her drift.
“Has Cupid’s arrow yet found its mark?” she asked.
“Straight to the heart, I’d say. She told me how she might drive race cars, and the young turks will eat her dust.”
“Shotgun.”
Isabel laughed. “You can have it, sister. Scrabble is as exciting as it ever gets for me.”
“I hope she doesn’t get hurt driving the race car.”
“Alma, she’s always got everything under control. Maybe she’s going to bring down Reynolds a peg or two by trouncing him in a race.”
“Her parents’ murders haven’t left her too visibly upset.”
“I suspect she’s doing most of crying in her heart where it hurts the most. Tulip’s Funeral Home is busy getting her parents ready. She’s going to see Darby Sinclair who keeps the cemetery books about buying two burial plots and granite markers. She’s also having Ray Burl a coffin built custom-made from his favorite honey locust wood. My guess is she’ll break her apartment lease with Eustis and move into the Cape Cod with her good memories still found there. Has she brought up the murders with you?”
“Not even a peep about them, Isabel.”
“Maybe she’ll approach us when, and if, she’s ever ready to talk. Other than lending a sympathetic ear, I don’t know what better we can offer her.”
“Knowing the steel magnolia Sammi Jo like we do, we’ll probably never hear another peep about them from her.”
“Time will tell, I suppose.” Isabel picked up her Alaskan Outdoor and flipped through its pages. She stopped at an article written about the eye-catching Aurora Borealis, the pulsating globs of psychedelic red, yellow, and violet also known as the northern lights. “We’ll have to testify at Karmine Meriwether’s trial,” she said.
“We’ll be meeting with Dwight to go over all that. Of course he better get that haircut before court is ever gaveled into session. Will Judge Redfern be hearing the case?”
“Helen recused herself, which is the smart thing to do being as she knew Ray Burl. That leads us to something else. I’ve had my fill of all this mischief and mayhem. Therefore as the eldest sister, I officially disband the Trumbo Sisters Detective Agency and bar its doors shut forever. Should you or I call Mr. Oglethorpe at his Richmond office and cancel our license?”
Alma was rolling her eyes so hard they hurt. “Uh-huh. That’s a rash statement to be making point-blank. Our license might be valuable, especially if this recent crime wave continues. Why don’t we play it by ear and see what happens?”
“If you think it’s for the best, then I won’t raise a fuss over it.”
“I didn’t think you would. Have you seen my Craig Rice mystery? I thought I left it inside the medicine cabinet to prevent Petey Samson from chewing it up.”
“Petey Samson doesn’t chew up mysteries, just old mules, and, no, I haven’t seen it lying around the house. Or perhaps I inadvertently mailed it off to Megan. She’s taken a shine to reading mysteries.”
“That’s our niece for you. Have you decided what to get Louise for her birthday?”
“I ordered her Charlie Parker’s Yardbird Suite on CD.”
“She’ll love it more than the Doc Kilmer’s swamp root bottle.”
Alma noticed Isabel kept rolling around a small object inside her loose fist. It was proving to be disconcerting, and Alma had to know what Isabel was fiddling with over there.
“What’s that in your hand?” asked Alma.
“Oh, nothing much.”
“Don’t give me that evasion. Come on, let me see it.”
Isabel looked sheepish. “What? This talisman?” She held up a wood tile slightly larger than a piece of Chiclets gum pinched between her index finger and thumb.
Squinting without her bifocals on, Alma could just make out the letter “Z” worth “10” points, both items stamped on the wood tile’s surface.
“Scrabble,” said Alma, smiling. “I should’ve known it. You’re a maniac. Let’s play, shall we?”
“We’ve got plenty of iced tea with lemons and microwave buttered popcorn. Hit up Blue, Willie, and Ossie and invite them if they’re not too busy napping on their sunny bench. We’ll pair off and compete as partners.” Isabel ticked off the list of players again on her fingers. “Wait. That only makes five. Who did I leave out, Alma?”
“Mr. Rhee,” she replied.
“How could I overlook Mr. Rhee? Tell him to drop his tailor’s measuring tape, grab his pork pie hat, and come right on from Warrenton.”
“We’ll have a smashing time.” Alma had out her cell phone.
Petey Samson, back in the living room with all the excitement, woofed and wagged his tail at them. Isabel slipped Alma a doggie treat to spoil him the right way.
Everything was back to quiet in Quiet Anchorage, Virginia. For now, anyway.
References
“Ladybug, Ladybug Song.” Traditional English Nursery Rhyme. Circa 1774.
“Robert Ryan’s Quiet Furies.” Manohla Dargis. New York Times. August 5, 201l.
The Last Steam Railroad in America. O. Winston Link. Harry N. Abrams, 1995.
Bo
oks By Ed Lynskey
Alma and Isabel Trumbo Mystery Series
Quiet Anchorage
The Cashmere Shroud
Private Investigator Frank Johnson Series
Out of Town a Few Days (short story collection)
Pelham Fell Here
The Dirt-Brown Derby
The Blue Cheer
Troglodytes
The Zinc Zoo
After the Big Noise
Private Investigator Sharon Knowles
A Clear Path to Cross (short story collection)
Other Novels
Lake Charles
The Quetzal Motel
Ask the Dice
Blood Diamonds
Topaz Moon
Outside the Wire
Skin in the Game
Other Short Story Collection
Smoking on Mount Rushmore
