Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage (25 page)

Sammi Jo jabbed in her paperclip to reopen the cheap padlock. They piled the rest of the paper, manuals, and folders on the dolly. Sammi Jo hoisted up the load and wheeled the dolly to the rear door. The drop to the concrete pad jolted but didn’t spill the freight, and they filled the sedan’s trunk. Breathless, Sammi Jo returned the dolly to the broom closet, and they left Clean Vito’s, the sedan’s weighed down rear end scraping its bottom on the turn. The three gentlemen lolling in front of Lago Azul Florist saluted the three ladies going by them.

“It would hardly amaze me to learn our grouchy sheriff has bribed Clarence to stay off the ballot,” said Sammi Jo.

“Such cynicism, even if it is probably true,” said Isabel.

“Sheriff Fox might stay off the ballot once we’ve toasted him,” said Alma.

Lugging their freight from the sedan’s trunk into the house unseen proved tricky. The two kids playing next door in their tree fort waved their bows-and-arrows like small savages, and Alma left the driveway, wheeled over the far side of the lawn, and cut at the corner. Then she backed up the sedan’s rear to nuzzle up as close as possible to the patio steps.

The ladies hurried out and transferred the old stuff from Jake’s file cabinets in the sedan’s trunk to their kitchen. They worked in the manner of a bucket brigade. Isabel left the piles on the table, drainboard, and countertops. Sammi Jo toted in the last armful before Alma locked the kitchen door and lowered the window blinds. They caught their breaths while sitting in the kitchen chairs, sipping iced tea, and taking stock of the daunting task awaiting them. Alma retrieved an automotive manual from the countertop and riffled through its crinkly pages.

“What sort of clues should we look for?”

“Just skim through the lot and put aside what strikes you as pertinent for follow up study,” said Isabel.

“Pertinent as in what way?” asked Alma.

“Jot down the phone numbers and names for leads,” said Sammi Jo.

“Also save out any unpaid bills and personal correspondence,” said Isabel.

The three of them went at it, and Sammi Jo laughed after a few minutes of rustling through the paper. “This is more fun than an Easter egg hunt.”

After they’d slogged on for the better part of the hour poking through the manila folders and auto manuals, she came to regret her words. Their flush of initial enthusiasm wore off and left their doleful gazes sizing up the remaining paper stacks on the countertops. They took five for an iced tea break, and gathered at the kitchen table with tired faces. Alma refilled her glass, pouring from the sweaty pitcher. She moved aside the old Volvo repair manual that was marked in bold red letters as
THE PROPERTY OF JAKE ROBBINS
to prop her elbows on the tabletop.

“This is the type of stuff you’d expect to find in a company’s business records,” she said. “Nothing is special or useful for our purposes.”

“Why did Jake hang on to the old auto repair manuals?” asked Sammi Jo.

Isabel knew the answer. “Megan said he wanted to specialize in repairing older models. It was the market niche he sought to grow. Someday he wanted to restore the rusty clunkers he towed out of the woods around Quiet Anchorage like the antique cars seen at the auto shows.”

Sammi Jo retrieved the Volvo manual and riffled through its pages. “Jake liked old Volvos, it would seem.” A yellow sheet of paper fluttered from the manual’s pages to land on the tabletop. She unfolded the yellow page and read it before her voice crackled with excitement.

“According to this bill of sale, Clarence and Jake sold their race car to Slade Roberts with a Mechanicsville address.”

“The buyer living in Mechanicsville jibes with what Erskine told me at the gas station,” said Alma.

“We may leave for Mechanicsville shortly,” said Isabel. “Meantime how do we prove if the angry Clarence went to the auto shop and killed Jake?”

“This bill of sale doesn’t help us,” said Sammi Jo.

“Then we have to ferret out the right document that does prove it,” said Alma.

They went back to rummaging and after fifteen minutes into their futile quest, Isabel wagged her head with a painful cry. Straightening up in her chair, she rubbed at her stiff fingers. Manila folders lay strewn at her feet where Sammi Jo knelt on the kitchen floor.

Alma sat upright in her chair and rubbed her eyes under her bifocals. “I’ve been pondering something. Why did Vernon leave out the nice wristwatches for his new clerk to offer for the bingo prize?”

Improvising with a manila folder, Isabel fanned her perspiring forehead. “You’d think he’d train his new clerks better and keep a sharper eye on his expensive merchandise.”

Sammi Jo stood, her face knotting into a frown. “I don’t recall seeing a wristwatch display carousel set out on any of the aisles.”

“He sells alarm clocks,” said Isabel. “The wristwatches are probably sold next to them.”

“No, I’ve never seen wristwatches, men’s or ladies’, out for sale,” said Alma.

“Vernon wouldn’t carry the wristwatches as inventory and not try to sell them,” said Sammi Jo.

Alma dropped a manual on the countertop with a dramatic thud. “Then maybe he’s a sneak thief who steals his new wristwatches.”

“That’s silly. Pharmacists make gobs of money, so why does he need to be a thief?” asked Isabel.

“Why do robbers steal in the mysteries we read? Maybe he’s tapped out, or he does it for kicks.” Alma stared off for a moment and grabbed a memory. “Let me show you what I read.” She left the kitchen for her bedroom.

“Vernon with that rat-tail mustache has a villainous look,” said Sammi Jo.

“Looks don’t prove he steals from people,” said Isabel.

“But it sets you to wondering about him,” said Sammi Jo.

“Perhaps a little,” said Isabel.

Alma came rushing into the kitchen, shaking the newspaper from her bed table. She turned the pages to the “Around the Area Roundup” column. “I saw this piece on a rash of jewelry store burglaries in Fredericksburg. Guess who might be behind them?” She handed the newspaper to Isabel.

Finished with reading the column, she reacted. “Coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Alma.

“He’s sure spiteful enough to steal.” Sammi Jo related to the sisters how he’d refused to sell Jewel her birth control pills the previous morning.

“Odd, stingy, and mean-spirited don’t combine to make him into a thief much less a murderer,” said Isabel.

“He’s also always bolting off to someplace,” said Sammi Jo.

“He said he attends pharmacists’ conventions,” said Isabel.

“When I talked to him about his flying, he acted evasive and vague,” said Alma.

“Remember he leaves every weekend,” said Sammi Jo.

“He probably moonlights in other towns as a cat burglar,” said Alma. “He’s slim and athletic enough to break into jewelry stores and residences.”

“How does he tote the loot home?” asked Isabel.

“He rips off small valuables like rings, antique coins, and wristwatches, all easy to hide in his car,” replied Alma.

Sammi Jo nodded. “While waiting for the best time to fence his stolen goods, he warehouses them at the drugstore. I watched him one night stash the boxes taken from his car to his back room.”

“What precisely did you watch him do?” asked Isabel.

“His loud engine woke me up,” said Sammi Jo. “Angry, I peeked out my window, and he’d parked in the alleyway under the exterior lamp. I saw him carry inside the small boxes taken from his trunk. Drugstore supplies, I thought, and I didn’t give it another thought until just now.”

Alma leaned forward and held each lady’s eyes. “It’s a clever front. Sammi Jo is on the right track. He socks away the stolen goods in those packages he keeps in his back room.”

“He allegedly socks away,” said Isabel. “He treats me all right. The man keeps a Bible by his cash register. Let’s not waste our time on him.”

“If Jake discovered Vernon’s operation, Vernon sure had a ripe motive for murder,” said Alma. “Our working assumption says Jake knew his murderer.”

Sammi Jo’s glance at the pile of work invoices on the drainboard triggered an idea. “At the cemetery Vernon told us Jake fixed his brakes within the last couple of weeks.” She picked up the work invoices. “Did he run across something in Vernon’s car that he wasn’t supposed to see?” She shuffled through the work invoices. “Can we pin down the exact day Vernon really had Jake work on his brakes?”

“What did he run across that was so earth-shattering in Vernon’s car?” asked Isabel.

“A cigar box overflowing with emerald rings and posh wristwatches would’ve aroused my suspicions,” replied Alma.

Sammi Jo finished thumbing through the stack. “I can’t find any work invoice filled out for Vernon.”

“He’d destroy any such invoice. Vernon is our guilty culprit,” said Alma.

“I still say Clarence or Sheriff Fox is our top suspect,” said Isabel. “But to rule out Vernon and put both your minds at rest, I’ve got no choice but to go along with you. Then we’ll get back to our real investigative work. Can we agree to do that?”

“Absolutely,” said Sammi Jo before Isabel changed her mind or Alma contested the compromise. “We can go on in your car and park in the rear alleyway. Then I’ll slip up to my apartment hallway, boogie down the inside stairway, and let you inside the drugstore’s back room.”

Alma nodded, saying, “It’s always an edge to have somebody working on the inside for you.”

The living room phone jangled, and Isabel went in to take the call. The quavery male voice belonged to Dwight Holden.

“Where were you at ten o’clock? Why didn’t you attend Megan’s arraignment?”

A spasm of icy fear gripped Isabel’s chest, but she kept her voice even. “We’ve been so busy we let it slip our minds. Where’s Megan this instant?”

“Her outcome wasn’t favorable since Judge Redfern denied her bail. Megan returned to prison.”

Isabel’s despair left her tongue-tied.

“Isabel…are you still on the line with me?”

“Indeed, but I’m still collecting my wits,” replied Isabel. “Why in Heaven’s name did Helen Redfern rule against Megan’s bail? We’ve known Helen since she was a girl.”

“I can’t put words in Her Honor’s mouth, but I suspect the homicide charge swayed her to take the most conservative route.”

“Did you sit at the defense table like a toad in a mud puddle?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I stood up, and I argued my eloquent best on Megan’s behalf.”

“But not eloquent enough, it would now appear. Okay, this development raises the ante,” said Isabel, her voice grim but determined.

“Direly, I’d say. Megan is a young lady floundering in a sea of trouble. Sheriff Fox was all smiles marching her out of the courtroom.”

“Oh goodness gracious.”

“On my way out, I saw Clarence Fishback making tracks. He’d stood at the back during her arraignment.”

“Don’t the deputies and sheriff typically attend arraignments?”

“But Clarence wearing a sport’s shirt attended out of uniform, so I placed a couple of calls. He’s turned in his job resignation and filed papers with the Election Board to run a full-time campaign for sheriff.”

“Now Clarence and Sheriff Fox can both claim the credit for solving Jake’s murder.”