by Ed Lynskey
Phyllis had resided in an apartment, but Sammi Jo persuaded her to upgrade to a townhouse. Unlike Ladybug’s spick-and-span townhouse, Phyllis’s townhouse showed a homey lived-in look, starting with her shoes left by the door where she’d removed them. Sammi Jo felt relief to find the deputies hadn’t plundered Phyllis’s rooms and left them in shambles. The silk ficus tree beside the filled magazine rack was a recent addition Phyllis had made.
Sammi Jo had no idea how long Phyllis would be gone, but Sammi Jo went ahead and turned down the gas heat. She knew Phyllis would need a clean set of clothes to wear after she won her freedom. Sammi Jo hurried up the steps and halted at the doorway into Phyllis’s bedroom. The closet attracted Sammi Jo’s notice. She tugged out the double folding doors to reveal the interior filled to overflowing with clothes, belts, and shoes.
In that respect, it didn’t vary from Sammi Jo’s bedroom closet. However, the similarity ended with Phyllis’s outlandish wardrobe she wore for her bag lady masquerade. That was how the old Phyllis went about her personal affairs. The fun and games had to stop now, and Sammi Jo thought Phyllis was astute enough to realize it without Sammi Jo telling her.
Phyllis stored her footwear in a shoe rack. While she hadn’t quite crossed into Imelda Marcos territory, Phyllis adhered to the fashion principle that a lady could never have enough stylish shoes, especially if they were bought on sale. A whiff of the aromatic cedar fragrance transported Sammi Jo to the outdoors again.
She took pleasure from breathing in the intoxicating sweet smell, and she decided her closet lined with cedar planks would also be pleasant. On the top closet shelf, she found several of Phyllis’s black ostrich feather dusters she used to clean off the tops of mailboxes. Sammi Jo removed the floppy, green felt hat Phyllis used to round out her bag lady apparel on the sunny days.
Sammi Jo regarded the floppy hat. She knew she didn’t look sharp in hats. Her opal and jade earrings added their elegance, but she remained a hatless lady. Reynolds liked his different gimme hats he sported around the drag race track. Isabel and Alma liked to wear dressy summer hats with the chiffon ribbons to attend church services. Sammi Jo pictured the late Ladybug Miles who’d gone out wearing a wine-colored mesh hat for her power walks, but her walking days had ended.
Sammi Jo bit her lip. The overzealous sheriff had arrested Phyllis here at her townhouse for the murder. Sammi Jo imagined the ringing doorbell downstairs alerting Phyllis to go answer it. A stern-looking Sheriff Fox stood on her porch. She had to have felt if not surprised then terrified. He may have or have not brought an arrest warrant with her name printed on it.
He paraded Phyllis out in handcuffs and loaded her into the waiting cruiser. Her inquisitive neighbors peeped out from behind their curtains, drapes, and blinds. The shame and embarrassment she must’ve suffered from her false arrest made Sammi Jo burn with resentment.
As she returned Phyllis’s floppy hat to the closet shelf, Sammi Jo wasn’t sure what Phyllis might want to put on when she left the jail. Sammi Jo decided to compile a list of items Phyllis would need from home and went to the nightstand in search of paper and pen. Phyllis had made up her bed, a housekeeping chore Sammi Jo didn’t mind letting slide, especially if it was on the weekends.
She eased out the nightstand drawer and pawed through it. Nothing turned up until she lifted a cardboard church fan and under it, she saw a handgun, its steel barrel jet black and menacing. She arched not one but two eyebrows. Her shock ran deeper, making her heart race. However, she kept a cool head and didn’t pick up the handgun for closer inspection and leave her fingerprints on it.
“Aunt Phyllis just bought the handgun for her personal protection after the recent rash of murders in Quiet Anchorage,” said Sammi Jo, talking just above a whisper. “That explains why I found this one in here.”
She nudged the nightstand drawer shut when a daring idea occurred to her. She would attempt to reach Phyllis on her cell phone. Deputies confiscated the new inmates’ personal cell phones, but Sheriff Fox and his toadies weren’t exactly brainiacs. Perhaps they’d overlooked performing the step. Sammi Jo used her speed dial.
Her signal reached its intended party and rang. She crossed over the bedroom to flip aside the curtain and check out the window. The parking lot below showed no deputies in their cruisers with the roof bar lights flashing red and blue glints. Waiting for a response, she made a wish.
Come on Aunt Phyllis answer your phone. Pick up, please. Don’t wait too long before a deputy overhears it ringing. Sammi Jo lost count of the number of rings jangling in her ear, although it probably didn’t exceed four, or Phyllis’s voicemail would have engaged. The fact her aunt was a jailbird wearing that hideous blaze orange (or whatever color) jumpsuit left Sammi Jo numb with disbelief. She was a breath away from giving up on her call.
“Going once, going twice,” she said during the final two rings.
“Hello.”
Sammi Jo took the cell phone down from her ear and looked at it. Had she been the one who’d just spoken? She didn’t remember uttering anything.
“Hello?…Hello?…HELLO?” the tinny voice bleated from her cell phone.
She recognized the voice as belonging to Phyllis, and Sammi Jo was thrilled to find her idea had succeeded. She returned the cell phone to her ear. “Hiya, Aunt Phyllis,” she said. “What’s the good word?”
A pregnant pause came from the other end. “Uh, haven’t you heard the latest news?” asked Phyllis.
“I did within the past hour. Are you doing okay?”
“Sammi Jo, your bedraggled aunt is being held captive against her will inside a cage, and she’s wearing an outfit so awful she wouldn’t even dress a scarecrow in it. Would you be doing okay if it was you in here instead of me?”
“I take your point, but how did you manage to smuggle in your cell phone?”
“It’s a trade secret I’ll fill you in on later. I’ve been trying to call out and get somebody. Anyway, I’m holding my own considering this is my first stint in The Big House. The prison-issue flip-flops are the tackiest excuse for shoes I’ve ever worn, but at least I can use them to crush the large, hairy cockroaches.”
“Stop stretching the truth. You’ve been in the town jail not even for a whole hour, not doing hard time at a federal penitentiary.”
“When you’re on the wrong side of the steel bars, it feels the same way. What are you ladies doing to get me out of here?”
“You’re in good shape because Isabel and Alma got with Dwight Holden who has agreed, after a bit of arm-twisting, to serve as your lawyer. Be careful and don’t say anything incriminating or sign on any dotted lines until he arrives there to counsel you.”
“So, Dwight is my lawyer.” Phyllis let out an expressive moan of dismay. “Then I better get used to staying in my cage. I’ll resume my cross-stitch hobby if you can bring me the stuff.”
“I’d never grow comfortable and feel at home where you are. Don’t even plan on staying there overnight.”
“I’m just kidding. Dwight is better than no lawyer, I suppose.”
“That’s much better. Now I want you to protect this line of communication. That’s imperative so make sure Sheriff Fox doesn’t discover you’ve got the cell phone on you.”
“It’s not a problem, Sammi Jo, so don’t fret. Guess who my assigned deputy is?”
“I give up. Who is it?”
“Deputy Bexley. Remember him from back when Megan stayed here in jail?”
Sammi Jo smiled. “How could I forget good old Deputy Bexley? He’s crookeder than a tackle box filled with fishhooks.”
“That’s our Bexley. If I find myself in a pickle, I’ll wave some green under his nose, and he’ll be glad to do whatever I ask.”
“The bottom line is clear, Aunt Phyllis. We have to stay busy and find out who it was that killed Ladybug with enough solid evidence to convince Sheriff Fox of it.”
“Then I can walk out of here a free woman with the sun shining on my face again. Sound
s like a solid plan to me. Let’s go for it.”
Sammi Jo’s glance over at the nightstand drawer reminded her of something disconcerting she’d found inside it. “I have an important question for you,” she said. “Right at the moment I’m standing inside the bedroom at your townhouse.”
“Did Sheriff Fox’s grubby minions ransack it and leave it disheveled like after an earthquake has struck?”
“I don’t see any sign that he’s been through it yet, but I did run across a certain thingamabob that gives me the willies. I assume it belongs to you since it’s in your nightstand drawer. Are you familiar with what certain thingamabob I’m talking about?”
“Ah yes, I am with you. What are your concerns about this certain thingamabob, dear niece?”
Sammi Jo turned angry over her aunt’s flippant attitude. “What do you think my concerns might be? You own a possibly illegal handgun while imprisoned for murder concerns me. Sheriff Fox would love nothing better than to fix your wagon after his deputies discover you own it.”
“I can see how that might be the case.”
“Why did you get it in the first place?”
“Simply because I like the way it looks.”
“It looks like big trouble to me.”
“Our tastes in style vary. I’m a bag lady who sees things differently than you might.”
“You’ll have to get rid of it. I can smuggle it out of here for you.”
“Don’t bother with it. Instead, let’s put your concerns to rest. Go to the nightstand drawer and remove the so-called handgun. Then point it up at the roof and pull the trigger.”
“Do you have any cotton balls in your bathroom I can put in and use for earplugs?”
“You don’t need to put in earplugs.”
“What about the hole I’ll leave blasted in the roof?”
“I’ll pay for the damage done to the roof.”
“I really don’t feel good about doing this, Aunt Phyllis.”
“Just trust me enough to go along and do as I’ve asked you.”
When Sammi Jo flexed her finger on the handgun’s trigger, she braced to hear the ear-splitting report. No booming noise punished her ears. There was no hand recoil or gun smoke. No ceiling debris fell on her shoulders and head. What she saw instead tickled her. She was still chuckling when she picked up the cell phone she’d set down on the nightstand.
Phyllis had been giggling on her end. “Fooled you, didn’t I, kiddo?” she said.
Sammi Jo watched the candle flame flickering at the muzzle end she’d just ignited to the novelty tabletop cigarette lighter. “You got me good because the handgun looks so authentic,” she said.
“As you would expect it since it’s an actual handgun modified to be a bizarre cigarette lighter. I traded Uncle Jimbo a little brown jug I’d run across for it. He claimed it belonged to a nearsighted church lady who was quick on the trigger, but I’m never sure when to believe what Uncle Jimbo says is the gospel truth.”
“Can the handgun shoot real bullets?”
“It’s harmless unless you happen to be a fire bug.”
Sammi Jo laughed again. “Well, paint me purple and call me an eggplant.”
“Please just get me out of here,” said Phyllis. “An hour is too long to spend trapped in a crummy place like this.”
“After Sheriff Fox tricked Isabel and Alma to arrest you, they’ve redoubled their efforts.” Sammi Jo was nodding, her smile a taut but optimistic one. “I’d say they’ll have you out of there in a flash.”
“What then will happen to Sheriff Fox?” asked Phyllis.
Sammi Jo laughed. “Let’s put it this way. I would not want to be in his shoes right about now.”
“Watching him get his comeuppance gives me something to look forward to,” said Phyllis.
Chapter 26
Alma was feeling restless as a caged leopard as she prowled through the hallways of their brick rambler. She disliked taking the pills her doctor had prescribed during high stress times such as now. Why should she take the pills when she had something else that worked better? Reading a well-written, well-plotted mystery book relaxed her jumpy nerves just fine.
In the meantime, Isabel sat in her favorite armchair resting her eyelids for a moment. The latest issue arriving by snail mail of Outdoor Alaska lay spread open on her lap. She cultivated a quirky romantic attachment to the Land of the Midnight Sun, but such an extreme place was not one for Alma to even visit. She couldn’t picture herself snuggled up inside an igloo with only her pack of huskies and malamutes for warmth and company. Petey Sampson snoring away or gnawing on his favorite chew toy while stretched out at the foot of her bed was bad enough.
If Isabel ever purchased an airline ticket for Alaska, Alma would do the opposite and call their travel agent to book her a flight to the Sunshine State. Petey Samson would go with her since he also disliked the cold weather. Taking him out for his daily walk during the wintertime took lots of encouragement.
Alma stepped through the doorway into the spacious room they used as their personal library. However, its books weren’t classical works of fiction bound in tooled Morocco leather and gilt-edged. Instead, their library housed the two senior bookworms’ mystery titles they had accumulated over the decades, including the first paperback buys they’d picked up from the old drugstore or five and dime spinner racks for twenty-five cents apiece.
They kept all the books to reread any of them if the urge ever came. Alma half-suspected Isabel and she could medically qualify as borderline hoarders of books. Guilty as charged, Alma would admit. They had alphabetically arranged the mystery authors, and the recent books were large print editions. They initialed and dated the upper right-hand corner on the first page of each book they completed reading before it went on a library shelf.
During Megan’s brief arrest and incarceration, Isabel had entertained a notion to pen her own mystery novel. She bought a secondhand Underwood Number 5 Manual Typewriter at an estate sale. Her literary ambitions fizzled out after the dynamo of energy Petey Samson joined their household and diverted her. The Underwood was now a doorstop gathering dust in the library.
Alma realized she’d left her drugstore reading glasses on her end table in the living room. Schlepping there and back was too much hassle. Since she’d forgotten them before, she kept an emergency pair in here, and she slipped them on. The murder of Ladybug Miles had a déjà vu quality making it feel similar to the murder plot Alma remembered from a mystery novel.
She concentrated on identifying where she’d read it, but she didn’t get far. Isabel had also devoured the mystery since they read the same books, and she might know it. They could reread the novel, and its plot might suggest to them a new way to unmask Ladybug’s killer.
Alma knew they had struck a raw nerve while visiting Lotus and Rosie where Lotus made it clear how much Ladybug was not her favorite person. Ladybug had called Lotus “a fat cow,” only the latest dust-up in a history of acrimonious feelings between the two women going back for years. Whether the culmination of their feud had been Lotus murdering Ladybug was the main question.
Isabel and Alma had singled out Lotus as the most likely murder suspect. Alma hoped and prayed they would discover Lotus was innocent because she was a member of the sisters’ circle of friends. Nobody wanted to find out their friend was a killer and have to turn her in to the sheriff. Alma wasn’t a rat or snitch, but she could never let a known killer go unpunished. That would not be right, and she couldn’t live with knowing it if she did such a thing.
Alma decided to call for some help. After her party greeted her, Alma said, “Hello there, Isabel. Did you have a nice snooze?”
“I was just resting my eyelids. Where are you?”
Alma wondered about their laziness to stroll down the hallway in order to hold a conversation. “I’m just down in the library.”
“Did you find anything good to read?”
“I was more interested in tracking down an old mystery whose plot b
ears a striking parallel to Ladybug’s murder.”
“Many of the mysteries we read use murder plots disguised to appear as unfortunate fatal accidents.”
“Are the killers caught and get their just deserts?”
“They do in the fair play mysteries I enjoy reading.”
“Can you put a finger on the title of a mystery in print that reminds you of Ladybug’s murder?”
“This discussion sounds like one we should be holding face to face.”
“Then mosey on down here to the library.”
“I was hoping you’d mosey on down to the living room to be with Petey Sampson and me. You are the younger and fitter sister, after all.”
“But our mystery books are kept where I am sitting.”
“Good point. Okie-dokie, I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where might I go? See you in a few.” They hung up, and Isabel soon arrived.
Alma repeated her question. “Can you think of a mystery title reminding you of Ladybug’s murder?”
Isabel closed one eye as she deliberated. “Not off the top of my head I can’t peg any such title, but it might come to me later. I wake up in the middle of the night with my mind on the darnedest stuff sometimes.”
“If you should recall the mystery title, you don’t have to wake me up to give me the news.”
“Naturally I’ll wait until the morning.”
“What should we do next at this point?”
“I’m mulling over how we can take another crack at Lotus, only this time with her shadow Rosie not in the same room.”
“Good luck on accomplishing that. They’re practically joined at the hip like Siamese twins and do everything together.”
“With Rosie laid up in a leg cast, Lotus is more likely to go off and do errands alone, and that’s the opportune time when we can buttonhole her. I’d like to ask her some direct questions and see what kind of a reaction we get from her.”