Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song

by Ed Lynskey

  “Yes, Hel—, uh, I mean Your Honor,” replied Sheriff Fox.

  “You are the cop-in-chief of Quiet Anchorage, and I hold you accountable to begin acting like it.”

  “I thought I was doing that just fine until you called me,” he said. “What might you regard as my dereliction of duty?”

  “Don’t be cute. Why did you charge and arrest Phyllis Garner for the Ladybug Miles homicide?”

  “Phyllis and Ladybug were close friends, and she was seen in public with Phyllis eating lunch at Eddy’s Deli. My eyewitnesses say Ladybug acted upset as if they’d been quarreling. Furthermore, Phyllis also has no verifiable alibi for the time of Ladybug’s death. All that speaks to motive and opportunity.”

  “Presenting your pretzel logic would never convince me to sign her arrest warrant.”

  He didn’t mind telling a fib if it spared him from getting more of Her Honor’s wrath. “I’ve developed compelling evidence I can’t discuss over the phone.”

  “Poppycock.”

  “What is it you would have me do, Your Honor? Do an about-face and release Phyllis so she can go out and kill again?”

  “Look, I can personally vouch for Phyllis and tell you she is not public enemy number one. She is nothing more than the town’s bag lady.”

  Sheriff Fox didn’t see any reason not to tell more fibs after he’d gotten away with the first one. “This homicide case was a tricky one to investigate and solve.”

  “Poppycock again. You took the easiest way out by arresting Phyllis.”

  “The fact is took my time in weighing all the evidence, and I even consulted with Isabel and Alma about it.”

  “If the last part of what you said is true, then maybe Isabel and Alma should be the ones carrying the sheriff’s badges in their pocketbooks. H’m, the more I think about it, the more I like it. I can picture Sheriff Isabel and Sheriff Alma blowing their police whistles and whipping around in your old cruiser.”

  “I truly rue the day that ever happens,” said Sheriff Fox. “Your Honor, if I cut Phyllis loose, I’ll be left with egg on my face and become the town laughingstock.”

  “That’s your problem. All I can say is you better have rock-solid physical evidence like autopsy results proving Phyllis has Ladybug’s blood on her hands.”

  “The autopsy will be performed later on since there is nobody qualified at the moment to do it.”

  “Again, that’s your problem and not mine, but you heard what I said.”

  “Let me get off here and return to my official duties. By the time you return to Quiet Anchorage, this homicide case will be resolved.”

  “That’s not true unless you can wind it up by tomorrow.”

  He coughed from his suddenly dry throat. “Come again, Your Honor? Tomorrow, you say.”

  “Tomorrow. I’ve grown bored with looking at the foliage not to mention the five pounds I’ve gained from wolfing down hotcakes laced with maple syrup. Plan to see me in your office tomorrow. Until then, it’s goodbye, Sheriff.”

  After making the startling pronouncement, Judge Redfern had cut off their telephone summit. Sheriff Fox was amazed at how fast the tide had turned against him. One minute he had solved a murder, the feather in his hat to show off during his campaign speeches. By the next minute, he was left quarreling with a combative judge and scrambling to keep his job. While she wasn’t his immediate superior, she had considerable influence with the mayor who was. Only a miracle could rescue him now.

  Then an “aha” moment hit Sheriff Fox. A signed murder confession would be the rock-solid physical evidence Judge Redfern wanted so badly. He would give his prisoner Phyllis Garner the third degree and sweat her for the signed confession. Helen Redfern could put that in her judge’s pipe and smoke it.

  He used the inter-office phone and contacted the admin working out at the front desk. Her name slipped his mind. The admins came and went so fast it was as if they were passing through a revolving door, so why did he learn who they were? The admin greeted him using her nasal voice that grated on his ear.

  “Howdy, Sheriff. What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “Hi there, uh, er, uh…”

  “Abigail, Sheriff. Abigail Morgan Pierpont. I’ve only told you that a dozen times. Shall I write it down on a note card for you?”

  “Right. Abigail. I got you.” He scribbled down “Abigail” with a box drawn around it on his desk blotter.

  “You rang?”

  “So I did.” If he brought in a deputy, and they ganged up on Phyllis, he’d break her that much quicker. She’d sign anything to get out of his pressure cooker, but he needed a husky, smart deputy to physically intimidate her. “Is Carpenter or Smedley in the station house?” he asked.

  “Deputy Carpenter went home sick with the stomach flu that’s been going around, and Deputy Smedley is out on his beat patrol,” replied Abigail.

  Sheriff Fox knew “out on his beat patrol” was a cop euphemism meaning Smedley was on a doughnut and coffee break. He’d be out of radio and cell phone communication for the next fifteen minutes, quite possibly longer.

  “Then where is the big lug Jaworski? Isn’t he on today’s duty roster?”

  “Deputy Jaworski left town to attend a family wedding, and he won’t be back until next Thursday. We already covered this issue right before role call. Shall I write it down on a note card for you?”

  “I had forgotten it. All right then, who is available? I need a deputy’s assistance on a pressing matter.”

  “Well, Deputy Bexley is here with me.”

  Sheriff Fox rolled his eyes up as far as they’d go in their orbits. Bexley. Holy moly, I may as well get the Bozo the Clown to sit beside me during my interrogation of Phyllis Garner.

  “Sheriff, are you still there?” asked Abigail. “Shall I send in Deputy Bexley? He’s nodding and smiling over how much he’d love to pitch in and give you a hand.”

  “No-no, on second thought I believe I can handle doing it alone. Just have Deputy Bexley inventory the office paperclips or sharpen a few pencils. If you do the latter, be sure to show him the proper way to empty the wood shavings from the pencil sharpener.”

  “You know Deputy Bexley is a fast learner.”

  “Sure he is.”

  “Sheriff, since I have you on the line, can I take off for the rest of the day?” she asked.

  “Why is that, Abigail?”

  “The babysitter called me and said Kermit is running a fever with the sniffles, so I better take him to the doctor’s office.”

  “Yeah, go take care of your sick kid. I hope Kenneth feels better soon, too.”

  Abigail sounded miffed. “Kermit, Sheriff. My son’s name is Kermit, not Kenneth. Shall I write it down on a note card for you?”

  “Just forget about using the note cards, Abigail,” said Sheriff Fox. “I meant to say Kermit. Apologies. There’s a lot going on right now like a big murder investigation for me to keep every little office detail straight.”

  “I can assure you it won’t happen again,” said Abigail. “Jeremiah will take care of Kermit the next time he gets sick.”

  “Jeremiah? Who is he?”

  “Haven’t you met my hubbie? He played nose guard at State, but he’s a teddy bear when it comes to taking care of the kids.”

  Sheriff Fox thought the burly Jeremiah would be perfect guy to play the menacing sidekick during the interrogation of Phyllis. But Jeremiah sounded too strait-laced to go along with Roscoe’s devious plan. He nixed the fantasy and signed off with Abigail. He’d postpone the interrogation until he got a real deputy back at the station house. He’d not wait for too long since Judge Redfern wanted a meeting within the next twenty-four hours.

  It would make his day. Not!

  Chapter 29

  “How might I get Lotus alone without Rosie on her crutches being there?” asked Isabel. Sammi Jo had left to return to her apartment. Isabel and Alma sat at their kitchen table. “Where could I meet and talk to Lotus in private without any interrup
tions?” asked Isabel.

  “Eddy’s Deli during the slow times is a nice and quiet place,” replied Alma. “Plus he always has plenty of iced tea with lemon wedges on hand to serve. Have you got your questions thought out and ready to ask Lotus?”

  She and Alma had decided only Isabel would go see Lotus so she wouldn’t feel outnumbered with both sisters confronting her. “I’ll play it by ear as I ease my way into bringing up the topic of Ladybug’s murder,” replied Isabel.

  “It’s all over town Ladybug was murdered, and Phyllis was arrested for it.”

  “Even so, Lotus can’t get any sense I still have a suspicion she was the one responsible, or I’ll get nowhere by talking to her.”

  “Discussing anything about Ladybug turns Lotus antagonistic.”

  Isabel nodded. “Her flying into a rage like she did while in Rosie’s living room stays fresh in my mind.”

  “I wonder if Rosie ever had any luck at scratching the itch inside her leg cast.”

  “Her real itch is to return with Lotus and hold court at Clean Vito’s,” said Isabel.

  A crisp rap sounding at the front door—the broken electric doorbell still had a short in the wiring or something wrong with it—brought out Alma hurrying from the kitchen. She couldn’t imagine who would have the brazenness to pound away with the second thunderous knock, clattering the door on its hinges. She quickened her steps. Just two paces away from the door, she couldn’t believe it when the third rumbling knock was the loudest noise made yet.

  “Keep your shirt on and hold your water,” she said, her shout angry. “I’m coming as fast as I can. Fair warning, though. Unless you’re the grim reaper making a house call, you’d better have a good reason for making this ruckus.”

  Yelping and wagging his tail, the excited Petey Samson romped up, and Alma had to call him to get away from the door. They weren’t leaving in the sedan for him to ride in it with his head sticking out the rolled down window and his ears flapping in the wind. As Alma grasped the doorknob and twisted it, she heard the gruff mutters of men talking among themselves. As the door gave way, she bristled at hearing their round of chuckles. She failed to see any humor in this malarkey.

  After taking full view of her visitors, Alma lost her scowl and her cross mood lifted. “This is a momentous occasion,” she said. “You have finally accepted our invitation to come visit us.”

  “Hello there, Alma.”

  “Salutations there, Alma.”

  “Ditto there, Alma.”

  She nodded once to all three speakers. Ossie Conger, Willie Moccasin, and Blue Trent had abandoned their sunny wooden bench on Main Street and journeyed to Church Street. All the men wore their dog tags and cell phones around their necks. Their Aloha shirts today had deep red backgrounds with a hibiscus floral prints.

  “Hello Ossie, hello Willie, and hello Blue,” she said, not missing any of the men grouped on the front porch.

  “What brings you around to see us today?” Isabel had arrived at the front door. She moved at a slower, calmer gait than Alma did unless they were in the Mystery section at a used bookstore. “You look so festive in your Hawaiian shirts. Come inside and have a seat. We’ll each enjoy a tall glass of iced tea and chew the fat.”

  “There is no time for either sipping iced tea or chewing the fat,” said Blue. “What brings us over to see you is big, and I mean really big.” He spread his hands far apart to demonstrate how large he meant.

  “My word,” said Isabel, giving the excited gentlemen the once-over. “What on earth has gotten you so jazzed up like this?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if we told you,” replied Blue. “You really have to see it.”

  “We’ll be shoving off as soon as you ladies can be ready,” said Ossie.

  “Give us a minute to put on and tie our walking shoes,” said Isabel trading curious looks with Alma.

  “Skip putting on your walking shoes,” said Willie, shifting aside on the porch to allow the sisters an unobstructed sightline out to the streetside. “Our chariot awaits you. Blue chauffeured us over in his nephew Ralph’s taxicab.”

  “Ralph is away on vacation, so I borrowed it,” said Blue. “He won’t mind our using it if I top off the gas tank and clean the windshield afterward.”

  Isabel and Alma observed a blue-checkered, four-door sedan parked at the curb. The taxicab had a roof sign—cabbies knew it as the top hat—with a yellow background to the black letters spelling out T-A-X-I. Isabel wondered if the cabbies permitted well-behaved pets like Petey Samson to climb aboard. He didn’t take up much room, although his panting, scratching, and sometimes barking might be an annoyance to the other fares.

  “You ladies can stretch out and relax in the back seat, and we fellows will ride up front,” said Blue. “You’ll find tons of space back there because Detroit builds these taxicabs with passenger comfort foremost in mind.”

  Alma had a worry as she and Isabel slipped on their jackets. “Blue, when did you last renew your driver’s license?” asked Alma.

  “If Blue’s driving skill is up to par for me, then we all should have no quibbles over it,” said Isabel. “Can we get together and agree on that?”

  Despite Alma shaking her head in the negative, Willie and Ossie nodded it was fine, and Isabel liked their response better, so she accepted it and dismissed Alma’s reluctance.

  The taxicab’s interior had ample legroom, and its five passengers could spread out. Isabel decided to leave Petey Samson at home, although one look at his caramel brown eyes before leaving had almost broken her heart.

  “Don’t forget to strap in and buckle up, everybody,” said Blue.

  From the start, he proved to be a cautious if not timid driver. At the first stop sign on Church Street, he came to a halt and put on his turn signal. He looked in both directions a half-dozen times, the coast remaining clear all the while.

  “Um, Blue,” said Willie. “You can probably safely make your turn now.”

  “Pipe down and don’t pressure me,” said Blue. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

  “You’d go stone cold broke if you had to drive a taxicab for a living,” said Willie.

  “Better to be safe than sorry is my motto,” said Blue.

  “Don’t be tweaking Blue,” said Ossie. “Or he’ll freeze up with fear, and we’ll never get moving on our way again.”

  “I knew we should have walked,” said Willie. “We’d be there by now.”

  “During our interlude, you might fill us in a little,” said Isabel. “Where are we headed?”

  “Eventually our destination will be the old highway bridge,” replied Ossie.

  “That is if our Sunday driver Blue can make up his mind and complete making the turn,” said Willie. “You drive worse than an old lady, my friend.” He realized his gaffe and tried to make fast amends. “My comment was a general one. Present company is excluded, of course.”

  “I should only hope so,” said Alma.

  “Did something bad happen to the bridge?” asked Isabel.

  “The bridge is as it always has been,” replied Willie. “But what you can see while you’re standing on the bridge is what got our attention.”

  “What is it that has caught your eye?” asked Alma.

  “Not to sound mysterious but this one is a visual you had better see for yourselves,” replied Willie. “Our speculations on what it means serve no purpose.”

  “All this yammering makes it impossible for me to focus,” said Blue still checking for any oncoming traffic while they remained stationary at the stop sign. “I need complete silence.”

  “Look, pal, you either mash down on the gas pedal and we move,” said Willie. “Or else the four of us are getting out of the taxicab and walking the rest of the way to the bridge.”

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum, Willie?” asked Blue.

  “You bet your sweet bippy I am giving you an ultimatum,” replied Willie.

  After letting out a resigned sigh, Blue popped the
clutch and floored the accelerator pedal. The taxicab’s rear tires spun in place, burning rubber while squealing and kicking up a cloud of acrid tire tread smoke. Blue shot around the turn, and they spurted off down the street like a rocket.

  Terrified, Willie clacked his teeth together and gripped both white-knuckled hands to the dashboard, hanging on for dear life. His pulse hammered so loud he thought the other passengers could hear its rapid thumps. He used his tongue to check inside his mouth for any fillings the wild ride had jarred loose from his teeth.

  Doing his best to look deadpan innocent, Blue backed off the accelerator pedal, slowing down after his jackrabbit start and peeling out from the stop sign. Willie took down his shaky hands from the dashboard, squirmed about in his seat, and gave Blue a long and hard look.

  He couldn’t keep off his playful grin as he negotiated the next turn with experienced ease, gave the taxicab a little gas, and they proceeded on their way.

  “Blue, you are a sly old dog,” said Ossie, also grinning. “You fooled us into thinking you’re a scaredy-cat driver.”

  “How about if you put us on the old highway bridge without any further screwball antics?” said Willie.

  “Our destination hasn’t slipped my feeble mind,” said Blue. “I’ll get us there posthaste. Just relax and leave the driving to me.”

  Isabel traded smiles with Alma. It was good to have friends, even the irrepressible rascals such as the Three Musketeers. Neither sister knew what they would do without the trio spicing up their lives.

  “On the way back from the bridge, I’d like to stop by Lotus’s house in town,” said Isabel. “I’ll pop in and have a short chat with her while you guys wait out in the taxicab.”

  “Not a problem,” said Blue.

  “Let’s get the bridge part of our trip over with first,” said Willie. “Lotus Wang isn’t going anywhere too soon.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Alma. “It seems lately anything unexpected and unpredictable can happen in our town.”