Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage

by Ed Lynskey

  “But you see that’s my problem.” Alma selected her next words with care. “Left as the mere spectators will drive us crazy.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “This is how I see our situation. Say we do drive up to the city and hire a big defense attorney that we talk to and like.”

  “That’s the usual course of action.”

  “Then the big defense attorney becomes the shot caller, and we’ve no option but to nod our heads since we’re paying through the nose for his or her advice. Can you bear the thought of us limited to that subservient role?”

  “Ah, now I see.” Isabel smiled. “You think we can handle Dwight. Sure, but how much of a difference will our help make if you can stuff all we know about criminal law into a thimble?”

  “Dwight can keep the jurisprudence part humming along,” replied Alma. “We’ll correct him if he drifts off course, but it’s up to us to ferret out the right clues or leads and build the solid foundation to Megan’s defense. With his murderer in prison, Sheriff Fox feels no impetus to search any further.”

  Instant emotion thickened Isabel’s voice. “He’s off his rocker because she’s no murderer.”

  “So we’re forced to prove her innocence. Simple as that.”

  Isabel pitched her napkin on the tablecloth. “We haven’t heard if Megan has her own ideas on how to run things.”

  “She’s in no shape to reason clearly. Her fiancé died, and she’s been charged for it. That double whammy would make anybody’s head spin. We have the responsibility to do her thinking for her.”

  “First off tomorrow morning, we’ll phone Dwight’s office.”

  “Why do we sit and worry all night?” Alma fished the sedan’s key ring from her pants pocket to brandish with a jingle. “There’s no time like the present.”

  “You’d every intention to see Dwight tonight before we sat down to dinner, didn’t you?”

  Alma nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Shall we phone ahead?”

  “Why give him the opportunity to say he’s too busy to see us?”

  The sisters grabbed their purses and whisked out into the evening’s dewy cool. The katydids chittering high in the treetops serenaded them. The air brakes squealing on the eighteen-wheelers slowing through the town’s main intersection left Isabel wincing. She fended off a shiver of fear and returned inside to switch on their porch security lamp. Quiet Anchorage was no hotbed of crime, but a murderer was on the loose, and you couldn’t be too cautious.

  “Suppose Dwight isn’t home?” asked Isabel in the sedan.

  “He’s a homebody and will be in. He can make a call, and we’ll get to see Megan tonight.” Alma sneezed into a tissue.

  “We’ll also drop by the pharmacy and hope Vernon has refilled your allergy pills. Or we’ll trek to the Warrenton drugstore to purchase them.”

  “If there’s enough time, we’ll make the Warrenton trip, but seeing Megan tonight deserves our top priority.”

  “I couldn’t agree more with you.”

  Chapter 8

  After the third, harder knock, Dwight Holden swung in his front door and confronted Isabel removing her floppy straw hat. Instant dismay pinched his face.

  “Good evening, Dwight. Might we discuss a legal matter?” she asked.

  The short, slight lawyer still in his poplin business suit and a turquoise bola tie put up his slender hands as if to rebuff her.

  “Sorry, Isabel, but I’ve never defended a capital case, and I can’t assist you.”

  Alma sniffed from her allergies. “It’s time to break that streak.” She dabbed a tissue at her runny nose and watery eyes.

  “We’ll take up our business in private, not out here on the stoop,” said Isabel.

  “It’s only plain civility to invite you in, so please do. But I can’t promise you any legal counsel.” As his hands fluttered, the sisters watched him and exchanged their uncertain glances about him.

  “We’ll help you change your mind.” Alma huffed ahead into the foyer, brushing by him.

  Isabel letting the screen door close with her elbow ushered him along with her other hand. “Shall we go join her? There’s no stopping her.”

  He mumbled something, and they followed the angular hallway ending at a den cluttered to suit a young bachelor. Isabel balanced on the edge of the nearest ladder-back chair. Alma wary of the torn, smudged armchair remained standing while he sank into the mushy recliner, his audible sigh a ponderous one.

  “Before you go any further, let me reiterate I’ve had minimal trial lawyer experience, and I can’t even advise you on the general points.”

  “Duly noted,” said Isabel.

  Alma did a hand chop motion. “It’s time to quit cutting bait and fish, Dwight. First, Isabel and I will cover your legal fees, and Megan is to be kept in the dark even if she asks you about it.”

  Touching his fingertips together on both hands, he created a birdcage. “With my canon of ethics to uphold, I work in the best interests of my client. If she asks me, I’ll have to tell her who’s footing the bill. This is all, of course, hypothetical since I haven’t accepted her case.”

  “Our fat checkbook tells us you’ll stay mum,” said Alma.

  He stared at her for an extra beat. “Your fat checkbook, eh? Well, right you are then. I accept her case, and mum is definitely the word.”

  “We’ll also lend you a hand,” said Alma.

  He made a disapproving noise. “Can you be more specific? After all, I am the one here with the law degree.”

  “We’ll take an active role in running the day-to-day affairs,” replied Alma, still vague.

  “This sounds too complicated.” His hands flitted like a wounded butterfly. “Who do you propose murdered Jake Robbins?”

  “Everybody in Quiet Anchorage becomes our suspect,” replied Alma. “But we can state with confidence that Megan isn’t the culprit who belongs in prison.”

  “Shall we kibbutz tomorrow, say, at nine o’clock in my office?”

  Again, Alma sniffed. “Since we’re a team, our first objective is to pay Megan a visit tonight.”

  His white knuckles gripped to the recliner’s armrests. “Only Sheriff Fox authorizes after-hour visits and without a doubt he’ll flat-out refuse, so why should we pester him tonight?”

  Helpless to head it off, Isabel watched Alma lash out. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you call him at home right now and request his precious authorization?”

  Isabel had a calmer tone. “Stress how vital it is you meet your new client Megan Connors tonight. If Sheriff Fox balks, then use a lawyerly excuse to persuade him.”

  Dwight realized when he was outmaneuvered and lifted his telephone from the roll-top desk. “This is so inflammatory.” He pecked in the right numbers from a business card also on the roll-top desk. “I’m all out of lawyerly excuses. Do you have any quick tips?”

  Isabel dealt Alma a hopeful nod and missing only a beat, she posed a solution. “Tell Sheriff Fox you caught wind of a rumor we’ve been dishing the dirt to the reporters, and he shouldn’t attract any more bad press.”

  “I can’t extort him like that,” said Dwight. “Suppose I ask this as a favor to a fellow officer of the court?”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer,” said Alma.

  Dwight muttering under his breath held the receiver to his ear. While making his prison visit request, he overheard Sheriff Fox’s television hubbub playing in the background. His response left Dwight frowning.

  “But Sheriff Fox it’s imperative I consult with Megan tonight. She has the legal right to a speedy counsel, and a lawyer wasn’t present earlier… look, I recall you owe me for my free legal advice on your messy divorce… okay, that’s more like it, and I’ll meet you at the prison in fifteen minutes.”

  After they hung up, Alma said, “Good show, Dwight. We can go right on in our car.”

  “Hold on there. My deal with Sheriff Fox included just me, not you.”

  Alma shepherde
d Dwight from the den and to the foyer. “We’ll repay Sheriff Fox his kindness of pulling a fast one on us.”

  “Dwight, hadn’t you better lock your townhouse?” said Isabel. They’d stepped out into the buggy porch light.

  “Why bother? It didn’t keep out two pushy seniors tonight.”

  He sat behind Isabel in their sedan’s rear seat. Alma mashed the gas, and they whisked through Quiet Anchorage’s streets serene and dark as the abandoned drive-in movie lot. The sheriff’s long, narrow office also housed the prison. Alma flicked on her directional blinker and nosed in next to the sheriff’s cruiser bristling its whip aerials and American flags. Sheriff Fox, arms folded high on his chest, waited by the door under a buzzing streetlight. His shoe tip tapped on the concrete, a nervous tic, as they approached him.

  “Counselor, who are your pair of shadows?” he asked.

  “Dwight’s shadows are his client’s family members,” replied Alma. “Sheriff Fox, we came here to see our niece.”

  He hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and thrust his chin at them. “Alma, I don’t know anyone more stubborn than you are unless it’s Isabel. So you went out and snagged a lawyer, and now he’s come under false pretenses to do your bidding. Well, well. This one time I’ll relent, but only as the old favor that I owe Dwight. I dang well won’t be wangled by the likes of you or the newspaper.”

  “Take us to Megan,” said Alma. “She’s hurting, no thanks to you.”

  Sheriff Fox’s cadence turned brusque. “We’ve handled her with kid gloves and done everything by the book.”

  “Sheriff Fox, Ms. Trumbo is understandably distressed over recent events and isn’t impugning your law enforcement professionalism,” said Dwight, sounding contrite. “Please accept our apologies.”

  The apology placated Sheriff Fox to a degree. “All right, let’s finish this, so we can all go home for some shuteye tonight.”

  “Ask Megan how much sleep she’ll get tonight,” said Alma.

  Dwight looking over shook his head at her to hush.

  Fat chance, Alma stared back.

  The four paraded into the station house’s vestibule before Alma and Isabel stopped in the low-lit hallway. They looked at Sheriff Fox, and he understood them, but he didn’t like it.

  “No, ladies, my office is off-limits, so you’ll see Megan in Interview Room One.”

  “Just bring her to us,” said Isabel. “Meantime I hope Interview Room One is a non-smoking space.”

  “Yes, I do enforce the indoors smoking ban,” said Sheriff Fox.

  “Imagine that,” said Alma.

  He extracted a key and undid the door for Dwight to go in and put on the overhead lights. Alma found the space cramped and the air stale but managed to bite her tongue. The four oak chairs at the cafeteria table made for hard seats. Alma sneezed at the cigarette butts cluttering a glass ashtray left on the table. Dwight began to rock back and forth in his chair.

  “Dwight, take a chill pill, as Megan would say,” said Isabel. “Our goal is to be strong when she sees us.”

  Alma emptied the glass ashtray into the wastebasket, and Isabel nodded her thanks.

  “I’ve got a confession. Prisons are why I opted out of criminal law,” said Dwight. “They’re sleazy and disagreeable to me.”

  Rolling her eyes, Alma plunked her bulky purse on the tabletop. “Roust out our little girl.”

  “Show some restraint, Alma, and give Sheriff Fox a chance,” said Isabel.

  “That sounds more civil,” said Sheriff Fox. “Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

  His toe taps clacking on the buffed concrete floor faded. The shoe clacks returned a few minutes later, and the door swished air. Their eyes lifted to see Megan scuffle into the strong light, and sisters gasped together. Her face in a few brief hours had assumed a cadaverous mask, and her eyes had sunken into patchy cavities over a droopy chin.

  “Look how they’ve dressed you,” said Alma.

  “Orange garb is standard issue in both the male and female lockups,” said Sheriff Fox.

  “It’s perfectly hideous—” Isabel bit off her outburst, but the numb Megan hadn’t registered it.

  “Have a seat, dear.” Alma patted on the empty chair beside her. “Dwight, coming in I saw a soda machine. Be a sweetheart and go fetch Megan a cold ginger ale or root beer.”

  Dwight made to stand, but Sheriff Fox shook his head. “No visitor exits with an inmate present in the interview room.”

  “We understand the regulation,” said the obedient Dwight, sitting back down.

  “Can we get you anything?” Alma asked but her hard eyes skewering Sheriff Fox.

  “Can you get me out of here?” The lifelessness in Megan’s tone ripped jagged holes through the sisters.

  “That’s in the works,” said Alma. The skeptical Sheriff Fox grunted. “Doesn’t client-attorney confidentiality entail a little privacy in here?” she asked.

  “I’m uncertain if it applies or not,” replied Dwight.

  “Even if it does, this is after-hours, and I’m required to remain with the inmate,” said Sheriff Fox.

  “I didn’t shoot Jake,” blurted out Megan. “We were in love and engaged to get married. Why would I murder him?” New tears in the old tracks trickled down her cheeks. “You believe me, right?”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Alma’s blue eyes sent twin lasers across the interview room at Sheriff Fox who still ignored her.

  “Dwight is now your legal representation,” said Isabel.

  “Can Mr. Holden get me out of here?” asked Megan.

  “Yes, in due course,” said Dwight. “You’ll soon face arraignment. I’ll know more in the morning after the court opens, and I’ve had an opportunity to brush up on my criminal law.”

  “When the judge sets bail, we’ll stand ready to post it,” said Alma. “You should know we’ve also brought in a private detective agency.”

  “You did?” Megan’s first smile, a meager one, stole across her lower face. “I didn’t know any private detectives work in Quiet Anchorage.”

  Sheriff Fox looked flustered. “What’s this all about?”

  “Alma and I are the detectives,” replied Isabel. “We’ll assemble the facts and reconstruct what really occurred at Jake’s shop this afternoon.”

  “We brought our lawyer to ask our questions,” said Isabel.

  “First the prisoner returns to her lock up,” said Sheriff Fox.

  “The prisoner’s name is Ms. Connors to you,” said Alma.

  Chapter 9

  The phantom maid during the sisters’ absence hadn’t cleared away and washed up the dishes. So Isabel ran the kitchen faucet to fill the white enamel sink with hot water. She added a squirt of the emerald green detergent, and Alma slid a dishtowel from the refrigerator handle. They talked.

  “I wonder if Jake made any enemies,” said Alma, drying the rinsed plates. “He’s bound to have miffed a customer or two in his dealings.”

  “How do we find his enemies?” asked Isabel.

  “We ask around town and, if not lucky, we’ll cast our net wider.”

  “Her two old aunts meddling in public will appall Megan.”

  Setting the dinner plates on their stack inside the cabinet shelf, Alma scoffed. “Appearances hardly matter now.”

  “True enough but where do we start our search?”

  “Rosie McLeod and Lotus Wang are our champion town gossips.”

  “At least they’re a starting place. Tonight Megan looked so forlorn it broke my heart.”

  “Don’t forget she’s tough as nails,” said Alma with false cheer.

  “But of course she is.” Isabel popped out the sink plug, and they watched the dishwater circle the drain before a final slurp. “Well, I’m off to curl up with a new mystery. If I’m lucky, and the sandman skips by, I’ll doze off by dawn.”

  “I already concede I won’t sleep one wink tonight.”

  Isabel undid her collar and sleeves. “If we stand any shot to he
lp Megan, we need the sleep to keep our sharpest wits.”

  “Taking a sleep aid leaves me waking up lost in a fogbank.”

  “Then let’s try closing our eyes and pretending to sleep.”

  Alma left for her bedroom down one wing of their rambler, and Isabel wandered off to her closer bedroom. She tugged out the night table drawer, but then she decided she still wasn’t ready—even ten years later—to put out Max’s framed photo on permanent display. His dusky smile held her eye for an extra second.

  They’d had just the one boy, Cecil. She battled a pang of wistful regret at not having had more children, but then she now had Megan. By the next moment she took stock of their assuming the unproven roles as private detectives to do her some good.

  After shutting her bedroom door and relaxing on her bed, she let her mind drift back and replay what’d transpired in Interview Room One after a lady deputy had escorted Megan back to her prison cell. When their shuffling footsteps had receded to icy silence in the hallway, Sheriff Fox turned to Dwight and the sisters.

  “With your legal counsel present, you’ll want a rundown on Megan’s charge.”

  “Please do bring us up to date,” said Dwight.

  Sheriff Fox smoothed his wrinkly necktie between his fingers as he used a cop’s matter-of-fact tone. “This afternoon Megan Connors contacted my office and reported Jake Robbins was prone out on his shop floor.”

  “It’s odd how she first shoots him and then calls the authorities,” said Alma.

  “It’s a known ploy murderers use to misdirect the police,” said Sheriff Fox. “Anyway, Jake had died of one fatal gunshot wound to the chest—”.

  “Which region of the chest?” asked Isabel.

  “The round struck the most vital region: his heart.” Sheriff Fox signaled with his hands to squelch their next words. “Once I finish, I’ll field your questions.”

  “If you’d told us all this earlier, we’d have no questions now,” said Alma.

  The scratchy rasp was Dwight catching his breath. “All right, Alma, just shush. Let me do the talking like you pay me for. Excuse the interruption, Sheriff Fox. There’ll be no others, so proceed.”