by Ed Lynskey
“Look, our street corner oracle is open for consultation,” said Isabel.
“Hearing you say that dumbfounds me,” said Alma.
“Why? I’m not totally down on the gentlemen,” said Isabel.
“Particularly when you hope to nick them for a favor,” said Alma.
Isabel’s hands made a shooing motion. “Just stop without your commentary.”
Alma parked in one of the many vacant slots, and they double-timed it across Main. However, only Ossie Conger and Willie Moccasin sat on opposite ends of the wood bench. The shade cast by Lago Azul Florist behind them hadn’t let in the day’s sunlight. Again, Isabel surprised Alma by speaking to ask the first question.
“Where is Blue Trent, fellows?”
Probing a tongue inside his cheek, Ossie nodded at Willie to respond. “Blue Trent says he isn’t feeling up to par.”
“He’s been playing hooky more often,” said Ossie. “We don’t know what all he does, but I’d put my dog tags on he’s been lazing around in bed.”
“What odds do you give Deputy Fishback to be our new sheriff?” asked Alma.
Ossie made a sarcastic growl. “He stands a better chance to fly with one of Willie’s little, pop-eyed aliens.”
“I heard Sheriff Fox might slip Clarence a few dollars under the table to drop out,” said Willie.
“Clarence is crooked enough to go for it,” said Sammi Jo.
A pressing thought prompted Alma. “Have you seen a truck hauling file cabinets go by this morning?”
“Yes ma’am, we saw Bexley driving a flatbed rumble by no more than an hour ago,” replied Willie.
“Were they green metal ones?” asked Sammi Jo.
“They were the file cabinets from Jake’s office,” replied Willie.
“Ladies, I’ve got a question for you. Are you trying to spring Megan from jail?” asked Ossie.
Sammi Jo snapped her eyes on him. “Of course we are. Do you have something to give us?”
“We heard where the stuff in Jake’s file cabinets went,” said Willie.
“How are you privy to that?” asked Isabel.
“Once told, Bexley can’t keep a secret at all,” replied Willie.
“Let us in on the secret,” said Sammi Jo.
Willie stabbed a gnarled finger. “Over in Clean Vito’s you’ll recall a broom closet is located by the soda machines. If an inquisitive soul poked inside there, they’d spot the reams of paper and folders dumped from Jake’s file cabinets.”
“Who put the stuff in there?” asked Sammi Jo.
“Bexley bragged how clever Sheriff Fox was to stash it there,” said Willie.
“Now he’ll return to Clean Vito’s to fetch the stuff,” said Ossie.
Sammi Jo consulted her wristwatch. “Not if we beat him to Clean Vito’s just opening now.”
“Hey all, look at who’s coming,” said Alma.
They pivoted around and saw Blue Trent’s coming toward them. His Bermuda shorts displayed his matchstick legs, and the dog tags at his neck jangled at each jerky step he took.
“Aw right, pipe down, you guys,” said Blue Trent. “I can lie in the fart sack and feel crummy, or I can haul my skinny butt down here so you are honored with my presence.”
Pleased to see his friend, Willie tapped the middle seat. “We kept your spot reserved, Blue Trent.”
Blue Trent assumed his throne and asked, “How much did I miss out on?”
“I’ll spin you up later,” said Willie.
“Nuts on later. I want to hear it all now.” Blue Trent sized up their lady visitors. “Can we get a little privacy here?”
Chapter 31
The ladies returned to the sedan and headed over to Clean Vito’s unfilled lot. Sammi Jo doubled her pace to keep up with the sisters entering the soapy smelling laundromat. A cross-breeze between the open doors on the opposite ends blew over them. No early birds had yet schlepped in with their baskets of dirty clothes.
Sammi Jo saw a pay phone, arcade video games, and soda machines as they tramped down the middle aisle. The bubble glass doors to the front-load dryers lined the walls. The rows of washing machines, their metal flaps pulled up, squatted front-to-back. Give it a more few hours, she thought, and the laundromat would bustle like at the zoo. She used the back of her wrist and swiped her sweaty brow.
“There’s the broom closet,” said Alma.
They bunched at its door. A cheap zinc padlock securing the door had Alma and Isabel looking to Sammi Jo.
Laughing, she said, “Okay, but I’ll need a bobby pin and some luck.”
“I haven’t used a bobby pin since I don’t know when. Will a bent paperclip suffice?” asked Isabel.
“Yes, I believe we can make do with that,” replied Sammi Jo.
Two deft jabs of the paperclip in the keyhole, and a couple of jiggles sprung the padlock. She turned her shoulder and gave the door a ram to open it, and she beheld the columns of manila folders, stapled papers, and automotive manuals stacked in the closet’s corner. She picked up a manual on Volvo repair bearing a name—THE PROPERTY OF JAKE ROBBINS—printed in bold red across its top edge.
“Pop the bubbly, gals,” she said.
Alma edging up to Sammi Jo eyed the manual she held and then the stacks. “We can’t sift through so much stuff in here.”
“Back your sedan to the doorway, and I’ll load the paper into your trunk,” said Sammi Jo.
Alma rattled the car keys from her purse.
“I’ll go stand guard at the front door,” said Isabel.
Sammi Jo tugged on a string switch inside the closet. A dolly, its handles wrapped with duct tape, lay under the tub sink. She wedged the dolly’s shiny-scuffed lip under a stack of paper. After tipping up the load, she rolled it out of the closet and laundromat to its rear door. Alma reversed the sedan into position and bundled out. Smiling at Sammi Jo, she grabbed an armful off the dolly and heaped into her opened trunk.
“Uh-oh, a visitor is rushing this way,” said Isabel from her sentry post. “Sheriff Fox’s face is radish red, and he’ll keel over from a heart attack.”
“I don’t know CPR,” said Sammi Jo.
Alma dropped the next bundle into the trunk and flung down its lid. She closed the rear door and moved into the laundromat with Isabel and Sammi Jo. She walked to the other corner, knelt by a large pasteboard box labeled on the outside as “Lost And Found”, and started sorting through the different items. The boot soles scraped up the concrete steps outside before the door opened on them.
“Good morning, ladies.” Sheriff Fox’s abrasive greeting boomed through the laundromat. “You’re searching for lost articles of clothing, huh?”
“Is that a problem?” said Sammi Jo.
“Did you come over to see us, Sheriff Fox?” asked Isabel, stepping up.
“That’s a fact. Old Man Conger from across the street told me where to find you.” The ladies noticed Sheriff Fox’s nervous eyes lingering on the closet door and the cheap padlock securing its hasp. “My neighbor phoned me to say he saw three ladies leaving my driveway earlier this morning. Granted Old Man Ting’s eyesight isn’t the keenest, but he believes that he knows what he saw.”
“If you’re making an accusation, spit it out, Sheriff,” said Sammi Jo. “Of course by your own admission, your eyewitness Mr. Ting is unreliable.”
“He isn’t that unreliable,” said Sheriff Fox. “I just put what I heard out there for your benefit, and I’ll also tack on that trespassing is a misdemeanor.”
“Sheriff Fox, don’t try and bully us,” said Alma.
He wagged his head, brooding over why every time he bumped into the Trumbo sisters he left in an exasperated frame of mind. They’d been cordial enough before the present troubles, but Jake Robbins had been murdered, and he as the town sheriff had arrested his prime suspect, their niece. Well, that was his sworn duty, and his toughness on crime went a long ways to assure his reelection in November. So that was that.
“Where can I
find all of you today?” he asked them.
“You can reach us at Alma and Isabel’s house,” replied Sammi Jo.
“We’ll be playing Scrabble and drinking iced tea like the sensible ladies do in late August,” said Isabel.
“As well as hashing over Megan’s situation,” said Alma.
“No big surprise there.” Sheriff Fox removed his Smokey the Bear hat and swiped a palm over his hair damp from perspiration. “The actual reason I’m here is because of an interesting call I took from Mr. Oglethorpe who grants licenses to the professional PIs in our Commonwealth.”
“Why should we give two hoots in Hades?” asked Alma.
“He laid out for me why he’s kept tabs on you,” said Sheriff Fox.
“We’ve spoken to Mr. Oglethorpe on several occasions,” said Isabel. “He informed us no PI license is necessary since we’re amateur sleuths, not professionals.”
Sheriff Fox replaced his hat and knitted his heavy eyebrows. “Yeah, so were the Hardy boys and Nancy Drew. But they were kids’ fiction, and that’s a far cry from what you’re trying to do. If I catch you interfering in my homicide investigation or accepting one red cent for your hokey detective services, I’ll lower the boom on you.”
“You falsely arrested Megan, and we have every right to prove her innocence,” said Isabel with quiet fortitude.
“She can tell it all to the judge and jury during her day in court. Good morning, ladies.”
Vain of his military precision, Sheriff Fox enacted an about-face and paraded out to his cruiser. It growled to run and then spewed up gravel on his dash out to Main Street and hard turn making for the highway. The dust devils kicked up in the lot by the sheriff’s tires earned Sammi Jo’s contemptuous glare out the door.
A growing frown reflected Alma’s new concern. “Who in town apprises Mr. Oglethorpe of each time we sneeze?”
“Somebody is getting itchy,” said Sammi Jo.
“Somebody has something like a gory murder to cover up.” Isabel dabbed a tissue to mop the perspiration off her forehead. “We can sift through our treasure taken from here at home.”
Chapter 32
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.”