Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage

by Ed Lynskey

  “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.”

  “It’s a footrace to see who can make the biggest splash with the voters. Has it occurred to you that Jake’s murder was perpetrated for political gain?”

  “Oh, we’ve had our eyes peeled on Sheriff Fox and Clarence for some time.”

  “To take the next leap, could Judge Redfern be in league with either of them?”

  “Let’s not take that leap just yet, Dwight. You sit tight until you hear from us. Meantime we’re off to do some more gumshoeing, only this time we have to score some concrete results.” Isabel hung up on Dwight’s sputtering words of protest and hurried back the kitchen to deliver the bad news.

  “Megan must be appalled by our forgetting her,” said Alma.

  “We’re all equally guilty,” said Sammi Jo.

  “This changes the complexion of everything,” said Isabel.

  “We’ll unmask Vernon and turn him into the sheriff’s department,” said Alma.

  Isabel shook her head. “Clarence should be our target. He quit his deputy job and then showed up to laugh at Megan’s downfall in court this morning. Clarence is who killed Jake, not Vernon.”

  “All Clarence is interested in doing is pinning on the sheriff’s badge,” said Alma. “Quitting his deputy’s job was a dumb move. I can’t believe he did it, but I doubt if he’s intelligent enough to engineer an elaborate murder plot.”

  Her face livid and eyebrows arched, Isabel stamped her foot on the kitchen floor. “We can’t be looking at Clarence and Vernon simultaneously, not with Megan on her way to trial for murder.”

  “Simmer down, sis,” said Alma. “Since we like to run things as a democracy, we’ll let Sammi Jo cast the deciding vote.” She looked at her. “Who do we target first, Clarence or Vernon, or even Sheriff Fox?”

  Sammi Jo caught in the crossfire of their fierce stares hesitated a moment. “Your putting all this on me isn’t fair. What if I’m wrong? Well, I’m going with my gut. I say we first we hit Vernon, but hard, then we move on to Sheriff Fox and Clarence. Good enough?”

  Her face as if carved from wax and never set any graver, Isabel nodded.

  Chapter 33

  Arriving at the Quiet Anchorage drugstore in the early afternoon, Sammi Jo’s plan easily put the three ladies inside the back room. She tugged on the two string switches and tugged down the torn shade to cover the door’s glass pane. Their eyes adjusted in the sixty-watt bulbs’ sketchy illumination. Alma took off her sunglasses and pawed through her purse. Pleased by her foresight, she removed a flashlight and flipped it on. The bright beam’s shaft proved the batteries were still strong.

  Squinching her nose, Isabel peered about them at the cluttered space. “It feels musty in here.”

  “Filthy, too.” Alma brushed off her sleeve. “I tote the wet wipes in my purse if you need to use one.”

  “You tote the kitchen sink in your clunky purse,” said Isabel.

  “You just never know when you might need the kitchen sink,” said Alma.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s not lose our focus,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Where does Vernon live?” asked Alma.

  “He camps in the penthouse apartment at the end of the hallway upstairs,” replied Sammi Jo. “But I knocked on his door loud enough to wake the dead, and he’s not in, so we’re safe.”

  “Should we go up and prowl through his penthouse apartment?” asked Alma.

  “He wouldn’t keep any incriminating clues in there,” said Isabel.

  “Why not?” asked Alma.

  “Our odd bird wouldn’t doo-doo in his own nest,” replied Isabel.

  The three ladies navigated their way through the obstacle course—a dilapidated big screen TV, a plastic nativity scene Vernon put out each year, and a grandfather clock minus its big hand—and stood in front of the small cardboard boxes stacked in tidy columns from the floor to head high. Sammi Jo directed the flashlight’s halo of light over the boxes as Alma stretched on tiptoes and took down the top box. She flipped it over and read from its oval label.

  “Tompkins Baby Powder is extra absorbent, lavender scented, and made in Malaysia. Nothing is too unusual in all that.” She traced her fingernail over the edges to the box. “The original seal feels intact, I’m afraid.”

  “Too obvious, the top box isn’t where a crook elects to hide his booty,” said Isabel. “Hold these boxes in place, and I’ll slide out a more likely one.”

  Sammi Jo did as asked and then let go of the boxes to lower then and fill in the vacated space. Isabel aimed the
flashlight beam on the box and smiled.

  “Observe, ladies, how the original seal has been tampered with, so what is our valuable prize hidden inside?”

  Alma’s patience ran a bit testy. “Well, what is it, sis?”

  Isabel’s thrill just as fast deflated, and she pitched the box over her shoulder. “Drats, I only find those foam peanuts.”

  Alma sized up the four columns of boxes. “Talk about your looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Who stockpiles such a huge inventory at a town drugstore?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “A thief with a lot of plunder to hide from prying eyes,” replied Alma.

  “A better search strategy will get us out of here sooner,” said Isabel.

  “Since Jake worked on Vernon’s car, maybe we should look inside it first,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Our research would move faster,” said Alma.

  “I’ll go along with the idea,” said Isabel.

  Sammi Jo opened the door voiding to the alleyway. Vernon’s car parked under the exterior lamp was the maroon sedan with a white vinyl roof they’d seen speeding off down Main Street. Now the sedan sat in the afternoon’s nebulous shadows. Isabel, a handkerchief covering her fingers to prevent depositing any prints, yanked at the door latches, but found they didn’t budge.

  “Locked,” she said.

  Alma made a wry face. “Sammi Jo, do you have any Houdini trick up your sleeve?”

  She nodded. “I keep some handy-dandy tools upstairs in my apartment.”

  “Handy-dandy works swell for me,” said Alma.

  Sammi Jo went back into the drugstore, sidled up to her apartment, and within two minutes reappeared. A claw hammer and a large screwdriver were her tools.

  “How will those tools aid us?” asked Isabel.

  Sammi Jo waved them away from the sedan. “Stand back and I’ll show you.”

  “Before you go smashing out the window glass, try and jimmy the trunk lock,” said Alma.

  Again, Sammi Jo did as she was asked and using the large screwdriver as a chisel she jammed the trunk lock. By her third hammer stroke, the trunk lid hoisted with a distinct pop. She reached inside the trunk and lifted out the carpet shield from the empty, cavernous space. A wing nut tightened the screw securing the spare tire in the circular inset.

  Gritting her teeth, she broke the screw’s seal and undid the wing nut. After hefting out the spare tire, she pointed the flashlight beam down at the circular inset in the bottom and spotted a modest-looking cloth bag. With a stronger heart pulse, she snatched up the cloth bag.

  Glancing at the drugstore door, Sammi Jo shook the cloth bag and something heavy inside it rattled. She emptied its contents on the white vinyl roof and out rolled a master lock pick, a hooligan bar, tin shears, and surgical tongs. Sammi Jo also poked her finger through a roll of electrician’s tape, a glasscutter, and two pocket screwdrivers.

  Isabel recognized the bevy of items. “Burglar tools,” she said, her words bleak. “So, the little, greedy worm really did try and fit Megan for Jake’s murder.”

  “Put the tools back where you found them,” said Alma.

  Sammi Jo returned the burglar tools, spare tire, and screwed on the wing nut. Then she fitted the carpet shield back into place and spoke as she slammed down the trunk lid. “We better notify Sheriff Fox.”

  “Hold on. What stolen merchandise has Vernon hoarded inside of his lair?” asked Isabel.

  “Recovering all of his stolen merchandise will sew up our case good and tight,” said Alma.

  “That’s how to finish this,” said Isabel. “Good and tight.”

  “I’ll mosey up front and check for any sign of him,” said Sammi Jo.

  They filed into the back room where she left by the pharmacy door to run a hasty recon. She soon returned to report that he had left a note taped to the drugstore door saying he’d ducked across the street to Jumpy’s grocery for a few minutes. This time not as careful on creating a ruckus, the three ladies ransacked the different boxes, searching their way down the columns.

  Sammi Jo did the heavy lifting, extracting the boxes while Isabel and Alma tested the seals and labels. Nothing exciting—just more baby powder, hand lotion, and shampoo dispensers—shook out from the boxes. The chaotic heap where the discarded boxes landed grew larger, and their frustrations mounted.

  At last, Isabel shouted out. “Look here, all.”

  The other two pairs of eyes channeled on the object brandished in her trembling palm. The gold ring’s glitzy diamond spit out its fiery glints.

  “Vernon must’ve knocked off Tiffany’s,” said Alma. “He has regal tastes in jewelry even if he’s stealing it.”

  Sammi Jo snapped a glance at the door leading into the drugstore. “Hear that?”

  “Somebody is coming,” said Isabel.

  Chapter 34

  The doorknob clattered, and they watched in horror as their nightmare materialized. The door gave way, and Vernon Spitzer in a beige dress jacket slinked through the threshold into the brighter radiance.

  “Why, good afternoon, ladies,” he said.

  The gloat growing on his face hardened his eyes and warped his lips. Taking Sammi Jo’s earlier advice, he’d shaved off the pencil-thin mustache that had masked a long scar. The ladies stared down at the .44 handgun—it was black with a cannon’s borehole—in his grip. He clutched the Bible in his other hand and went on speaking with a triumphant sneer.

  “I thought I heard voices back here. Gullible me went off and didn’t set my own burglar alarm to snare a brood of lady snoops.”

  “You mean like you snooped earlier in my apartment?” said Sammi Jo. “But we’re on to your racket.”

  “What racket?” he asked. “I’ve got you dead to rights on trespassing. Sheriff Fox can sort it out, and I’ll press charges on any other laws you’ve violated.”

  “Go ahead and call Sheriff Fox on Isabel’s cell phone,” said Alma. “We’ll gladly wait and let him sort it out.”

  Vernon caught the diamond’s icy glimmers in Isabel’s palm. “Where did you find that ring?”

  “From where you squirreled away your haul,” said Sammi Jo. “Vernon, you’re hanging up your burglar tools.”

  “Shut up, you!” His livid face trembled, and a throbbing vein scribed his corded neck muscles. “Just shut up!”

  “You enjoy one of the best paying jobs in town,” said Isabel. “What made you take up robbery?”

  “I fence my swag to buy sophisticated arson supplies to stock my crusade.” He raised the Bible for them to observe.

  “Is your refusal to sell birth control to Jewel part of your crusade?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “I adhere to only God’s Law: ‘Speak for them as they cannot speak for themselves’ as is instructed by Proverbs.” He laughed. “You astound me, Sammi Jo. Here I’ve always written you off for a plodding, dumb farm girl.”

  She also laughed with cynicism. “Only I clipped your wings so that makes me a little smarter than you.”

  “Vernon, tell us more on your crusade,” said Isabel, stalling for time and crafting an escape plan.

  “My crusade kicks off with the demolition of the abortion factory a.k.a. clinic in our little town,” he said. “By day, I’m a mild-mannered pharmacist, but by night I blow up what poisons our society.”

  “Just because you say it’s poison doesn’t make it so,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Hand me the gun, Vernon.” Isabel took a tentative half-step toward him.

  Alma, petrified with fear, gaped at her sister’s foolish bravery.

  Shadows hooding his scar face, he leered at them. “You’ll meet with a fatal accident, say, trapped in a tragic fire that ignited in the back of the drugstore. The fire trucks won’t shriek up in time to extinguish the four alarm blaze. Quiet Anchorage will host three more funerals, and I can press on with my crusade.”

  “Did Jake also stumble upon your burglar tools?” asked Sammi Jo.

  “Yes, he flew into a manic rage until I
sedated him,” replied Vernon.

  “You shot Jake and doctored the murder weapon with Megan’s prints,” said Sammi Jo.

  Vernon leered harder. “Scotch tape is all it takes, and I carried this handgun’s mate in my glove compartment. Megan had left behind a pill bottle, and their well-known lovers’ quarrels provided all the motive I needed to frame her. Scrunched down behind the barber chair in the shop, I enjoyed watching her agony before I lit off for my car parked on the state road.”

  Alma pointed to Vernon’s beige jacket sleeve with a black grease stain. “You wore that jacket to Jake’s shop and picked up that grease smudge like I ruined a good blouse.”

  Glancing at his sleeve, he frowned in annoyance.

  “Vernon, just hand over your pistol and end this madness,” said Isabel. “Now.”

  Sammi Jo caught Alma’s cat-quick wink. She flicked her eyes down at her large, black purse before giving Vernon a subtle glance. His full attention was on Isabel daring to advance yet another half-step. Sammi Jo understood what she had to do. She maneuvered a bit more edgewise and flexed her shoulder muscles.

  “Isabel, stand still,” said Vernon. “Or I’ll have to—”

  Sammi Jo’s hand whipping out seized Alma’s purse, heavy as a kitchen sink, the forward swing gathering its momentum. The hurling bulky purse clobbered Vernon on the ear, smacking him like a horsehide baseball does to the fat part of a slugger’s bat. Stunned, he yelped out. Her wallop thumped him staggering to the floor.

  The handgun and Bible tumbled from his grasp, and the spry Alma scooped up the handgun but left the Bible alone. Isabel dropped her shoulders and rushed out a breath of relief. Sammi Jo returned the purse to Alma and took control of the handgun.

  “Vernon, this time you keep still,” said Sammi Jo.

  Staying silent, the dazed Vernon on the floor pressed a hand to his head.

  “For something ad-libbed, we executed that like pros,” said Sammi Jo.

  “Nobody is more shocked than me it actually succeeded.” Alma gripped her purse by its now broken strap. “My heart pulse is a runaway freight train.”