Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (5 page)

Chapter 9

Rosie
and Lotus weren’t at home at Rosie’s gingerbread cottage and the lady sleuths left
in the sedan. Despite the October day’s cool weather, Alma had a hankering for
a tall glass of iced tea, and she insisted they stop to get it. Naturally,
Eddy’s Deli was their unanimous choice. They trooped inside and claimed the same
window booth where Phyllis and Ladybug had sat down for their lunch the
previous week. Phyllis felt a pang of melancholy, but she put off feeling blue because
she was too busy right then.

Jet-haired,
tall, and willowy Tabitha, Eddy’s longest-tenured server, strolled out of the
kitchen bearing a pleased smile on her heart-shaped face. Rumor had it Eddy was
sweet on her, and Tabitha just shrugged if her customers asked her about it.
She and Sammi Jo had gone to high school together a few years ago.

“Hey
there, you all,” said Tabitha. “What brings you in on this awesome October
day?”

“This
year’s leaves will be breathtaking,” said Phyllis.

“The
leaves will be a dizzying pageantry of colors,” said Alma.

“What
can I get for you ladies?” asked Tabitha.

“The poetic
Alma would like to order a tall glass of your iced tea,” said Isabel, sending
her sister a sidelong glance.

“Nothing
is wrong with taking five minutes out of the day for a little pick-me-up refreshment,”
said Alma.

“Shall I
include the usual lemon slice with it?” asked Tabitha.

“That
and also a fresh sprig of mint will do me splendidly,” replied Alma.

“You
know Eddy doesn’t stock fresh sprigs of mint,” said Isabel. “That’s why it’s
called a deli and not a designer bistro.” She looked up at Tabitha. “Just a
round of four iced teas will suit us this time round. Thanks a million,
Tabitha.”

She left
their booth, the extra pep to her stride returning her to Eddy.

“When
did you last see or talk to Ladybug?” Isabel asked Phyllis.

“Funny that
you should ask me because we had lunch at this same booth about a week ago,” replied
Phyllis. “Her big news was her last ex—Curt Miles was his name—had died in San Francisco. He was a suicide victim who’d taken the plunge off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“Brutal
stuff,” said Alma.

“Such a
shame and a waste,” said Isabel. “How badly did she take it?”

“Ladybug
was left shaken,” replied Phyllis. “She had a high-strung nature anyway. Curt
and she had remained friendly and kept in regular contact after their divorce.”

“Did she have
any theory on what had spurred Curt to do something so desperate?” asked
Isabel.

“She didn’t
know, and his suicide took her by surprise,” replied Phyllis.

“Curt
must’ve had something big weighing on his mind,” said Isabel. “Do you know much
else about him?”

“I never visited
them during their short marriage,” replied Phyllis. “The eyewitness was a
jogger named Hallsworth, and he’s all the police have to substantiate Curt took
his life.”

“Eyewitnesses
can be unreliable,” said Isabel. “Everybody sees and remembers things a little differently.”

“The
police believe Hallsworth’s story lock, stock, and barrel,” said Phyllis. “He’s
a dentist who makes for a credible eyewitness.”

“Was Curt’s
body recovered?” asked Isabel.

“The
authorities never found it,” replied Phyllis.

“Did he write
a last farewell note?” asked Isabel.

“The homicide
detectives only recovered his two packed suitcases in his hotel room,” replied
Phyllis.

“Why all
the questions for Phyllis?” asked Alma.

“Did Curt’s
recent suicide in San Francisco have any connection to Ladybug’s murder here?”
asked Isabel. “Or was it just a mere coincidence?”

“Mere coincidences
leave me a little skittish,” said Alma.

Isabel
nodded. “I know the feeling. My nose tells me this isn’t a coincidence.”

“Here is our
iced tea,” said Sammi Jo. “It’s about time. I was getting worried Tabitha had
forgotten about us.”

She
arrived balancing the serving tray with the four tall glasses of iced tea. She
hadn’t neglected to put the lemon slice over the brim of each glass. Her mussed
hair and sheepish grin suggested why she’d taken so long. The seated ladies
heard Eddy launch into whistling a snappy show tune while he worked in the
kitchen.

“Is
everything going okay?” Sammi Jo asked Tabitha.

“What do
you mean by asking me that question?” said Tabitha, defensive.

“I was beginning
to wonder if you had picked the tea leaves and ground them up in order to fix our
drinks,” replied Sammi Jo.

“I stopped
and talked to Eddy if you must know,” said Tabitha, setting down the iced teas from
the serving tray.

Sammi Jo
rolled her eyes at Alma who smiled. As the one who’d insisted they stop at
Eddy’s Deli, she took a hearty sip of her iced tea and found it so good she was
tempted to smack her lips. So she did just that.

“Have you
heard about the fate of Ladybug Miles?” asked Isabel.

“I did
just now.” Tabitha cut a glance at Sammi Jo. “That’s what Eddy and I were
discussing. He got it from Uncle Jimbo who’d heard about it from Jumpy Blixt
who’d talked to Deputy Bexley.”

“The word
gets around in our hamlet,” said Alma.

“Did
murder also get mentioned in your conversation?” asked Isabel.

“Eddy
speculated on as much since we can’t seem to shake off this bloody hex or
whatever the hold is on us,” replied Tabitha.

“Do you
agree with Eddy?” asked Isabel. “Was murder committed at the swimming hole on
the Coronet River?”

Tabitha
patted to smooth down her tussled hair. “Eddy likes to exaggerate things to
throw a scare in me, so I’m not certain where I stand on it. How would the
killer know to find Ladybug using the swimming hole when she did?”

“The
killer could’ve followed her out there,” replied Isabel.

“I’ll
know to keep an extra eye out if I ever go swim there again,” said Tabitha.
“That’s a mighty big if, too.”

“Did you
like Ladybug?” asked Alma.

“She was
a nice lady who was also a good tipper, and we got along fine. We chatted about
this and that when she came for her daily lunches. Eddy grumbles about all the time
I spend with our customers, but he doesn’t squawk too loudly because he knows better.
Getting back to Ladybug, she once told me about her living in Chicago.”

“Right
and she married a man named Curt,” said Alma.

“I know she
was married, but she never called her husband by his first name,” said Tabitha.

“Did
Ladybug let you in on why they divorced?” asked Alma.

“She told
me they ran out of gas, and their marriage turned dull,” replied Tabitha.

“Been
there, done that,” said Alma.

Tabitha looked
back with longing at the kitchen entrance where Eddy was still whistling away.
“How about another iced tea, Alma?” she asked. “I’ve got a new pitcher made up,
and it’s chilling in the fridge.”

“No, the one
glass is plenty enough for me,” replied Alma.

After
Tabitha left the check on their table and hurried back to the kitchen and Eddy,
Alma turned to Isabel.

“You
haven’t touched your iced tea,” said Alma.

“That’s because
I wasn’t all that thirsty,” said Isabel. “But I’m glad we had the opportunity
to ask Tabitha our questions. Don’t forget to leave her a nice tip of fifteen
percent.”

“Actually
an excellent tip nowadays runs from eighteen to twenty percent,” said Alma. “Since it’s a sunny day, and we’ll return to Eddy’s Deli, I’m going with the high end
at twenty percent.”

Chapter 10

The four
ladies returned to the sisters’ brick rambler. Sammi Jo and Phyllis had other errands
to do and soon left. Petey Samson’s absence made the rooms feel vacant and
quiet as a tomb without his gallivanting around the halls and barking out the
windows at the other dogs that seemed to be walking their owners on leashes.
The sisters needed to make some noise, and when Isabel made a suggestion to Alma, she agreed. Isabel selected Charlie Parker’s
Yardbird Suite
kept in the CD
rack, put on his alto sax, and turned up the volume an extra notch. She sat
down and began to tap her toe and snap her fingers.

“Isn’t
that a zesty jazz beat?” she said.

Alma lowered the CD player’s volume to a softer register. “Now I can hear myself think. I
don’t like to second-guess Dr. Ruffian, but I don’t see why Petey Samson can’t
spend tonight here where you and I can keep an eye on him.”

 “By
gum, I sure do like the way you think.”

Alma laughed. “I haven’t heard the by gum expression used since Woodrow ranted and shook
his fist at the hail storm shredding our corn crop back on the farm.”

Isabel
also laughed. “I can also remember that time. He was quite the colorful character
before he got sick like he did.”

Woodrow Trumbo
was their late father who’d contracted tuberculosis from an unknown carrier.
His sanitarium had been the sunniest room on the southern corner of the Trumbos’
white clapboard farmhouse. If he was feeling up to it, he’d played Solitaire while
confined to his wheelchair set out on the wraparound porch. He complimented
each of his daughters on baking her specialty homemade pie. His not playing
favorites explained why they got along so well together and paved the way for
the sleuthing work they now teamed up to do. However, sometimes a difference of
opinion flared up in their dealings.

***

Despite seeing
the chrysanthemums’ vivid yellow, bronze, and pink colors blooming in their
neighbors’ yards on Church Street, Isabel’s favorite autumn flower remained the
aster. The dainty asters while attractive also had useful purposes. Their
blooms were said to treat snakebites while their roots relieved the pain caused
by sciatica.

“Just get
an eyeful of Mrs. Lopez’s gorgeous asters,” said Alma as she drove them to Dr.
Ruffian’s office. “You know what Nita Redfern told me? She said Mrs. Lopez pokes
out after midnight in her clogs and housecoat. She shines down a flashlight while
using a watering can to tend to her asters. That’s what I call taking a green
thumb’s dedication a bit too far, but she has been rewarded for her efforts.”

Isabel
startled at the uncanny knack the sisters had to read each other’s thoughts. Then
she realized the asters were so striking that Alma couldn’t miss seeing and
commenting on them.

“Exquisite
and resplendent are my adjectives of choice to describe the asters,” said
Isabel. “They also happen to be my favorite flower.”

“The beauty
of the lilac blooming in May is my favorite flower.”

“I grant
you lilacs are lovely in their own way,” said Isabel. “The trouble is their over-the-top
fragrance overwhelms me like breathing in chloroform, and I almost faint when I
come anywhere near them.”

Alma realized Isabel was baiting her to touch off a silly debate over the merits of their
favorite flowers. Just the same, she was a bit annoyed at Isabel for
criticizing lilacs. Alma brought up a humorous story concerning lilacs and
Isabel’s involvement with them.

“Correct
me if I’m mistaken, but doesn’t our town drugstore sell a lilac scented
perfume?” asked Alma. “Its brand name slips my memory. Do you happen to recall
it?”

“The
perfume carries the label
Passion’s Grip
,” replied Isabel. “Even today I
can smell it on the perfumes rack when I pass by it.”

Alma turned sly. “Evidently Max was taken by its allure when he passed by the perfumes rack
all those years ago.”

“I
wouldn’t know about that. If he did such a thing, it was before we fell in love
with each other.”

“Keep on
fibbing like that, and you’ll give Pinocchio a run for his money.”

Isabel almost
touched the tip of her nose to check on its length. “What is that crack supposed
to mean?”

“I can
see as clearly as if peering through a Ball Mason jar bottom the time when Max brought
you a certain gift with a bright red bow on it when we lived on the farm. I can
see you opening his gift, smiling like a Cheshire cat, and brandishing the gift
as if it were the top blue ribbon you’d captured for your icebox persimmon pie at
the county fair.”

“Your
memories are confused because I never did any such thing.”

Alma went on recounting her story. “You held up the perfume bottle with its label
prominently facing out to Louise and me. You didn’t want us to miss reading what
it was your sweetie Max had brought you.”

“I don’t
believe I like your story very much, Alma.”

“Uh-huh,
I can see why you don’t like it, but I’m not quite finished with my telling it.
What perfume brand did you wear for Max every time he came over after that
visit?”

“The
perfume brand was
Passion’s Grip
, and I wore it smelling like a blooming
lilac when he came to court me. There you go. I’ve come clean with you.”

“Then what
happened between then and now that makes you get so down on the fragrance of lilacs?”

“Lilac
flowers are fine, Alma, but their powerful scent reminds me too much of Max,
and he’s not here with us anymore, so I turn wistful and sad when I think of the
lilacs. This getting old jazz ain’t a place for sissies, thank you Ms. Bette
Davis for her first saying it so straight to the point.”

“I’m sorry
for making you feel sad.” Alma was contrite.

Isabel
shook her head and patted Alma on the shoulder. “It’s okay, really it is. Lilacs
are wonderful springtime flowers, and I love them.”

“By the
same token, the asters are dignified flowers. Now with our floral dispute put
to bed, maybe we can wrap our minds back around our latest conundrum.”

“We have
not made a dent in solving Ladybug’s baffling murder case.”

Alma nodded once. “This time strangely enough Sheriff Fox has given us the green light to be
snooping to our hearts’ content.”

“It’s also
strange how we haven’t received his phone call.”

“He’s sitting
at his desk cooling his heels and waiting for us to give him the killer’s
identity.”

“You
know about our doing that, we can’t always bat a perfect one thousand. There’s
going to come a time sooner or later when our best efforts will go unrewarded,
and we’ll not solve the mystery.”

“I’m
willing to admit as much, but Phyllis is depending on us too much this time to
let her down.”

Isabel
rearranged her pocketbook to lie on her lap. She laughed at a thought. “I used
to envision retirement as my golden years when I’d lounge about the house doing
little or nothing all day long.”

“What
you describe strikes me as a maddeningly boring existence and not right for us.”

“How much
longer do you estimate we’ll be able to keep doing our snooping activities?”

“I reckon
we’ll be sleuths for another ten, maybe fifteen years. I’m not just pulling
that optimistic projection out of thin air either. There are precedents to
support it. Jane Marple was an octogenarian while Jessica Fletcher was in her seventies.
By the end of her illustrious career,
Emily
Pollifax had to be pushing her late seventies.
”

Isabel laughed.
“The three examples you just cited are the fictional characters found in our
library.”

“Even if
they are, I have every faith my comparisons hold up,” said Alma. “I’m just
saying we’re only getting started on our geriatric capers and haven’t hit our
stride yet.”

“Age is just
a number and nothing more,” said Isabel.

“You
said a mouthful, sister,” said Alma.

Isabel’s
cell phone pealed out with its unique ringtone, and she checked on who her
caller was. “What do you know? Sammi Jo is on the line.”

Alma did the cell phone pantomime with her hand put to her ear. “Answer it.”

Isabel
did.

”Believe
it or not, right at this moment I am standing inside of Ladybug’s townhouse,”
said Sammi Jo.

Isabel’s
glance at Alma showed surprise. “That is marvelous to hear but how did you manage
to get past her locked door?” asked Isabel. “Voodoo magic?”

“I thought
of a way to refine my lock picking technique,” replied Sammi Jo. “Are you busy?
When you get over here, I’ll lay it out for you.”

“We’ll see
you within the next fifteen minutes.” Isabel hung up.

“What’s up
with our youngest sleuth?’ asked Alma.

“She got
into Ladybug’s townhouse and is waiting for us to join her there,” replied
Isabel.

“Did Sammi
Jo crawl through a raised window?” asked Alma.

“She
said she thought of how to fine-tune her lock picking technique,” replied
Isabel. “She’s turned into our own Houdini where no type of lock fazes her.”

Alma did a nifty U-turn and they took off making a beeline for Ladybug’s townhouse. Petey
Samson would have to tarry a bit longer at Dr. Ruffian’s office before his snooping
mistresses had an opportunity to come and bring him home.