Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (14 page)

Chapter 24

“How did
you both manage to track me down?” asked Dwight.

Isabel
tapped her index finger on the tip of her nose. “We followed your trail like a
pair of bloodhounds hot on the scent.”

“
Woof
,”
said Alma.

“I
suspect one of the Three Musketeers, probably that busybody Ossie Conger, saw
me stopping by Uncle Jimbo’s Vault and tipped you off as to my whereabouts.”

“We make
good use of our vast network of town spies and street informants,” said Isabel.

“Is it
too much for me to hope this is just a bad dream?” asked Dwight.

“You are
wide awake and sitting with us,” said Alma.

The
three of them—Isabel, Alma, and Dwight—sat in the privacy of his neat as a
whistle law office at the sisters’ insistence. Before leaving Uncle Jimbo’s
Vault, Isabel had bought a turquoise pear-shaped bottle to use as a new paperweight.
She exchanged smiles with him. Meantime Sammi Jo had gone to Phyllis’s
townhouse to ensure Sheriff Fox hadn’t sent his gung ho deputies there to tear it
apart in search of any more evidence they could lay their hands on and strengthen
their homicide case against her.

“What
can I do for you since you’ve waylaid me?” asked Dwight.

“How do
we give Phyllis her Get Out Of Jail Free card?” asked Alma.

Dwight
inspected his necktie for any mustard or ketchup stains even though he never
used either condiment on his burgers and hot dogs. “Here we go again. Your
contention is Sheriff Fox has arrested the wrong party, and this story I’m
getting from you by now has a broken record quality to it.”

“Ladybug’s
actual killer is free as a bumble bee while smug Roscoe pats himself on back
for a job well done,” said Isabel.

Alma rearranged her pocketbook to rest in her lap. “The big difference is Ladybug’s killer
is far craftier than the other killers ever were. He didn’t just murder her,
but he made her death appear like an accidental drowning.”

“Why are
you assuming Ladybug’s killer is a he?” asked Dwight. “Couldn’t the killer just
as well be a lady?”

Isabel pretended
to reflect on it for a moment. She decided against bringing up Lotus Wang as a
suspect. Dwight had enough on his plate with serving as Phyllis’s defense
counsel. “I don’t put a lot of stock in the possibility, and so you shouldn’t worry
about it either,” said Isabel.

Dwight let
out his breath before he brought up a disturbing update. “Unfortunately for us,
Judge Redfern isn’t available to tap as a resource. She has taken a long sightseeing
trip to the Catskills for the autumn foliage.”

“We have
her personal cell phone number and are getting ready to call her,” said Isabel.

“You’re
behind the times, Isabel.” Dwight smiled but without a trace of snideness. “She
only gave her new cell phone number to the bailiff for safekeeping, and I don’t
think he’ll relinquish it except if we threaten him at gunpoint.”

“Don’t
you keep a loaded Saturday Night Special strapped in your ankle holster?” asked
Alma.

“Hardly,”
replied Dwight.

“Then
we’ll scrape together enough money to bribe the bailiff,” said Alma. “What is the going rate for buying off a crooked one? Two grand should cover it quite
nicely. Have you ever bribed a court official?”

“Hardly,”
said Dwight.

“Alma, we can’t depend on Helen to help us this time,” said Isabel. “She won’t be returning
to Quiet Anchorage soon enough.”

“Exactly,”
said Dwight.

The
piercing gleam in Isabel’s hazel eyes fixed on Dwight. “This is our plan of
action. You’ll go directly from here and consult with Phyllis. Use one of the
conference rooms in the prison annex and make sure the door is shut good and tight.
Double check every square inch of the ceiling and walls for any electronic bugs
or listening devices Roscoe may have concealed there. You know the room where
all of us met with Megan right after she was arrested on the bum murder charge.”

“That grim,
little room is straight out of a film noir,” said Dwight. “How could I forget our
sweating inside it? Can’t I meet with her out in the hallway?”

“Don’t
be ridiculous,” replied Isabel. “You get some gumption about you and meet with
Phyllis where I just told you.”

“Should
I smuggle in a steel file or a hacksaw with me?” said Dwight. “Phyllis can use
it to break out of prison.”

“Dwight,
you better stop kidding around and get serious,” said Alma. “This is no time to
be cracking bad prison jokes.”

“I can assure
you I didn’t intend for it to be a bad prison joke,” said Dwight. “That’s how
desperate I am feeling right now.”

“You just
bring your best lawyer smarts to confer with Phyllis,” said Isabel.

“What should
I tell her?” asked Dwight. “Talking intelligently to our daffy bag lady poses a
challenge even for a smart lawyer as you allege I am.”

“But
that’s just it about Phyllis,” said Isabel. “She is putting on a big act in
front of the townies. Only a select few of us know the truth.”

“You
want to fly that last part by me again, only slower,” said Dwight, incredulous.

“All
this time she’s been hoodwinking the townies,” said Alma.

“Look,
if I can’t joke around, then I don’t think you should either,” said Dwight.

“Alma is serious as a Sunday preacher,” said Isabel. “Phyllis has been pulling a fast one.”

“Are you
certain she doesn’t have split personality?” asked Dwight.

“She is
as normal and sane as you are, Dwight,” replied Alma.

“Then she
deserves to win an Academy Award for her bag lady performance,” said Dwight.
“She has had me and everybody else fooled from the get-go.”

“It’s a thespian
gift is what she likes to tell us,” said Alma.

“Since
Sheriff Fox will keep your meeting time infuriatingly short, listen carefully to
Phyllis,” said Isabel. “She’s like a giant radar screen, picking up every whispered
rumor and secret. She’ll be able to give us a heads up on whatever evidence
Sheriff Fox has gotten, if he has gathered any at all, to use against her.”

“A throb
is banging like a Chinese gong inside my head,” said Dwight, pulling open a
desk drawer and pawing through it. “Where did I put my aspirin bottle?”

“That’s just
your brain kicking into overdrive,” said Alma. “Mine feels the same way. Do you
want to make it three, Isabel?”

“This
old gray mare may not be what she used to be,” replied Isabel. “But her mind is
still a steel bear trap, if you’ll pardon the mixed metaphor.”

“Using mixed
metaphors is the spice of variety,” said Alma.

“Have
you informed Sheriff Fox I will be representing Phyllis as her legal counsel?”
asked Dwight. “He doesn’t like surprises sprung on him like a skinny shyster with
a fat briefcase slinking into his station house.”

“We paved
the way but doing the rest will be up to you,” replied Alma. “See that you don’t
let us down. Phyllis must come home as soon as possible.”

Leaning
forward, Isabel gave Dwight an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Our confidence
in your legal expertise is boundless, and you’ll have Phyllis out of jail lickety-split.”

“I’ll do
my best but I can’t, and I won’t, make you any promises,” said Dwight. “Despite
how dismissively you think of Sheriff Fox, he is a formidable adversary who
doesn’t play by the rules.”

“Good
enough then.” Alma reached a hand into her pocketbook and drew out a tinfoil
packet of buffered aspirin. “Here you go, take five of these tablets to knock
out your headache so you can feel better and get to work for us.”

“The
maximum adult dosage is two tablets,” said Isabel. “Five tablets will knock out
Dwight permanently.”

“Then
just make it the two tablets, Dwight,” said Alma. “You won’t be worth a hurrah to
us if you are a stiff lying in a pine box.”

Chapter 25

Sammi Jo
sniffed at the crisp air and registered the tang of wood smoke, and her downbeat
mood took flight. October’s vibrant spectacle—its magenta pokeberries, green
praying mantises, brown apple cider, and yellow goldenrods—could lift a pensive
spirit like hers was today. October meant the daytime temperature wasn’t cold
enough to see her puffs of breath, but the summer’s sticky humidity was gone
until next year. The day’s bracing nip put the color in her ruddy cheeks.

Sheriff
Fox had allied himself with Isabel and Alma while all the time he’d intended
for Phyllis to take the fall for Ladybug’s murder. Now Phyllis sat in his jail
cell. Then he had the gall to gloat in front of them over his wily maneuver.
His shortsighted thinking, however, had failed to factor in the re-election
rolling up next autumn. Sammi Jo didn’t have a political bone in her body, but
she true as November followed October had a bone to pick with him.

Sammi Jo was
seething. Sheriff Fox had better be good at taking the heat while he was out campaigning
for the votes to keep his job. She had a few wily maneuvers of her own in mind to
sink his chances for reelection. She might plant the wicked rumor about how
their sheriff had embezzled thousands of taxpayers’ dollars. No, that wasn’t nearly
wicked enough. He’d embezzled the money and bought a ritzy oceanfront mansion
in Key West.
Then he won’t be able to run for the local dogcatcher,
thought
Sammi Jo
.

  Phyllis
had resided in an apartment, but Sammi Jo persuaded her to upgrade to a
townhouse. Unlike Ladybug’s spick-and-span townhouse, Phyllis’s townhouse
showed a homey lived-in look, starting with her shoes left by the door where
she’d removed them. Sammi Jo felt relief to find the deputies hadn’t plundered Phyllis’s
rooms and left them in shambles. The silk ficus tree beside the filled magazine
rack was a recent addition Phyllis had made.

Sammi Jo
had no idea how long Phyllis would be gone, but Sammi Jo went ahead and turned down
the gas heat. She knew Phyllis would need a clean set of clothes to wear after
she won her freedom. Sammi Jo hurried up the steps and halted at the doorway into
Phyllis’s bedroom. The closet attracted Sammi Jo’s notice. She tugged out the
double folding doors to reveal the interior filled to overflowing with clothes,
belts, and shoes.

In that respect,
it didn’t vary from Sammi Jo’s bedroom closet. However, the similarity ended
with Phyllis’s outlandish wardrobe she wore for her bag lady masquerade. That
was how the old Phyllis went about her personal affairs. The fun and games had
to stop now, and Sammi Jo thought Phyllis was astute enough to realize it
without Sammi Jo telling her.

Phyllis stored
her footwear in a shoe rack. While she hadn’t quite crossed into Imelda Marcos territory,
Phyllis adhered to the fashion principle that a lady could never have enough
stylish shoes, especially if they were bought on sale. A whiff of the aromatic
cedar fragrance transported Sammi Jo to the outdoors again.

She took
pleasure from breathing in the intoxicating sweet smell, and she decided her
closet lined with cedar planks would also be pleasant. On the top closet shelf,
she found several of Phyllis’s black ostrich feather dusters she used to clean
off the tops of mailboxes. Sammi Jo removed the floppy, green felt hat Phyllis
used to round out her bag lady apparel on the sunny days.

Sammi Jo regarded
the floppy hat. She knew she didn’t look sharp in hats. Her opal and jade earrings
added their elegance, but she remained a hatless lady. Reynolds liked his
different gimme hats he sported around the drag race track. Isabel and Alma liked
to wear dressy summer hats with the chiffon ribbons to attend church services. Sammi
Jo pictured the late Ladybug Miles who’d gone out wearing a wine-colored mesh
hat for her power walks, but her walking days had ended.

Sammi Jo bit
her lip. The overzealous sheriff had arrested Phyllis here at her townhouse for
the murder. Sammi Jo imagined the ringing doorbell downstairs alerting Phyllis
to go answer it. A stern-looking Sheriff Fox stood on her porch. She had to
have felt if not surprised then terrified. He may have or have not brought an
arrest warrant with her name printed on it.

He
paraded Phyllis out in handcuffs and loaded her into the waiting cruiser. Her
inquisitive neighbors peeped out from behind their curtains, drapes, and
blinds. The shame and embarrassment she must’ve suffered from her false arrest
made Sammi Jo burn with resentment.

As she
returned Phyllis’s floppy hat to the closet shelf, Sammi Jo wasn’t sure what
Phyllis might want to put on when she left the jail. Sammi Jo decided to compile
a list of items Phyllis would need from home and went to the nightstand in
search of paper and pen. Phyllis had made up her bed, a housekeeping chore
Sammi Jo didn’t mind letting slide, especially if it was on the weekends.

She eased
out the nightstand drawer and pawed through it. Nothing turned up until she
lifted a cardboard church fan and under it, she saw a handgun, its steel barrel
jet black and menacing. She arched not one but two eyebrows. Her shock ran
deeper, making her heart race. However, she kept a cool head and didn’t pick up
the handgun for closer inspection and leave her fingerprints on it.

“Aunt
Phyllis just bought the handgun for her personal protection after the recent rash
of murders in Quiet Anchorage,” said Sammi Jo, talking just above a whisper.
“That explains why I found this one in here.”

She
nudged the nightstand drawer shut when a daring idea occurred to her. She would
attempt to reach Phyllis on her cell phone. Deputies confiscated the new inmates’
personal cell phones, but Sheriff Fox and his toadies weren’t exactly brainiacs.
Perhaps they’d overlooked performing the step. Sammi Jo used her speed dial.

Her
signal reached its intended party and rang. She crossed over the bedroom to flip
aside the curtain and check out the window. The parking lot below showed no deputies
in their cruisers with the roof bar lights flashing red and blue glints. Waiting
for a response, she made a wish.

Come
on Aunt Phyllis answer your phone. Pick up, please. Don’t wait too long before a
deputy overhears it ringing.
Sammi Jo lost
count of the number of rings jangling in her ear, although it probably didn’t
exceed four, or Phyllis’s voicemail would have engaged. The fact her aunt was a
jailbird wearing that hideous blaze orange (or whatever color) jumpsuit left Sammi
Jo numb with disbelief. She was a breath away from giving up on her call.

“Going
once, going twice,” she said during the final two rings.

“Hello.”

Sammi Jo
took the cell phone down from her ear and looked at it. Had she been the one who’d
just spoken? She didn’t remember uttering anything.

“Hello?…Hello?…HELLO?”
the tinny voice bleated from her cell phone.

She
recognized the voice as belonging to Phyllis, and Sammi Jo was thrilled to find
her idea had succeeded. She returned the cell phone to her ear. “Hiya, Aunt
Phyllis,” she said. “What’s the good word?”

A pregnant
pause came from the other end. “Uh, haven’t you heard the latest news?” asked
Phyllis.

“I did within
the past hour. Are you doing okay?”

“Sammi
Jo, your bedraggled aunt is being held captive against her will inside a cage,
and she’s wearing an outfit so awful she wouldn’t even dress a scarecrow in it.
Would you be doing okay if it was you in here instead of me?”

“I take
your point, but how did you manage to smuggle in your cell phone?”

“It’s a trade
secret I’ll fill you in on later. I’ve been trying to call out and get
somebody. Anyway, I’m holding my own considering this is my first stint in The
Big House. The prison-issue flip-flops are the tackiest excuse for shoes I’ve ever
worn, but at least I can use them to crush the large, hairy cockroaches.”

“Stop stretching
the truth. You’ve been in the town jail not even for a whole hour, not doing
hard time at a federal penitentiary.”

“When
you’re on the wrong side of the steel bars, it feels the same way. What are you
ladies doing to get me out of here?”

“You’re
in good shape because Isabel and Alma got with Dwight Holden who has agreed,
after a bit of arm-twisting, to serve as your lawyer. Be careful and don’t say
anything incriminating or sign on any dotted lines until he arrives there to counsel
you.”

“So, Dwight
is my lawyer.” Phyllis let out an expressive moan of dismay. “Then I better get
used to staying in my cage. I’ll resume my cross-stitch hobby if you can bring
me the stuff.”

“I’d
never grow comfortable and feel at home where you are. Don’t even plan on
staying there overnight.”

“I’m just
kidding. Dwight is better than no lawyer, I suppose.”

“That’s much
better. Now I want you to protect this line of communication. That’s imperative
so make sure Sheriff Fox doesn’t discover you’ve got the cell phone on you.”

“It’s not
a problem, Sammi Jo, so don’t fret. Guess who my assigned deputy is?”

“I give
up. Who is it?”

“Deputy Bexley.
Remember him from back when Megan stayed here in jail?”

Sammi Jo
smiled. “How could I forget good old Deputy Bexley? He’s crookeder than a tackle
box filled with fishhooks.”

“That’s
our Bexley. If I find myself in a pickle, I’ll wave some green under his nose, and
he’ll be glad to do whatever I ask.”

“The
bottom line is clear, Aunt Phyllis. We have to stay busy and find out who it
was that killed Ladybug with enough solid evidence to convince Sheriff Fox of
it.”

“Then I can
walk out of here a free woman with the sun shining on my face again. Sounds
like a solid plan to me. Let’s go for it.”

Sammi
Jo’s glance over at the nightstand drawer reminded her of something disconcerting
she’d found inside it. “I have an important question for you,” she said. “Right
at the moment I’m standing inside the bedroom at your townhouse.”

“Did
Sheriff Fox’s grubby minions ransack it and leave it disheveled like after an
earthquake has struck?”

“I don’t see
any sign that he’s been through it yet, but I did run across a certain thingamabob
that gives me the willies. I assume it belongs to you since it’s in your
nightstand drawer. Are you familiar with what certain thingamabob I’m talking
about?”

“Ah yes, I
am with you. What are your concerns about this certain thingamabob, dear
niece?”

Sammi Jo turned
angry over her aunt’s flippant attitude. “What do you think my concerns might
be? You own a possibly illegal handgun while imprisoned for murder concerns me.
Sheriff Fox would love nothing better than to fix your wagon after his deputies
discover you own it.”

“I can
see how that might be the case.”

“Why did
you get it in the first place?”

“Simply
because I like the way it looks.”

“It looks
like big trouble to me.”

“Our
tastes in style vary. I’m a bag lady who sees things differently than you
might.”

“You’ll
have to get rid of it. I can smuggle it out of here for you.”

“Don’t
bother with it. Instead, let’s put your concerns to rest. Go to the nightstand
drawer and remove the so-called handgun. Then point it up at the roof and pull
the trigger.”

“Do you
have any cotton balls in your bathroom I can put in and use for earplugs?”

“You
don’t need to put in earplugs.”

“What
about the hole I’ll leave blasted in the roof?”

“I’ll pay
for the damage done to the roof.”

“I really
don’t feel good about doing this, Aunt Phyllis.”

“Just trust
me enough to go along and do as I’ve asked you.”

When
Sammi Jo flexed her finger on the handgun’s trigger, she braced to hear the ear-splitting
report. No booming noise punished her ears. There was no hand recoil or gun
smoke. No ceiling debris fell on her shoulders and head. What she saw instead tickled
her. She was still chuckling when she picked up the cell phone she’d set down on
the nightstand.

Phyllis had
been giggling on her end. “Fooled you, didn’t I, kiddo?” she said.

Sammi Jo watched
the candle flame flickering at the muzzle end she’d just ignited to the novelty
tabletop cigarette lighter. “You got me good because the handgun looks so authentic,”
she said.

“As you
would expect it since it’s an actual handgun modified to be a bizarre cigarette
lighter. I traded Uncle Jimbo a little brown jug I’d run across for it. He claimed
it belonged to a nearsighted church lady who was quick on the trigger, but I’m
never sure when to believe what Uncle Jimbo says is the gospel truth.”

“Can the
handgun shoot real bullets?”

“It’s harmless
unless you happen to be a fire bug.”

Sammi Jo
laughed again. “Well, paint me purple and call me an eggplant.”

“Please just
get me out of here,” said Phyllis. “An hour is too long to spend trapped in a crummy
place like this.”