Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (20 page)

Chapter 36

As it
turned out, the C notes didn’t quite fill the third and final money suitcase,
also mango yellow. Helen balked on giving an estimate of the amount of recovered
money. Phyllis speculated it ran in the
b
illions, but Alma didn’t agree,
her thinking the
m
illions was more plausible. Isabel just hunched up her
shoulders since it wasn’t their money to spend, so what difference did it make
how much there was?

Helen lugged
each suitcase to the sedan and dumped both into the trunk. Alma expected the
additional payload to weigh down the sedan’s rear springs, and they’d leave dragging
bottom. However, as they eased out to the state road, they didn’t scrape the
weighed down trunk and accelerated off in the direction of Quiet Anchorage. Draped
across the rear floor at Helen and Isabel’s feet, Petey Samson lay resting after
his arduous tour of duty as the sniffer dog.

“Since we
have discovered Ladybug was so flush, a classic greed motive may be why Curt murdered
her,” said Helen.

“Or maybe
he carried enough hate to act on it,” said Isabel. “Perhaps her money
represented nothing significant to him, and all that mattered was to kill her.”

“Why did she
use her three nice pieces of luggage to hold her money and bury them like a
squirrel does its acorns?” asked Alma.

“After
she spotted or suspected Curt had arrived here and was closing in, she buried
her money so he wouldn’t rob her,” replied Isabel.

“That idea
doesn’t make a lick of sense,” said Alma. “The town bank would be a safer place
to keep her money.”

“Everything
I’m saying is based on my conjecture and what I know about Ladybug,” said
Isabel. “It’s not like I’m reading the answers from a teleprompter, Alma.”

“We’re
just sitting and batting it around as friends do,” said Phyllis.

 Isabel
smiled. “Naturally we are.” She looked at Alma to offer more speculations. “Perhaps
Ladybug flew into a hysterical panic where rational thought was no longer possible.
She felt desperate to do something extreme.”

“I’d be
scared witless, too, if I knew somebody was coming after me,” said Alma. “But I wouldn’t do like she did.”

“We don’t
see the bizarre act as prudent, but maybe it made perfect sense to Ladybug at
the time she did it,” said Isabel.

“She told
me something interesting while we ate lunch at Eddy’s Deli,” said Phyllis. “She
worried about the bad economy and how the banks would fail. She feared they
would lose every cent of her money. I assured her that was an unrealistic concern,
but she might have let it trouble her enough to withdraw and pack her money in
the suitcases to bury it.”

“My
grandfather Sterling Vought Redfern used to tell us a Depression-era story when
I was a girl,” said Helen. “He knew of a local farmer by the name of Cartwright.
He had a similar eccentric habit of sealing his paper money inside of old Ball Mason
jars instead of mango yellow suitcases. He buried the jars at different places
around his farm.

“One
stormy afternoon a bolt of lightning zapped Farmer Cartwright deader than a bag
of hammers, and the secret locations of his jars filled with the family savings
perished with him. His family went batty and had no luck digging up his jars.
They left the farm resembling a prairie dog village and moved away never to be
heard from again. I guess Ladybug had also grown to distrust the banks with keeping
her money safe like the old Farmer Cartwright did.”

“Maybe Ladybug
couldn’t bury the money suitcases unseen in the small yard at her townhouse,”
said Isabel. “Maybe she used the swimming hole that she saw as her best option.
We’re forced to make too many guesses, and we don’t know enough answers.”

“I have a
suggestion worth considering,” said Helen. “You might find some of the answers by
traveling to Chicago and San Francisco and working your gumshoe magic while you
stay there.”

“I
can’t go because I’ve got aviatophobia,” said Alma.

“Which
of the fears is that one?” asked Helen.

“My
fear of flying keeps me grounded,” replied Alma. “Put me on an airplane, and I
turn into a basket case. I developed it late in life because when I was younger,
I took to the skies many times for my government job. After my retirement and
move to Quiet Anchorage with its lazier pace, I became a slug. Our drive to
Warrenton on a shopping trip is the equivalent of taking a wagon train headed
west across the continent. I’ve grown into a homebody, so any long distance
travel is almost impossible for me to do.”

“Nobody
wants to upset your sluggish lifestyle,” said Isabel. “But I have to agree with
Helen. Going on the road to snoop is how we might get to the bottom of things
and put our curiosity to rest.”

“I
want to go along with you gals,” said Phyllis. “Chicago and Frisco must offer a
trove of bag lady treasures waiting to be plucked. I’ll package them up to mail
back to Quiet Anchorage.”

“Visiting
both cities will be an exciting adventure,” said Helen. “You’ll have a
marvelous time while you are staying there. I’d also go with you except
somebody has to stay behind and keep Sheriff Fox in line.”

“Poor
Roscoe will never learn his lesson,” said Isabel. “We’ll begin pulling our
stuff together as soon as we return home. What do you say, Alma? Can you get on
top of your aviatophobia for a short time?”

Alma
had a couple of aces stashed up her sleeve, and
since Isabel had asked, Alma decided to play them. “I’ve got my own question to
ask you before we start to pack our suitcases and buy airline tickets to fly
off anywhere.”

Isabel
regarded Alma’s cunning smile reflected in the rearview mirror. “Ask away since
I’m your captive audience sitting back here,” said Isabel.

“Who
will care for Petey Samson while the Trumbo sisters and Phyllis are on travel?
Sammi Jo works all week, so she can’t do it. The Three Musketeers who stay rooted
to their wooden bench can’t fill in for us. Helen’s court docket is all backed
up.”

“Well,
I’m…,” said Isabel, her voice growing uncertain.

“Are
you also going to be the one who gives Petey Samson the bad news? It will break
his little heart, and he will pine away during our absence.”

The
flustered Isabel had no plan ready.

“Here
is something else to consider,” said Alma.

“As
if all that weren’t bad enough,” said Isabel. “Go on then.”

Alma
did. “Any trip we take to Chicago and San Francisco will reduce our Scrabble playing time. Just envision that situation if you
can. Will you survive that long without getting in your word game fix?”

“You
think you’re being so clever, don’t you, Alma?” said Isabel. “You just played a
cheap trick on me.” She reached down and patted Petey Samson on the head. He
yawned, never worried for one second his two mistresses contemplated abandoning
him even for a brief while. He had Isabel and Alma wrapped around his dog paw
right where he wanted them.

“I
said nothing clever that wasn’t also true,” said Alma.

“It
appears as if we’ll be remaining in Quiet Anchorage for the foreseeable future,”
said Isabel. “Since Alma has seen fit to invoke the sacredness of Scrabble and
Petey Samson, she doesn’t leave me any other choice. Sorry, Phyllis.”

She
shrugged a shoulder. “Sammi Jo and I had made plans to go shopping for new
curtains to put up in my townhouse.”

Isabel’s
cell phone bleated, and she accepted the call. Ossie greeted her and began
jabbering away in her ear.

“Whoa
there, Ossie,” she said. “I don’t understand a word of what you are saying. Slow
down a little and start over.”

Alma
arched an eyebrow while looking in the rearview
mirror as Isabel sent her a concerned look.

“I
just told you Sancho has vanished on me,” said Ossie. “I don’t know where he
went off to.”

Isabel
straightened up in the car seat. A new game was afoot, a new mystery to be
solved. “It sounds like it is critical.”

“It
is
very
critical,” said Ossie. “I’m worried sick over it, and I don’t
know what to do. The two of us are close.”

“You
better give me the details,” said Isabel.

“What
sort of details are you after?” asked Ossie.

“A
description of Sancho is a good starting place. How old is he?” asked Isabel.

“He’s
two-and-a-half years old,” replied Ossie.

Her
eyes enlarging with her pulse quickening, Isabel grew more alarmed. “Sancho is
a small child. You’ve lost a child.”

Alma
also startled. “This is bad,” she said to Helen.

“The
worst type of bad,” said Helen with a nod.

“No,
Sancho is full grown,” said Ossie on the phone and then, “What are you talking
about, Isabel?”

“I
should ask you the same question first,” said Isabel. “Who exactly is Sancho?”

“You
must’ve heard me speak of Sancho my pet ferret,” replied Ossie. “He found a secret
hole in my house and wiggled his way outdoors. He could be anywhere by now. Can
you and Alma also track down and locate furry loved ones?”

A
wave of relief swept through Isabel. She let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Wait a moment, Ossie, and I’ll run it by Alma. She’s sitting right here with
me.”

“Okay,
I’ll stay on the line,” said Ossie. “Just please hurry.”

She
met Alma’s inquiring eyes in the rearview mirror. “Ossie has lost his pet
ferret Sancho and desperately seeks our assistance. I’m not sure what I should tell
him. Are we also in the finding-lost-ferrets business?”

“But
of course we can be,” replied Alma. “Ossie is a dear friend in need, so it goes
without saying we’ll be there in a three shakes of a ferret’s tail.”

“I
figured as much, but I wanted to check with you first,” said Isabel.

“Just
deliver our reply to Ossie,” said Alma. “I’m excited to get started investigating
the new case at once.”

Isabel,
smiling, did just that.

Chapter 37

“You
all think Reynolds Kyle is putting a diamond on my finger.” Sammi Jo looked dumbstruck.
“You are wrong about that.”

“Didn’t
you and Reynolds go down to Charlottesville?” asked Phyllis.

“Uh-huh.
So?”

“And
didn’t you tell me it was for a ‘very important’ reason?”

“Uh-huh.
So?”

“Well,
I can’t imagine anything more important than buying a diamond wedding ring, so
I naturally assumed that was the reason you’d gone.”

Thinking
they were ribbing her, Sammi Jo chuckled until she saw Isabel and Alma were
also regarding her with serious expressions as if waiting for Sammi Jo to make
the announcement of her upcoming nuptials. She cleared her throat and spoke in
a strong voice to straighten out any misunderstandings they’d formed about Reynolds
and her.

“Look,
Reynolds is a stand up guy, I grant you. He’s dropped his drag race track
expansion idea, so we can spend more time together. We enjoy our share of
laughs, but as far as me becoming Mrs. Reynolds Kyle, I just don’t know since
we haven’t discussed it all that much.”

 “I’d
like to spoil a brood of grand nieces and nephews before I lose my marbles and go
live on the raisin farm,” said Phyllis.

Alma
gave Isabel a puzzled look. “We didn’t grow raisins
on our family farm.”

“The
raisin farm is a not very nice doctors’ euphemism for an old folks’ home,” said
Isabel.

“I
never thought of myself as a raisin.” Alma patted Sammi Jo on the shoulder. “Take
your time with Reynolds since you’re not even thirty.”

“I
just turned twenty-three but thanks for saying that,” said Sammi Jo. “Stay
tuned for what happens next between Reynolds and me is all I can tell you.”

“I
appreciate your tracking down Sancho,” said Ossie. “Who would think to look for
the little devil curled up asleep inside my doorless mailbox except Isabel and
Alma with an able assist from Phyllis?”

“Think
nothing of it,” said Alma. “We are happy to help you any time we are able.”

“Absolutely,”
said Phyllis.

“What’s
going on with Blue and Willie?” asked Alma.

“When
I last sat with them, Willie was telling Blue about the electric orange UFO he spotted
zigzagging over the piney woods last night,” replied Ossie.

Everybody
did a collective eye roll.

“I
chatted with Rosie,” said Isabel. “Her broken shinbone is healing ahead of
schedule. She and Lotus will return to Clean Vito’s tomorrow, and Vito has
planned a big welcome back celebration. Everybody in town is invited to attend
it.”

“Aw
gee, I have to work tomorrow,” said Sammi Jo, glad she had an excuse not to
attend the celebration.

“I
also bumped into Dwight on my trip over here,” said Ossie. “Celebrating your
victory, he weaved down Main Street toting a little brown jug he borrowed from
Uncle Jimbo. Dwight was off to visit his new girlfriend despite my friendly advice
he might want to rethink doing that in his tipsy state.”

“The
silly lawyer needs a wife to straighten him out,” said Isabel.

“Uncle
Jimbo keeps several filled little brown jugs on hand,” said Phyllis. “They
contain his patent medicine.”

Everybody
got a knowing chuckle over of how Uncle Jimbo’s “patent medicine” cured any patient’s
ailments.

“Have
you seen Eustis sporting his snazzy fedora?” asked Sammi Jo. “He’s so vain
about it he wears it everywhere even behind the pharmacy counter.”

“The
silly pharmacist also needs a wife to straighten him out,” said Isabel.

“Every
man deserves to have a wife, Isabel,” said Ossie in a voice that included
himself.

Alma
was pleased to see Isabel refused to broach the
topic. Isabel and Ossie were good friends, and good friends they would remain.

“Should
we get back on track and wrap up the strange case of Ladybug and Curt Miles?”
asked Sammi Jo.

They
had agreed to convene at her apartment to compare notes and cap off their
latest mystery. Her living quarters weren’t as neat as Ladybug’s townhouse had
looked. Sammi Jo had had a bit of housekeeping to do since she’d been working online
so much. She whisked around collecting her dirty clothes strewn over the floor and
stuffed them into the hamper.

Next,
she grabbed Reynolds’ tooled leather belt with the NASCAR buckle he’d left
behind and hid it under a sofa cushion. She also hoped to use the lemony
furniture polish and vacuum cleaner, but there wasn’t enough time before the
first guests clacked her doorknocker.

Still
out of her bag lady garb, Phyllis had brought along her potpourri simmer pot to
create the spicy apple-cinnamon fragrance permeating the room. Phyllis
indicated she might drop the bag lady masquerade. Everybody understood why, and
though they’d miss seeing the bag lady around town, they supported her decision.

The
powered up laptop sat on Sammi Jo’s tabletop ready for use.

“Is
that a spanky new laptop computer?” asked Phyllis.

“Yes,
it is,” replied Sammi Jo. “It is the very important thing I went to Charlottesville with Reynolds to buy. Your laptop died, and I couldn’t use it to do any more
investigative work.”

“Maybe
the next time when we speak about your plans, you won’t be so cryptic,” said
Phyllis. “Otherwise my wild imagination gloms on to fanciful notions like my favorite
niece is getting engaged to be married.”

“I
was running around like a crazy cat getting ready when we spoke, and I forgot
to give you all the details,” said Sammi Jo.

“Ladies,
enough please,” said Ossie. “Might we move our business along? I’ve got other things
to do today.”

Phyllis
tittered with amusement. “Ossie, what other things are they? You just gather
splinters on the wooden bench with your compadres Blue and Willie.”

Ossie
brandished what he’d brought with him: a well-used cardboard box of his
Scrabble game board and its 100 letter tiles. “It’s drawing close to our time to
enjoy a little fun for a change after all this gruesome murder discussion.”

Isabel’s
eyes showed her enthusiasm. “I agree with Ossie we should wind this up.”

“Okay
then, Sammi Jo,” said Alma. “We stand ready so give us whatever information you
have dug up in outer space.”

“It’s
called cyberspace, Alma, not outer space,” said Isabel.

“Well,
I got it half right, and everybody knew what I meant anyway,” said Alma.