Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 03 - The Ladybug Song (9 page)

“Ben
Franklin is but he isn’t a dead president,” replied Alma.

“I like Old
Ben just the same.” Sammi Jo paused to savor the moment. “I better get back to
work. Don’t forget I helped you to get open the suitcase. Good luck.”

“Thanks.
Bye, Sammi Jo.”

Her eyes the
size of pizza pans, Alma put up her cell phone. “That’s a whole lot of purchasing
power right there,” she said.

“Do a
four-way split with Sammi Jo in on it,” said Phyllis, her eyes bright as quicksilver.
“There is enough money here to share with everybody.”

“What?” asked
Isabel who’d also recovered the use of her voice.

“It’s
simple as the finders keepers rule,” said Phyllis.

“You
can’t be serious,” said Isabel. “The money doesn’t belong to us, and we can’t just
keep it.”

“I don’t
see any reason why not,” said Phyllis. “Treasure hunters do it all the time.
They get their pictures run in the newspaper, brandishing their discovered riches
and wearing their millionaire grins. I don’t see how we’re much different than
they are.”

“What if
our found money was stolen from a bank or armored truck?” asked Isabel. “Or
suppose our banknotes are counterfeit and useless as a broken mousetrap?”

Phyllis
shrugged with impatience. “Who would know the difference? I won’t tell if you
don’t.”

“We’ll
know the difference,” replied Isabel. “That’s good enough reason for me to turn
over the money to Sheriff Fox. Alma, I need your input, please.”

“Oh
sure, we’ll have to do the right thing like you say,” said Alma, disappointed.

Also left
unhappy, Phyllis gave up her get-rich-quick aspirations. “I don’t get the use
of the mango yellow suitcase,” she said.

“Some travelers
prefer to carry the bright shades of luggage,” said Isabel. “They can pick it out
easier from the other luggage on the airport’s baggage carousel. Getting the money
suitcase to Sheriff Fox should be our next priority. It’s making me jittery while
it’s in our care.”

Petey
Samson trotted over to the ladies, gave the banknotes in the suitcase a cursory
sniff, and rolled his eyes up at Isabel who saw the sly smirk in his canine expression.

“What a
ham Petey Samson is,” she said.

Chapter 16

Sheriff
Fox was running his fingers through his thin hair. In a few short years, he’d look
bald as a peeled apple. The Snoop sisters and their sidekick, the town’s bag
lady no less, had traipsed into his office without knocking first. His admin
(he couldn’t remember their names to save his life) had ushered them in, and they’d
just dumped this hot potato into his lap.

Why
couldn’t they just apply their nosy parker talents and give him a quiet heads
up on whom to arrest for the Ladybug Miles homicide? That was all he had requested.
Nothing more, nothing less. Just get out there and play his pack of sniffer dogs.
They had forged an agreement. Now their extracurricular meddling had uprooted a
suitcase filled with banknotes. Fistfuls of banknotes, in fact, they’d said.

He quit
his fidgeting and stalled. Perhaps they’d break out in devilish grins, their
eye corners crinkling, and tell him it was their dotty idea of a prank. Sure,
that had to be it. He’d slap his thigh, enjoying his guffaws while they laughed.
It was a practical joke, and he could do for a spot of levity. Then he’d pretend
to chide them for pulling the sheriff’s leg. Murder was a serious business.

It didn’t
happen, of course. There was no joke. The three ladies went on sitting in the
chairs before his desk with the same determined looks. He saw even the crazier
than a loon in June Phyllis was not smiling.

“All
right, let me catch my breath from your telling this screwy tale,” he said,
throwing up his flat palms as if he was signaling the Main Street traffic to halt.
“You’re making the claim you dug up this money the original owner locked up inside
a suitcase—”

“A mango
yellow suitcase,” said Phyllis.

“Right,
it’s a mango yellow suitcase,” said Sheriff Fox. “Then the owner buried it in
the sand at the old swimming hole. Do I have that part straight?”

“Your
hearing seems to be fine,” replied Alma.

Isabel
was more understanding. “Not only that but we want to turn it over to you.”

“I feel
so honored,” said Sheriff Fox. “You didn’t stop off at Eustis’ drugstore to purchase
several feminine doodads like hair spray or cold cream?”

“Bite
your tongue,” replied Alma. “No such improper thought crossed our minds. It isn’t
our money to spend.” She didn’t admit how they’d debated over taking possession
of the windfall. Goody Two-Shoes Isabel had objected by pointing out the law
frowned on less-than-honest behavior.

“I’m
almost afraid to ask, but where is the money suitcase now?” he asked.

“We managed
to heft it into our sedan’s trunk and we drove here,” replied Isabel.

“You got a
forklift?” asked Phyllis. “That much cash is heavy.”

“No
because I run a sheriff’s department, not a mattress warehouse,” said Sheriff
Fox.

 “We also
want a written receipt for your assuming control of it,” said Alma. “Our
attorney Dwight Holden advised us to obtain one.” That was a fib, but she
wasn’t leaving any loose ends to come unraveled on them later.

“What is
it you’re asking me for?” The perplexed Sheriff Fox looked a second away from yanking
out his remaining strands of hair.

“We’d appreciate
getting a signed receipt,” replied Alma.

“You
better also notarize it,” said Phyllis. “Do you have a notary public on your
staff?” She glanced back at his closed office door.

“Now you
ladies hold on a minute,” he said.

“Don’t
try any of your shenanigans either,” said Alma. “We’ve snapped photos of the money
suitcase with our cell phone cameras and emailed them to Dwight.”

“I’ll
send out my brawniest pair of deputies to take possession of the money suitcase,”
said Sheriff Fox. “Did you happen to bring Cujo with you?”

“His name
is Petey Samson and not Cujo,” said Isabel. “Yes, he is waiting in the sedan
for us.”

“I’ll be
sure to warn my deputies,” said Sheriff Fox.

“One more
thing before I forget it,” said Alma. “We have reason to suspect the banknotes might
be phony as a three-dollar wig.”

“Come
again?” said Sheriff Fox.

“Alma said the money could be counterfeit,” replied Phyllis.

“Counterfeit
dough is just great.” Sheriff Fox shook his head. “All I need is for Quiet
Anchorage to be crawling with the feds when I am keeping a tight lid on Ladybug’s
homicide. When it rains it pours.”

“We’ll be
glad to lend you one of our spare umbrellas,” said Alma. “Is the yellow polka
dot one all right?”

“I was
using an expression, Alma,” said Sheriff Fox.

“Roscoe,
let’s stop bemoaning our woe-is-me fate and put our agile minds to work,” said
Isabel. “Our discovery of the money suitcase in the same place where Ladybug
died makes it likely hers.”

“Look,
you ladies have done commendably well,” said Sheriff Fox. “I appreciate it, and
I salute you. Really, I do. I’ll put in for you to receive our Crime Solvers of
the Year Award. But this stage marks when I step in and take the reins.”

“What’s
this stuff? You are giving us the old brush off.” Alma knitted her eyebrows
together. “After all we’ve done for you, the only gratitude we get is your
condescending pat on the head, pushed out the door, and given a meaningless
award.”

“Hey, it
works for me,” he said.

“You brought
us into this case, and we intend to stay until the bitter end,” said Alma.

Sheriff
Fox thought of his clandestine plan. He only had to pull the wool over Isabel
and Alma’s eyes to put it into motion. He could handle doing that. Soon he’d make
his move, but he wasn’t ready. He’d give it a day longer, and he’d be good and
set. Right now, all he needed to do was to lead them on enough so they wouldn’t
see what he was really up to doing.

“The
money suitcase is a useful clue, but there must be other clues out there also waiting
to be found,” he said.

“Are you proposing
we are the investigators to find them?” asked Alma. “With you speaking from
both sides of your mouth, I’m never sure where you stand on matters.”

“Okay, since
you insist, you’re back on the case,” said Sheriff Fox, secretly pleased at how
he could divert them for another day. “I’ll remind you the same ground rules
are in effect. Everything you do is in an unofficial capacity. You will
continue to work behind the scenes, report to me, and you can’t breathe a word
of doing it to anybody. Is that crystal clear?”

“Only if
we get secret decoder rings and silver-plated badges,” replied Phyllis.

“Phyllis,
you’re not even supposed to be here,” said Sheriff Fox.

“But then
here I be,” said Phyllis.

“We should
update you,” said Alma. “We’re also using Ossie Conger, Willie Moccasin, and
Blue Trent. The only reason we haven’t conferred with Lotus Wang and Rosie McCleod
is because she is laid up with a broken shinbone. But we’ll visit them after we
conclude this meeting.”

“That is unbelievable
and unacceptable,” said Sheriff Fox. “I didn’t know you had to do every single solitary
thing by committee.”

“Our sister
Louise will be also in the thick of it before long,” said Isabel.

“You ladies
are out of control,” said Sheriff Fox. “I issued you specific instructions on
protecting this investigation’s confidentiality.”

Alma
beamed her eyes at him. “We’ve always used the assistance
of our friends and family. You knew that before you signed us on to be your
silent helper elves. Whether you like it or not, that is how we do things.”

“Since
you’ve enlisted an A-team, I’ll expect faster results from you,” he said.

“Would
you also like us to gift wrap the solution for you?” asked Alma.

Sheriff
Fox had enough composure not to take her bait. He was the cool law enforcement professional
here who had a dandy plan in mind. “Will that be all, ladies? I must get back
to my sheriff duties. My work is never done, as they say.”

Isabel
had arisen from her chair. “Alma, do you have anything to add before we bid
Sheriff Fox adieu?”

Alma
stood up with Phyllis. “I was serious about the signed
receipt,” said Alma. She gazed down at Sheriff Fox.

He let
out a sigh approaching a moan, not caring if they saw his annoyance. “I’ll scribble
out a receipt and sign it,” he said.

“On
second thought, a signed receipt won’t be necessary,” said Isabel. “Alma, we can take snapshots of our handing over the money suitcase to the deputies.”

“So be
it then,” said Alma. “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

“Then
you may go on now,” said Sheriff Fox before the three ladies came up with
another outlandish idea to spring on him.

Chapter 17

Like all
the Kyle men, the lean six-foot Reynolds Kyle also had a sturdy jaw and aquiline
nose. He operated the drag race track where speed ruled and had dropped by
Sammi Jo’s apartment. They’d been discussing his time on Sunday afternoons
spent taking care of business at the drag race track to the exclusion of their
doing anything fun together. Having given in to her suggestion to quit his cigarette
smoking, he felt as if he’d made enough concessions. Her new issue confounded
him. Scratching his soul patch, he seized on what he thought was a clever ploy.

“You should
realize if I have to shut down or scale back on my race track, I’ll have less money
to spend on you,” he said. They sat across from each other. Both had crossed
their arms on their chests. “My luck is too lousy to dig up a fat suitcase of C
notes like some people we know do.”

So Reynolds
knew about the money suitcase, she thought. She was sure none of the ladies had
leaked the story. Sheriff Fox had ordered his deputies to clam up about it, or he’d
place them on the graveyard shift permanently. Her stoic face gave away nothing
of what she was thinking.

“I have
a better way to free up your Sundays,” she said. “Delegate some of the track responsibilities.
Who is your second-in-charge out there?”

“There
is no second-in-charge, and you know I’m the only full-timer,” replied
Reynolds. “My staff is made up of high school kids and retired old codgers I
hire on Sunday to take care of the parking and other stuff. All I can do is to mull
over your latest suggestion.”

“Fair
enough.” Sammi Jo uncrossed her arms. She’d gotten the best deal she was going
to wangle from him. The man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. The only stubborner
person she knew was herself except this time she decided to give in. He’d caved
on not smoking cigarettes, so she felt sure he’d soon make his Sunday
afternoons available for them.

“How is your
property search going?” she asked.

He gave
a nonchalant shrug. “I’m still weighing my options.”

“Uh-huh.”
She knew he still hadn’t found anything on the real estate market to
accommodate his dreams of upgrading his drag race track.

“What’s
this buzz about the suitcase stuffed with green your aunts dug up at the
swimming hole?” he asked.

“What suitcase
stuffed with green is that?” she asked, playing dumb. “What are you going on
about, Reynolds?”

“Blabbermouth
Deputy Bexley told me about the money suitcase on my way over here,” replied
Reynolds.

“There
are no secrets kept in our one-horse town.” She crossed her legs. “You know as
much as I do about it. Having not been there, I can’t add any other details.
All I know is Sheriff Fox has the money.”

“Did
they pocket a few dollars for their finders’ fee?”

“I’ll
have no loose talk like that, Mr. Kyle. You should know those three ladies are
honest as a Texas sundown and don’t you forget it anytime soon.”

He
grunted at her earnest assertion. “They are also smart as whips. Who do they identify
as the most likely Long John Silver who buried the treasure?”

“They have
shared nothing like that with me,” replied Sammi Jo.

“Don’t scowl
at me like that,” he said. “You’ve brought me into their capers more than once.
You might again so I should have a rough idea of what’s up.”

“I’ll let
you know the minute I hear anything significant,” said Sammi Jo. “Now on a
different topic, I’m thinking about moving into my dad’s Cape Cod. He left it
to me, and all it is doing is sitting out there empty with the mud daubers
building their nests in the rafters. Can I count on you for lending me a little
muscle?”

Reynolds
knew better than to flare his eyes over what he saw as an obvious answer. “No sweat,
Sammi Jo. What timeframe do you have in mind? Do you need a hand at packing your
stuff?” He nodded at her kitchen cupboards. “You know, crating up your dinner
plates, drinking glasses, and Corning Ware dishes.”

“I
haven’t made a decision on when I’ll move. However, I’ll be the one to do the
packing since you don’t ‘crate up’ dishes. The goal is to get my personal belongings
to the Cape Cod still in one piece.”

He veered
back to their juicier topic. “I am left to wonder if Ladybug pulled a string of
old-fashioned bank robberies. She probably wore a Cinderella mask and toted a
hog leg revolver. Then she cooked up the scheme to hide her ill-gotten gains by
stashing them inside the suitcase and planting it on the shore of the Coronet River. Who would think to search for the suitcase of dough there?”

“Sometimes
I’m surprised by the words that come out of your mouth, Reynolds. Ladybug was
about as much a bank robber as you are.”

He parked
his olive dark eyes on Sammi Jo. “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, where else did she
get all of that dinero?”

“Maybe a
relative with deep pockets died, and she came into a windfall inheritance.”

“Then if
I were her, I would have put my windfall inheritance into a bank account. That’s
why I think her money is hot, and she ripped it off from a bank or armored
truck.”

“She did
it all by her lonesome. Amazing.”

“Ain’t
it though? She was laying low until the heat wore off.”

Sammi Jo’s
tolerance meter went off—
ding
—and she’d reached her daily limit of
Reynolds. She loved the dear lad to her marrow, but enough was enough. Tomorrow
she’d be ready for taking more of him. She sought a subtle way to drop a hint
it was time for him to make tracks from her apartment.

“Did
they take the time and tally up the money?” he asked. “How much of it was there
in the suitcase?”

“Isabel put
her foot down and insisted they haul the suitcase straight to the sheriff’s
office. All I know is it wasn’t chump change, so it had to run in the thousands
if not tens of thousands of dollars.”

Reynolds’
eyes filled with starry dreams. “Just once I’d like to have the thrill of what
it feels like to be a millionaire. I can picture of me lounging around the castle
until the late morning. It has got to be like a life in hog heaven.”

Sammi Jo
was tempted to quip as a bachelor he already lived in hog heaven. She held her
tongue since she wanted him to do her the favor on moving day. Isabel and Alma
couldn’t lift the sofa, armchairs, and box spring. Creaky old Willie, Ossie, and
Blue could pitch in and help with carrying the small items. Reynolds was the
right man to do the heavy lifting.

“It’s all
pie in the sky because the money is no more ours,” said Sammi Jo. “Like I said,
Sheriff Fox took custody of it, and we’re only left with the tough job of finding
Ladybug’s killer.”

“I’m not
telling you what to do, but don’t you have to look at the most likely suspects
first? Who is her family?”

“She has
no immediate kinfolk in Quiet Anchorage. They are either below ground, or they’ve
moved away to parts unknown.”

Reynolds
went back to stroking his soul patch. “Who was her best friend in town?”

“Aunt
Phyllis and she did everything together,” replied Sammi Jo. “But I would never
suspect Aunt Phyllis of committing murder in a million years, so you can toss
that idea into File 13 right this instant.”

“I’m not
directing the blame at anybody in particular,” said Reynolds. “I’m just
thinking out loud and batting around the different notions with you.”

“Reynolds,
dear, haven’t we batted around enough different notions for today? I mean we
can take it up again tomorrow, can’t we?”

“Okay, I
can tell when you’ve grown buggy from me hanging around for too long, so I’ll
be shoving off now.”

“After
while, crocodile,” said Sammi Jo.

“Toodle-loo,
kangaroo,” said Reynolds.

Their
usual playful exchange of farewells made her smile. He kissed her full on the
lips, twice, and sauntered with his easy gait out of the apartment. She watched
him until he closed the door. On his way downstairs, Reynolds still held out hope
Sammi Jo would grow more passionate over his NASCAR scene.

He
grinned. If she ever did, he’d have to break down and make an honest woman out
of her. When he reached the streetside, he stuffed on his gimme hat before he left
for the drag race track. He craved to light up a cigarette and reached for the
pack in his shirt pocket until he remembered he’d quit smoking. He gritted his
teeth until the nicotine urge subsided.