Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage by Ed Lynskey
Authors: Ed Lynskey
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suggestion. Shrugging, Sammi Jo went over to the culvert, retrieved her soda bottle, and trashed it. Alma gave her a second wink and as they left in the sedan, Isabel recounted the Watergate annuls to a skeptical Sammi Jo.
Chapter 15
Tempers at the Trumbo Sisters Detective Agency had frayed. Isabel and Alma disagreed on what they should tell Dwight. Sammi Jo sat on the ottoman flipping through the pages to Isabel’s Alaskan Outdoor magazine. A CMT diva in torn jeans, a spangly top, and a cowboy hat sang on their TV, her volume muted. Sammi Jo stood ready to act but for now the fussing continued. Knowing the futility of playing the peacemaker, she stayed out of it.
“Dwight won’t sit on his thumbs and let us do illegal stuff,” Alma was saying. “It stands to reason he won’t like us breaking into Jake’s office much less into the file cabinets.”
Isabel feared her argument had lost its starch. “If we tell Dwight, he won’t be caught flat-footed by our phone call from the prison.”
“Who said boo about prison? Sammi Jo can zip us in and out of Jake’s office in no time, can’t you, Sammi Jo?”
She stopped studying the picture of a massive caribou migration. “I’d say five seconds to cut each padlock, tops. Do you own flashlights?”
“Look in our mud room on the shelves next to the washer,” replied Isabel. “Sorry it’s so dark, but the light bulb blew out on us.”
“Heck, this is your lucky day. Light bulb changes are my specialty,” said Sammi Jo.
“Alma, show her to our mud room and the new light bulbs.”
“I will but don’t you dare touch the phone and call Dwight.” Alma led Sammi Jo into the kitchen where she asked point blank, “Why your interest in our problems, Sammi Jo?”
Sammi Jo gave a dry laugh. “Payback, Alma. That’s it. Clarence and I didn’t part on the best terms after he made me look like a jackass, so he’ll now get his comeuppance.”
“Been there, done that.” Alma dragged the kitchen stool into the mud room. “I’d never admit it front of Isabel, but we can get into some trouble by returning to Jake’s place.”
Sammi Jo hiked up on the stool and unscrewed the dud light bulb while Alma steadied her by the hips. “‘No guts, no glory’ is my motto. Are they combination or key padlocks?”
“Combination.”
Sammi Jo took the new light bulb from Alma and screwed it into the empty socket. “If he’s like me, Jake jotted down the combination numbers on a sticky note. Poke around searching a little bit, and we may not even need to fire up an acetylene torch.”
“What time do you have?”
After climbing down from the kitchen stool, Sammi Jo looked at her wristwatch. “Quarter to three.”
“There’s no chance to visit Megan in fifteen minutes.”
“Megan might be irked but look at this way. If you’re not keeping her company, you’re out taking care of her business, and she’ll come home that much sooner. Remind her, and she’ll understand, I’m sure.”
“I hope so.” Alma flipped on the light switch. “Viola! Success!”
Sammi Jo nodded. “Waiting until night to hit Jake’s place might make it safer for us.”
“Isabel believes that Jake’s will leaves his place to Megan. With her permission, technically we’re not trespassing.”
“I doubt if that technicality will sway Sheriff Fox.”
“My mind is made up. We’ll go right on and search the file cabinets.”
When Sammi Jo and Alma returned to the living room, Isabel was adjusting her floppy straw hat at the foyer mirror. “I overheard you both conspiring in the kitchen. Let’s go.”
The sedan wheezed on gas fumes. Three streets down at the corner, Alma slowed into a turn. Their rolling tires tripped the gas station’s bell cable, but Alma braked at the self-serve island. A gangly boy in a wife-beater and baggy cargo shorts with the top to his boxer briefs exposed scuttled out from behind a tool chest. He carried a skateboard and drew up to Alma squeezing
Chapter 15
Tempers at the Trumbo Sisters Detective Agency had frayed. Isabel and Alma disagreed on what they should tell Dwight. Sammi Jo sat on the ottoman flipping through the pages to Isabel’s Alaskan Outdoor magazine. A CMT diva in torn jeans, a spangly top, and a cowboy hat sang on their TV, her volume muted. Sammi Jo stood ready to act but for now the fussing continued. Knowing the futility of playing the peacemaker, she stayed out of it.
“Dwight won’t sit on his thumbs and let us do illegal stuff,” Alma was saying. “It stands to reason he won’t like us breaking into Jake’s office much less into the file cabinets.”
Isabel feared her argument had lost its starch. “If we tell Dwight, he won’t be caught flat-footed by our phone call from the prison.”
“Who said boo about prison? Sammi Jo can zip us in and out of Jake’s office in no time, can’t you, Sammi Jo?”
She stopped studying the picture of a massive caribou migration. “I’d say five seconds to cut each padlock, tops. Do you own flashlights?”
“Look in our mud room on the shelves next to the washer,” replied Isabel. “Sorry it’s so dark, but the light bulb blew out on us.”
“Heck, this is your lucky day. Light bulb changes are my specialty,” said Sammi Jo.
“Alma, show her to our mud room and the new light bulbs.”
“I will but don’t you dare touch the phone and call Dwight.” Alma led Sammi Jo into the kitchen where she asked point blank, “Why your interest in our problems, Sammi Jo?”
Sammi Jo gave a dry laugh. “Payback, Alma. That’s it. Clarence and I didn’t part on the best terms after he made me look like a jackass, so he’ll now get his comeuppance.”
“Been there, done that.” Alma dragged the kitchen stool into the mud room. “I’d never admit it front of Isabel, but we can get into some trouble by returning to Jake’s place.”
Sammi Jo hiked up on the stool and unscrewed the dud light bulb while Alma steadied her by the hips. “‘No guts, no glory’ is my motto. Are they combination or key padlocks?”
“Combination.”
Sammi Jo took the new light bulb from Alma and screwed it into the empty socket. “If he’s like me, Jake jotted down the combination numbers on a sticky note. Poke around searching a little bit, and we may not even need to fire up an acetylene torch.”
“What time do you have?”
After climbing down from the kitchen stool, Sammi Jo looked at her wristwatch. “Quarter to three.”
“There’s no chance to visit Megan in fifteen minutes.”
“Megan might be irked but look at this way. If you’re not keeping her company, you’re out taking care of her business, and she’ll come home that much sooner. Remind her, and she’ll understand, I’m sure.”
“I hope so.” Alma flipped on the light switch. “Viola! Success!”
Sammi Jo nodded. “Waiting until night to hit Jake’s place might make it safer for us.”
“Isabel believes that Jake’s will leaves his place to Megan. With her permission, technically we’re not trespassing.”
“I doubt if that technicality will sway Sheriff Fox.”
“My mind is made up. We’ll go right on and search the file cabinets.”
When Sammi Jo and Alma returned to the living room, Isabel was adjusting her floppy straw hat at the foyer mirror. “I overheard you both conspiring in the kitchen. Let’s go.”
The sedan wheezed on gas fumes. Three streets down at the corner, Alma slowed into a turn. Their rolling tires tripped the gas station’s bell cable, but Alma braked at the self-serve island. A gangly boy in a wife-beater and baggy cargo shorts with the top to his boxer briefs exposed scuttled out from behind a tool chest. He carried a skateboard and drew up to Alma squeezing
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