Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud by Ed Lynskey

since she kept a tight lid on her past?
    Such arrangements developed even in this tell-all, show-all social media age. That made it a challenge for Isabel and Alma to excavate any useful data on Mo. Sammi Jo was their computer guru who was well-acquainted with Mr. Google. If there was any way to trace the will-o’-the-wisp Mo and assemble a dossier on her, Sammi Jo was the right expert to accomplish it, or it couldn’t be done.
    Isabel reined in her thoughts, deciding she was ranging too far ahead with the Mo idea. The cell phone was under the pillow. Isabel rang a familiar number, and Alma just out in the living room answered with a “ bon giorno .”
    “ Italian for good morning,” said Isabel. “Crossword puzzle?”
    “Yes , and today’s theme is foreign language phrases,” replied Alma tapping the ink pen, not pencil, on her chin. “What’s a seven-letter word for ‘running in circles?’”
    “ T-R-U-M-B-O-S.”
    “That fits. Thanks , sis.”
    “ You’re welcome. Let’s now talk murder.”
    “Wait one second, please… clank , there goes my shifting gears…okay, I’m all set…you may proceed.”
    “ Funny. Now reflect back years ago with me. Wasn’t Ray Burl married to a Maureen?”
    “Of course. She was Mo to everybody. What a coincidence she also came up in my thinking while you and Petey Samson were out enjoying today’s steam bath.”
    “What can you dredge up on Mo?”
    “She liked her wine, men, and song. Sammi Jo inherited none of her genes. They’re made different as night and day.”
    “Was there any scuttlebutt about Mo carrying on any hanky-panky?”
    “If she did, no guy was mentioned in the same breath. On the other hand, a gal who’s the life of the party has to find a place to roost after the party is finished.”
    “Didn’t she wield a nasty temper?”
    “She was like Mount Vesuvius ready to pop off any time she didn’t get her way.”
    “ Very interesting. Some townie might know of her fate.”
    “Or if she had a burning reason to lam off so fast and without saying goodbye to anybody.”
    “I’m getting up in a few minutes. In the interim, pick where our dinner out should be tonight. We’ll head up to Warrenton maybe. Are you in a more of tortilla or moo goo gai pan mood?”
    “ Either is fine with me, but you’ll have to postpone dinner. Sheriff Fox just braked in the driveway, and I can see he took his meanie pills this morning. Something big has torqued him up.”
    “ Oh brother, I can hear the rumblings of the Riot Act coming.” Isabel paused. “If he’s apprehended Sammi Jo, I’ll sic Petey Sampson on him.”
    “See if you can beat Roscoe coming into the living room. Petey Samson is bristling and growling like I’ve never heard the pooch do before.”
    ***
    “I warned you once, but I’m not going to warn you twice about your meddling,” said Sheriff Fox. They conferred in the living room, him seated on the sofa and the sisters in their armchairs. He used his sternest cop voice while scolding them.
    He also used a handkerchief to mop the sweat droplets off his brow and forehead. Why they didn’t run the air conditioning baffled him. Freon or ice water had to circulate through their veins. More droplets beaded up, further tweaking his crabby disposition. Just then, a growl came, and he turned to see Petey Samson’s snarl and bare his fangs.
    Hiding her smile from Sheriff Fox, Isabel shushed Petey Samson.
    “Have you arrested, or do you have plans to arrest Sammi Jo?” asked Alma.
    His hesitation gave him away to the shrewd ladies. He couldn’t snooker them no matter how early he got up in the morning, and he’d pay a king’s ransom to bask in the satisfaction of having bested them just once. That would add an extra glint to his sheriff’s badge. They always seemed to be one step ahead of him, so he’d just have to take longer steps to catch up and overtake them.
    Alma resented his bossy attitude while seated in their living room, no less.