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

“You harangue us to back off while you frame Sammi Jo for her dad’s homicide. Over my dead body first, Roscoe, and I’m not coining a pun either.”
    “Are you defying my direct order?” he asked.
    Again, Petey Samson growled.
    Sheriff Fox gave him a circumspect glance while tempted to growl back louder at the little, flea-bitten Cujo that needed to wear a muzzle.
    “ What leads you to think we’ve been meddling, as you so ineloquently put it?” asked Isabel.
    “I just got an earful from Blaine about your wheedling him. For your edification, I’d asked the same questions, and my department already knows Ray Burl purchased the Mossberg shotgun on January 13 th of this year from Blaine. I’d bet my bag of Dunkin’ Donuts you hadn’t dug up that nugget.” Sheriff Fox smirked at them.
    Alma cast her eyes to Isabel. Had Roscoe always been this careless? He’d just given away the information they now didn’t have to work to obtain.
    “We stopped at the hardware store while running our errands,” said Isabel. “Naturally our chat gravitated to the gruesome murder. Everybody is in an upheaval about it. Citizens wonder if their sheriff can protect them.”
    “My deputy sheriffs are on top of it, so you can allay your frets. I fully anticipate we’ll effect an arrest within the next week. At that time, I’ll convene a press conference at my station house to announce it, and you’re both cordially invited to sit in the front row where you can be sure to hear me.”
    “If your boastful optimism runs so high, you have a suspect in mind,” said Alma. “That suspect had better not be Sammi Jo. That’s a fair warning.”
    Sheriff Fox sat up straighter on the sofa , presenting a taller, more imposing authority figure in charge of this situation. “She’s been warned not to leave town, or she’ll be in big trouble, and that’s spelled with a capital T plus an exclamation point.” He mopped his forehead again.
    “Roscoe, don’t go taking that high-minded tone with us,” said Isabel. “We changed your diapers and fed you from a bottle.”
    Sheriff Fox felt his jaw muscles tighten to jut out his chin in a bellicose pose. He tamped down the rising embarrassment flushing red up his neck. He refused to let Isabel and Alma browbeat him with their disapproving scowls, schoolmarmish fuss, and berating words.
    “ Aiding and abetting a fugitive is a felony,” he said. “I’d hate to charge you with it.”
    “We’re not harboring or helping any fugitives, Roscoe,” said Alma. “You know where to find us, day or night, to search to your heart’s content. Just be sure to bring the signed search warrant.”
    “ Also try to use your cell phone and call ahead,” said Isabel. “Petey Sampson is set in his canine ways and doesn’t like getting surprises, as you can see.”
    “I’ll make every effort to extend that courtesy,” said Sheriff Fox, his cadence huffy.
    Alma met Isabel’s eyes again, and they agreed on something.
    “Dwight Holden,” said Alma.
    Isabel nodded. “We need to retain our legal counsel since Roscoe sees fit to throw around his threats of our arrest like wedding rice.”
    He laughed at them. “Dwight is a boob. He might know his law books through and through, but in real world terms, he’s clueless as a chimp shopping for a tuxedo and cufflinks.”
    Pot calling the kettle black , thought Alma.
    “Dwight will do the right thing,” said Isabel.
    “That includes making any necessary phone calls to our good friend Judge Redfern,” said Alma.
    “Judge Redfern? Your good friend?” Sheriff Fox lost his smug levity and swallowed. Hard. How had he forgotten about that pesky detail? He cleared his tightening throat with a scratchy cough. “Is that who you just said?”
    “Your hearing is up to snuff,” replied Alma.
    “ But she’s like the dragon lady,” said Sheriff Fox.
    “Then I’ll offer some free advice: you better strap on your fireproof suit,” said Alma. “Because we