The Amber Top Hat: Isabel & Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series, #4

LICENSE STATEMENT

Copyright © 2017 by Ed Lynskey and ECL Press. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

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Other Books by Ed Lynskey

Alma and Isabel Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series

Quiet Anchorage

The Cashmere Shroud

The Ladybug Song

The Amber Top Hat

Sweet Betsy

Murder in a One-Hearse Town

Vi’s Ring

Heirloom

A Big Dill

Eve’s Win

Piper and Bill Robins Cozy Mystery Series

The Corpse Wore Gingham

Fur the Win

Ginny Jones Cozy Mystery Series (as Lyn Key)

Nozy Cat 1

Nozy Cat 2

Private Investigator Frank Johnson Series

Pelham Fell Here

The Dirt-Brown Derby

The Blue Cheer

Troglodytes

The Zinc Zoo

After the Big Noise

Other Novels

Lake Charles

The Quetzal Motel

Ask the Dice

Blood Diamonds

Topaz Moon

Other Short Story Collection

Smoking on Mount Rushmore

Chapter 1

You see…Ralph and me… Blue Trent paused, his bottom lip quivering. We were…very close… He considered it undignified to cry in front of the two Trumbo sisters even if they were his longtime friends.

Take your time, Blue, Isabel said.

Bear with me and give me a minute, Blue said. I’ll be okay.

No reason to hurry on our account, Alma said. We’ve got all day, and then some.

The grief had etched the deeper lines into their short, slim octogenarian friend’s face craggy as Mount Rushmore with the shock of hair white as a lace doily. He bit down on his bottom lip then continued speaking.

Sheriff Fox dropping the bombshell of Ralph’s death—his murder, I mean—shattered my nerves. Blue held out his shaky hand. Look at me. I’m coming unraveled at the seams.

At a loss to find the right words, Alma swallowed over the lump in her throat. Her heart went out to Blue. She glanced at Isabel who’d lost her only child Cecil, a pal of Joe Camel, in the prime of life. Isabel’s hazel eyes never left gazing at Blue.

The septuagenarian Trumbo sisters were a study in contrast. Isabel stood tall and thin as a candlestick offset by Alma who was short and stout as a teakettle. She was dressed in taupe linen trousers while Isabel wore a peach color. Since they were such different shapes and sizes, they never borrowed each other’s clothes. Despite feeling as upset as Alma, Isabel wasn’t as demonstrative and kept a stiff upper lip.

Blue’s eyes teared up. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckle. Isabel flagged Alma’s attention and flicked her eyes down at the box of extra absorbent tissues lying on Alma’s end table. She kept them near for use while viewing her tearjerker soaps, a couple of which still aired. She moved the box to set on the sofa cushion beside Blue. Instead, he removed a monogrammed handkerchief, possibly a Father’s Day gift, from the inner pocket of his seersucker jacket and wiped his eyes.

Alma idly wondered if he’d blow his nose, too.

He did. Twice. He made it honk, the sound reminding Alma of Harpo squeezing his bulb horn.

Isabel darted a look at Alma, giving her the don’t-you-dare-giggle squint.

Alma dug her fingernails into her palm, the inappropriate laugh rising from her throat as she looked up at the ceiling. Blue refolded his handkerchief and returned it to inside his seersucker jacket. Thankfully, Alma’s urge to laugh subsided.

Blue had dropped by earlier, and the living room was comfortable for visiting. The window blind halfway up let in the flush of sunlight. Isabel and Alma had bought the brick rambler without any stairs for them to climb when they got grayer and less mobile. It was spacious enough to accommodate them. The sea green shutters, brass pole yard lamp, and porch light sconces enhanced the brick rambler’s curb appeal.

Isabel broke the silence. Everybody is torn up over the senseless act of violence.

Thanks for saying it, Blue said. Don’t think I’m not appreciative of the townies’s sympathy. I’ve filled my fridge with the quiches and casseroles they’ve brought me.

We’ll also do what good we can, Isabel said. Right, Alma?

Alma was quick on the nod, thrilled the chase was on again. Righter than rain, Isabel, she said. Don’t forget three Trumbos sleuth on your behalf.

That’s right. Blue smiled for the first time. I get three for the price of one.

You didn’t let me finish, Alma said. We’ll also call on Sammi Jo and Phyllis Garner as well as Petey Samson. He’s getting his beauty rest but don’t let that mislead you. He’s a ball of fire bloodhound when he’s called upon.

Is Petey Samson a bloodhound for real? Blue asked. I could’ve sworn he’s a mixed breed, what my folks used to call a pound mutt.

Oh, brother, Alma said. I wished you hadn’t said that.

I’ll have you know Petey Samson is no pound mutt, Isabel said, shaking her finger at Blue. His best breeding lies in his bloodhound line, she said.

I didn’t know that, Blue said.

Pay no mind to Isabel, Alma said. She’s just overprotective of her fur baby.

I hope everything goes smoothly on your case, Blue said.

We’ll encounter nothing we haven’t already read about, Alma said.

Blue frowned. I’m confused. What does reading have to do with Ralph’s murder?

Plenty. Isabel arose from the armchair. Have we given you our library tour?

I’ve heard you speak of it, but I haven’t been there, Blue replied. Do you have a bookshelf with several mysteries kept on it?

Alma laughed. "We use bookshelves. Isabel and I never pass on a mystery after we finish it because we often like to reread them later."

We’re a pair of genuine bookworms, Isabel said.

I often stay up all night plowing through a mystery from cover to cover, Alma said.

Perhaps you should cut back on your reading to get more sleep, Blue said.

Goats will wear stiletto heels first, Alma said.

Blue cracked another smile at the absurd image. Do you also enjoy collecting books? he asked.

It sounds like a gas, but we prefer to just read the books, Alma replied.

Have you got a free minute, Blue? Isabel asked. Our library is a short jaunt down the hallway. We’ll tiptoe past Alma’s bedroom where Petey Samson is taking his nap.

Alma raised her eyebrows. Yeah, he’s such a light sleeper.

Might I get a rain check on it? Blue asked, arising from the sofa. I should get back to my compadres.

How does a game of Scrabble played over tall glasses of iced tea grab you? Isabel asked.

Isabel has got the Scrabble fever something awful, Alma said.

She looks intense and ready to play, Blue said. But Willie and Ossie will want to hear the good news you’ve taken on Ralph’s case.

We assume Sheriff Fox got the taxicab, Isabel said.

He called Acme Hook-and-Haul who towed it to the impoundment yard, Blue replied, returning to his seat on the sofa. He assured me they’ll go over it with a fine-toothed comb in search of evidence.

Don’t hold your breath, Alma said.

How many details have you learned about last night? Isabel asked.

Blue wagged his head. Not many, I fear. Ralph sat in his taxicab parked on this side of the railroad crossing stop bar. It being a warm night, he put down the driver’s side window. Blue stopped and breathed in and out before he finished his account.

The killer strolled up casual as a summer breeze, took deliberate aim, and fatally shot Ralph once in the chest. Early this morning, Deputy Bexley driving by noticed Ralph slumped over the steering wheel. Blue swallowed. He was dead. Deputy Bexley radioed the sheriff before he broke out his chalk sticks.

Alma shuddered over the cold-blooded murder, and even the stoic Isabel’s complexion turned a shade of ashen gray.

Did Sheriff Fox recover the murder weapon? she asked.

He looked everywhere but no dice, Blue replied. He checked the Seth Thomas ticking away on the mantel then looked at the sisters. Are you curious? he asked. Would you like to see the spot?

I was about to suggest the same thing, Alma said, glancing out the window at their dusty blue 4-door sedan. It’s my turn to chauffeur us.

Aw, it’s such a nice day, let’s just walk, Blue said.

Isabel, have you got on your walking shoes? Alma asked.

I’ll be ready in a jiff, Isabel replied. Sheriff Fox should have taken down all of the yellow crime scene tape he likes to use.

Blue scowled with displeasure. Will he interfere with your sleuthing as he’s done in the past?

Well, Roscoe is the elected sheriff, Isabel replied. So, this time will be no different than the previous ones.

He’ll make his voice gruff while chiding us not to meddle, Alma said. Then he’ll turn a blind eye to our peeper activities until we find the right solution, and he’ll waltz in and snap up the credit.

I don’t mind him getting the credit if he puts Ralph’s killer behind bars, Blue said.

Sheriff Fox can brag all he wants, Alma said. We like to keep a low profile now anyway.

We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Isabel said. We still haven’t examined the crime scene.

Should I jostle Petey Samson awake? Alma asked.

This first time we’ll go alone to survey it, Isabel replied, taking up her pocketbook. Our superstar bloodhound will get his opportunity to shine later.

Blue turned to Alma. Did she just say superstar? he asked. Did I hear that right?

On anything having to do with Petey Samson, it’s best to go along to get along, Alma said. Isabel is flat-out nuts about him.

One can never shower enough love on one’s pet, Isabel said.

Did wise, old Confucius once say that? Alma asked.

Not at all, Isabel replied. Wise, old Isabel just did.

Their sisters’s chirpy banter made Blue laugh out loud, and they were off to tackle deciphering the new mystery.

Chapter 2

Though Quiet Anchorage may never appear on Fodor’s Top 10 Best Small Towns in America, the hamlet kept its own rustic atmosphere. For instance, the trio of patriarchs occupied the wooden bench situated in front of Lago Azul Florist Shop. It was freshly painted terracotta red with its trim in topaz blue. On any sunny, warm day, they arrived a few minutes after breakfast, claimed their seats (their initials carved in the wood marked each place), and hung out there until nightfall sent them home.

Ossie Conger, Willie Moccasin, and Blue Trent were the town’s eagle-eyed historians who took note of every detail no matter how trivial or mundane. Nimble and alert for their hoary ages, they scheduled catnaps throughout the day. However, the designated Musketeer had to remain awake and observant so nothing slipped by them. He also left on his cell phone. They boasted they’d only once or twice broken their cardinal rules.

The townies knew them as the Three Musketeers. The dog tags from their live combat during the big war jangled around their necks. They never tired of recounting their World War Two stories, which they took a few liberties with to embellish. Moreover, their war medals count kept escalating, and only the great Audie Murphy had been awarded more. Willie had the family connection to his grandniece Corina who owned and operated Lago Azul Florist Shop.

Average and portly, Corina had the patience of a saint to put up with the Musketeers. They chattered, cackled, and cut up like boys still at heart do when they get together. On the inclement days, she held open the door for them to lug the wooden bench into her dry, warm shop. The ferny chlorophyll odor commingling with the sweet rose fragrance added to its homey atmosphere. She offered her customers a mug of hot coffee or a glass of iced tea to go with the strawberry lemon scones and chocolate-topped cupcakes she set out on a tray.

The Musketeers perched on the wooden bench and kept up their vigilance on Main Street by peering through her expansive plate glass window. She spent those trying days gritting her teeth and pursing her lips. Willie once took off Blue’s dog tags while he napped and hid them in Corina’s delicate orchids stocked for the prom season, and the prank lit her fuse.

"Ay, caramba, Uncle Willie! Corina said. You behave naughtier than my five-year-old grandson Tino."

The contrite Willie was in her doghouse. He had to make the trip to pick up her fried baloney sandwich lunch from Eddy’s Deli. A week went by before she got over her anger to boot them out of her la floristeria.

The sunny but unseasonably low humidity made the July afternoon ideal hammock lounging weather, but Isabel and Alma had no time to sway in hammocks. She glimpsed the electric orange plumage to a not often seen Baltimore oriole flitting into an American elm. The road signs upon entering Quiet Anchorage marked it as a bird sanctuary to all except the resident cats.

Blue led the sisters to Main Street. He was the slowest tortoise, so they put him in the front to set their pace. His unhurried feet didn’t affect his mouth as he gabbed away. Alma wished they’d taken the faster sedan, but maybe Blue’s talking eased some of his grief. If it did, she was glad.

Mr. Know-It-All Willie is quick to point out Ralph took his chances as a cabdriver, Blue said. It’s one of the most dangerous professions because the robberies are frequent, Willie says. Picking up the fares from the curb increases the risks because the cabdrivers don’t know who’s clambering into the rear seat. I said Ralph was a cabdriver in Quiet Anchorage, not in New York City, Chicago, or L.A where the bad crime occurs. Guess what happened next? Willie didn’t budge an inch but dug in like a black gum stump.

Why is that? Isabel asked.

He gets his dander up and goes into a funk when anybody disagrees with him, Blue replied.

He’s always been the most temperamental Musketeer, Alma said.

Appeal to his sense of decency to see Ralph gets justice, Isabel said.

Then you should be the ones who talk to Willie, Blue said. He’s exhausted my patience.

Surely you exaggerate to make a point, Isabel said. He can’t be acting that crotchety.

Blue scoffed. Just goes to show you don’t know the real Willie.

They stopped at the wooden bench. The seated Ossie waved a hand as he put aside his cell phone. Willie sat at the far end of the wooden bench, his back turned to them. Blue pointed at the sulking Willie, and Ossie rolled his what-are-you-going-to-do eyes.

Isabel exhaled a long breath. The things sleuths had to do. Her bunions were barking from her hike over the sidewalk. She wished she had the time to soak them in a soothing Epsom saltwater bath. She was in no mood to tolerate Willie’s pouting, not with Ralph’s murder mystery waiting for them to solve.

Hello, Willie, she said, approaching him. What’s the good word besides our still dodging coffins?

Sorry but I’m not speaking, Isabel, Willie said, crossing his arms on his chest. My opinion no longer matters, and I’m persona non grata. Therefore I’ll just sit here like a statue at Madame Toussauds and say nary a peep.

Willie, you’ve got paste wax between your ears for brains, Blue said.

Sticks and stones, Blue, Willie said. My vow of silence goes double for you.

Music to my ears, Blue said. I won’t have to listen to anymore cornball UFO tales.

You shall remain unenlightened, Willie said. I pity you when they land on Earth and take over.

Stuff your pity, Blue said. I’ll take my chances.

Everybody except Willie looked to Isabel. It was up to her. She readjusted her pocketbook, and her voice turned crisp and stern like a school principal speaking.

Willie Moccasin, you better straighten up and fly right, Isabel said. Your behaving petulant as a spoiled school kid is unacceptable.

Huh? Willie swiveled his head around to her.

You heard me, Isabel said.

Are you going to box my ears? Willie asked.

Will my boxing your ears fix your pouty snit? Isabel replied.

Uncrossing his arms, he cracked a grin. I’ll put aside my issues to spare my ears. He rotated on the wooden bench and sat beside Ossie who smiled.

Welcome back to the fold, Ossie said.

Thanks, compadre, Willie said as they bumped fists.

Murmuring, Blue gave Alma a sidelong glance. How did Isabel do that? he asked.

Alma shrugged. It’s a trade secret. Just thank your lucky stars she’s on our side.

No kidding, Blue said.

For the first time since Ralph’s murder, Blue saw an ember of hope enliven. The killer couldn’t be sitting too easy once the news got out the bulldog Trumbo sisters were on the case. He was so pleased he did the unthinkable and offered either sister his bench spot. While Alma stepped up to rest her bones on it, Isabel spoke.

Thanks, but if we sit down, we’ll never be able to get back up, she said.

Alma didn’t look pleased with Isabel’s pronouncement.

Whatever you prefer Isabel is swell by me, Ossie said, his adoring eyes all over her.

Isabel sighed. He still had a crush on her if that term applied to seniors. At any rate, Cupid showed no age discrimination. Alma had joshed Isabel about it until she pointed out Alma would be packing her bags and relocating if Isabel and Ossie ever tied the knot. Petey Samson would remain with Isabel. Now Alma did everything in her power to tangle up Ossie’s best-laid plans to snare a new bride. He felt as if he had lots to offer, beginning with he still owned his original set of choppers and had a kitchen the size of Texas.

Ossie, snap out of it, you moonstruck old coot, Blue said. Honestly, I don’t know what has come over you.

This old coot is no different than you are, Ossie said.

Shall we go see where Deputy Bexley found Ralph? Willie asked.

Lead on, Macduff Blue replied.

Have any of you been down to see it? Isabel asked.

We’ll be first timers like you, Willie replied.

"Enough