Free Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 01 - Quiet Anchorage by Ed Lynskey

lawyer, Jumpy. Megan is in good hands,” said Isabel. “Did Jake do any recent work on your truck?”
    Jumpy’s chest puffed out. “He knocked out a brake job for me, and why not? His prices aren’t outrageous, and he always stands—or rather stood—behind his repairs.”
    “Did you see any strangers at his shop?” asked Isabel.
    “No ma’am, it was just us. He told me of his plans to grow his business. He hoped to restore old car models and start a vintage car museum.”
    “Megan probably had other ideas,” said Alma.
    Jumpy made an annoyed face.
    “Did he use an office?” asked Isabel.
    “An office?” Jumpy paused, thinking. “Sure, his big walnut desk sits inside the rear sun porch. I recall seeing the file cabinets there, too. Yep, he was big on organization, and you’d never see any mess.”
    “Megan is like that,” said Alma. “He must’ve picked up his neatness from her.”
    Jumpy sucked between his teeth. “Yeah well, Jake was a regular wizard with a torque wrench. How swift is she at carburetor repairs?”
    “She’s smart enough to do anything she sits her mind to,” said Alma, sounding bellicose. “When we saw Jake’s place, it was a big mess—”
    Isabel horned in to defuse the brewing argument. “Jumpy, do you offer fish specials today?”
    “No ma’am, but come back on Thursday. My fish guy busted a truck axle outside of Tappahannock. He needs a Jake-type to repair it for him.” Jumpy glanced at Alma.
    “Since when have you liked fish?” Alma asked Isabel.
    “Since Jumpy sells it fresh on Thursday when we’ll want to return,” replied Isabel, giving Alma a meaningful glance.
    “Then I’ll see you on Thursday, Jumpy,” said Alma, catching on to cool it.
    Jumpy lifted the butcher knife, and it landed with a chilling thud on the wood chopping block. Whack-whack-whack. Alma and Isabel picked up their gait to make a speedy trip through the aisles of the store. They gathered a few items in a shopping basket and paid at the checkout lane up front.
    After a quick jaunt home to unload their purchases, Alma drove them down Main Street out to the highway where she made a right turn. At the corner, they passed the only clinic in Quiet Anchorage, a single-story brick building built several years earlier. A lone sign-carrying pro-lifer picketed, walking back and forth in front of the door. Both sisters received their medical care, including for Alma’s allergy, at the clinic as did most of the town residents. In fact, Alma couldn’t imagine what they’d do if the clinic were ever forced to close, and they had to drive all of seven miles to Warrenton to consult a doctor.
    “Does the clinic also host the morgue?” asked Alma.
    “No, Jake will be autopsied by the medical examiner in Warrenton,” replied Isabel.
    “I don’t mind Quiet Anchorage not having its own morgue.”
    “Yes, a morgue adds little to a town’s quaint charm. Shall we go see Dwight, not that he has anything to do with a morgue?” said Isabel.

Chapter 12
     
    “Don’t you grasp how your nuisance snooping jeopardizes our prospects for winning Megan an acquittal?” The exasperated Dwight Holden’s cufflinks clicked on his desktop as he leaned forward to drive his point home.
    “Talked to Sheriff Fox lately, have you?” said Alma.
    “As a matter of fact, Alma, I did. He’s livid. He ordered me to keep my client’s aunts on a short leash, and I gave him my pledge that I would my best.”
    Isabel pursed her lips. “We don’t like hearing you talked to him. Remember who’s paying your fee, and it isn’t him.”
    “He contacted me, and I couldn’t very well hang up on him,” said Dwight. “Now I must recommend that you quit doing stuff without first consulting me.”
    “Your two cents are noted,” said Alma.
    “But now you’ll do as you please against my counsel.”
    “We’re not baking pralines while Sheriff Fox fabricates his bogus case to bury Megan.”
    “What have you been up to so far