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

today?”
    “We drove over to Jake’s place.”
    “You went over there?” Dwight stood up and opened the window behind his desk. “You can’t just do that or Sheriff Fox will charge you with obstructing justice.”
    “That’s silly.”
    “By coming here, you must have something in mind for me to do.”
    “I’m glad you asked. First, a list of the townspeople who own .38 handguns would be nice,” replied Isabel.
    “No, Isabel, a .44 handgun was used to kill Jake,” said Alma.
      “I doubt if such a list can be obtained from any database, so what else?” asked Dwight.
    “Goose Sheriff Fox to give you a carbon of Megan’s police report,” replied Isabel.
    Dwight nodded. “You know, the prosecution has a formidable case to hurl at us. Have you considered a plan of action if her outcome is guilty?”
    Alma’s hot, blue eyes seared him. “Your client is innocent until a jury convicts her and don’t you forget it.”
    “It was just a thought,” he said.
    Isabel weighed in. “If Megan is found guilty, then the appeals process cranks up, only we can’t afford to reach that stage. Alma and I don’t enjoy the luxury of years, so we’ll go for broke now, and that means our taking calculated risks.”
    He gulped a little. “Just don’t calculate your risks too large and upset Sheriff Fox.”
    “Dwight, quit acting like his flunky. Isabel is right. You work for us,” said Alma.
    They left Dwight’s office, and Isabel’s cell phone chirped. Alma alternated her eyes from driving over the blacktop to her pensive sister who carried on a terse conversation and signed off.
    “Who was your caller?” asked Alma.
    “Our favorite girl reporter,” replied Isabel. “Her editor caught wind of Jake’s murder and Megan’s arrest. Bad news travels fast, I suppose. Anyway, she asked if we’re on Megan’s case.”
    “What did you say?”
    “You just heard me say we’re checking into a few leads. She said she’d love to do a follow up story, how it’d make for an ‘awesome feature’. We don’t have the time for such nonsense, and I told her to buzz off, but I couched it in nicer language.”
    Alma didn’t agree. “Readers love to root for underdogs like us. Suppose we talked to our reporter, and her story ran? Imagine how advantageous it’d be if most of Quiet Anchorage rallied behind us.”
    “I’m never keen to work in the limelight.”
    “How can we shun free publicity if it can help out Megan?”
    “We do need all the support we can drum up.” Isabel pointed out the windshield. “Don’t miss our turn again.”
    Alma hit the brakes, and the sedan vaulted off the state road, hitting the loose gravel to slew into Jake’s driveway. Isabel’s hands flew up to brace herself against the dashboard as the rear tires fishtailed around. Alma’s white-knuckled grip held the steering wheel as they swept broadside. Her deft maneuver stabilized the sedan’s tires, and somehow they didn’t spin out. The sedan’s locked tires skating to a halt scraped up the furls of dust.
    “Are you a daredevil now?” asked Isabel, shaken.
    “Sorry, I got distracted there, but we’re here in one piece,” said Alma.
    Isabel nodded at the house. “Do you carry a set of lock picks?”
    “Of course not, but maybe Jake left his door open.”
    But they found Jake’s door was locked.
    Remembering what Megan had once told her, Alma kicked over a fake rock and found the spare key inside its hollow compartment. She used the key, and they entered the sun porch Jake had converted into his office. The stifling space looked disheveled with manila folders spilled over the carpet. They saw the large walnut desk and the three green metal file cabinets Jumpy had pointed out. The length of angle iron that was fitted into the brackets welded to each cabinet and held with a combination padlock secured the drawers shut.
    “Might the desk be unlocked?” said Alma.
    It was. She drew out each desk drawer, and Isabel sorted through its