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

contents, but nothing constructive turned up. They found outdated racecar magazines soiled by greasy prints.
    Isabel removed her floppy straw hat and used it as a fan. Alma leaned over to peek behind the file cabinets and plucked out a yardstick advertising the “State Bank of Quiet Anchorage”. Giving a small shrug, she returned the yardstick.
    “Jumpy commented on the neatness, but we see this mess. A curious sort might ask why,” said Isabel.
    “Maybe the murderer ransacked the office,” said Alma.
    “What was he after?” Isabel rested a hand on a file cabinet. “Why didn’t he rustle up the shop tools and break open the padlocks? Did Megan coming along scare him off?”
    “She told us she didn’t see or hear anybody.” Alma picked up the white pages directory under the telephone. “For now, we’ll call back our favorite reporter.”
    “We look so grubby.” Isabel brushed a smudge of dust off her blouse sleeve. “Use my cell phone, not the desk phone.”
    Nodding, Alma adjusted her cuff. “We’ve got no official PI agency name to give the press.”
    “We’ll be Isabel and Alma, Incorporated, or shorten it to I & A, Inc.”
    “That sounds too cute. The Trumbo Sisters Investigation Firm is more elegant.”
    “Except elegance isn’t really us.”
    “How about if we go with the Trumbo Sisters Detective Agency?”
    Smiling, Isabel nodded. “Yeah, now that has the best ring to it.”

Chapter 13
     
    With the reporter running late, Alma and Isabel rested in their armchairs at home. Isabel called Dwight inquiring on the list of gun owners. He moaned, saying such a list was difficult if not impossible to dig out, so she told him to keep on digging. She also said he still hadn’t obtained Megan’s police report and to find out when the M.E. had scheduled Jake’s autopsy. They hung up. When her cell phone rang, Isabel expected it was the late reporter asking for better directions.
    Instead an authoritative baritone spoke in her ear. “This is Mr. Oglethorpe from the Richmond office. Am I speaking to Ms. Trumbo?”
    “Yes, Mr. Oglethorpe, I’m Mrs. Isabel Trumbo. How may I help you?”
    “Confidential sources inform me that you operate a PI firm. Please confirm or deny that information.”
    Isabel, her eyebrows veed, gave Alma an askance look. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
    “I happen to have your local newspaper up on my computer screen. The article’s topic is a detective firm you run with your sister, Ms. Alma Trumbo.”
    “I see.”
    “The article goes on to say you solved a case of vandalism in your town cemetery, and a second mystery concerning some errant church money.”
    Peering over her bifocals, Alma hissed at Isabel. “It’s not the IRS again, is it?”
    Also whispering, Isabel cupped a hand over the cell phone. “A Mr. Oglethorpe from the Richmond office is asking me about our detective agency.”
    “Mrs. Trumbo, tell me, do you hold a private detective license?” His emphasis fell on the last word: license .
    “We’re unaware of any such license,” replied Isabel in an innocent tone belying the alarm making her heart gallop. “But then we don’t charge a fee for our work.”
    “You don’t charge any fees.” He took a quick breath. “While the article doesn’t say that you’re professionals, the impression conveyed that you take money is unmistakable.”
    Isabel welcomed the warm relief coursing through her. “Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Oglethorpe, but we haven’t collected one thin dime.”
    His cadence grew snippy, his frustration apparent. “Does your business plan project to make future earnings, say, in three to five years?”
    “At seventy-six, my taking any long-range view is impractical.”
    “Oh. Imagine that. Like always, I only get half of the information I need.”
    “I can empathize with your frustration.”
    “But I intend to keep close tabs on you.”
    “We’re always home if you wish to call again. Good-bye.”
    She punched off and