Eve's Win: Isabel & Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series, #10

By Ed Lynskey

For their tenth mystery, Isabel and Alma Trumbo, the retired sister sleuths living in Quiet Anchorage, Virginia, undertake solving yet another murder mystery. When their friend Eve Palmer phones Isabel to ask for the sisters' assistance in searching for her lost winning lottery ticket, they drive out to her house and make a shocking discovery: Eve has been slain. Outraged and puzzled, Isabel and Alma put on their detective hats, sharpen their wits, and commence their snooping. Of course, Sammi Jo Garner, their gritty sidekick, and Petey Samson, their irrepressible beagle, help to develop the leads, identify the suspects, and unmask Eve's killer. The trio of old codgers affectionately known as the Three Musketeers also makes their contributions. The bumbling Sheriff Fox does his best to keep up with them. Told with lots of good humor and funny situations, Eve's Win is a clean read and traditional whodunit set in a charming Southern small town. Join Isabel and Alma when they set off on solving their latest mystery that is as fun and challenging for them as it is for the reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ECL Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386727910

Book preview

LICENSE STATEMENT

Copyright © 2019 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.

This e-Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Front cover attribution: Gkuna/Shutterstock.com purchased and used under the Standard License as cited in the Shutterstock Customer Support and FAQs (September 4, 2017).

Other Books by Ed Lynskey

Isabel and Alma 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

Hope Jones Cozy Mystery Series (as Lyn Key)

Nozy Cat 1

Nozy Cat 2

Nozy Cat 3

Ginny Dove Cozy Mystery Series (Lea Charles)

Found Key

Private Investigator Frank Johnson Mystery 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

Short Story Collection

Smoking on Mount Rushmore

Chapter 1

I say fiddlesticks and fiddle dee-dee on doing any more housework today, Alma said. Trumbo Manor isn’t that messy. Am I right, pooch?

Petey Samson, their weight-challenged (to quote her sister Isabel) beagle, watched Alma with his caramel brown eyes while his wagging tail thumped on the floor.

Woof-woof.

I declare Isabel is turning into Felix Unger’s grandmother, Alma said as she swiped the feather duster over the lampshade. Everything must be spick and span, or she flings a conniption fit. A little dirt never hurt anybody. Heck, we once milked our dairy cows inside a dirt-floor barn.

Alma picked up the mystery with her bookmark in it. She brushed the feather duster on the front cover as she peered over her shoulder at the doorway. The coast was clear. Isabel was busy polishing the front windows sparkling clean. In dramatic fashion, Alma patted back a fake yawn.

Mercy, this featherdusting has plumb worn me out, she said. I deserve a break.

Woof-woof.

No, you may not take a siesta, Alma said. You’re my watchdog keeping an eye out for Isabel. Now go do your duty.

Petey Samson just sat there and yawned.

Alma flipped the feather duster to the nightstand and plopped down on the bed. Ah, that feels so good, she said. After opening the mystery to the bookmarked place, she slid out a bag of bear claws from the nightstand drawer.

Somehow, she squished and crammed the entire bear claw into her mouth. Mmm. It tastes like more, she tried to say. As she enjoyed chewing, she felt the force of a stare on her. She glanced down and saw Petey Samson’s panhandler face that melted her heart.

One doggie treat won’t hurt anything, she said after swallowing.

Petey Samson’s tail wagged faster.

Don’t breathe a word of it to a soul. It’s very hush-hush and our little secret, Alma said.

Woof-woof.

Especially not to Skinny Minnie Isabel, Alma said.

Alma rattled out five doggie treats from the packet she kept on hand. Then she added one more since the sun was shining, and the bluebirds were singing. Petey Samson wolfed down the doggie treats as fast as she had the bear claw, licked his chops, and gave her another panhandler face.

I’ll slip you two more doggie treats, Alma said. But first should I go for seconds? What do you think?

Woof-woof.

Excellent point, Alma said. Today is half-finished, and I can always start on my new diet tomorrow.

She made short order of the second bear claw.

Shall I go for broke on my third one? she asked. We don’t want them to go stale and have to throw them out.

Woof-woof.

Did you dare me to eat my third bear claw? Alma asked.

Woof-woof.

Did I get a double dog dare? Alma asked.

Woof-woof.

Did you up it to a triple dog dare? Alma asked.

Woof-woof.

As Alma reached into the bag for her third bear claw, Isabel called out from the living room.

Yoo-hoo, how are you doing, Alma? Isabel asked. I haven’t heard you grumbling lately.

How did she finish cleaning the windows so fast? Alma whispered to Petey Samson as she withdrew her hand and tossed aside the mystery.

Woof-woof.

Why is Petey Samson barking so much? Isabel asked.

Alma hopped up from the bed, shoved the bag of bear claws back into the nightstand drawer, and snatched up the feather duster. As she swished it, she put on her pooped-out expression and mussed up her hair.

We’ve been working our fingers to the nubs, Alma replied.

You can finish dusting later, Isabel said, striding down the hallway. We have something important to do.

Is it a new murder mystery? Alma asked perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Eve Palmer just phoned. She can’t find her winning lottery ticket and asked us to help her track it down. I said we’d drive over to her place and do whatever we can.

We solve murder mysteries, Isabel. Period.

Isabel reached the bedroom doorway, looked in, and saw the depression Alma had left on the made-up bed from her lying on it.

Are you napping on the job again? Isabel asked.

I took a five-minute reading break, Alma replied. Did you tell Eve we don’t sign up for conducting Easter egg hunts?

She’s upset so I told her we’d assist her since we purport to be sleuths.

Is Petey Samson coming with us?

Does a one-legged duck paddle in circles?

I’ll take that as a roundabout yes. Sammi Jo should also accompany us if she can.

Sammi Jo Garner was their twentysomething sleuthing assistant and intrepid friend.

Isabel smiled. She went shopping with her Aunt Phyllis. They’re hitting the new shoe store in Warrenton to redeem Sammi Jo’s twenty-five percent off coupon.

Lucky ducks.

Next time we’ll go shopping for shoes. Right now we’re off to give Eve a hand.

It’s not a murder mystery, but it’s a mystery nonetheless. Alma dropped the feather duster. We’ll find Eve’s lottery ticket and then hit Eddy’s Deli for dinner.

It will be a little early to eat dinner.

Then we’ll order iced tea, bear claws, and get the latest tittle-tattle from Tabitha.

I love it when great minds like ours think alike, Isabel said. Lace up your gumshoes, I’ll dig out the car keys, and we’ll get cracking.

***

Quiet Anchorage sat nestled in the Virginia Piedmont along a twin railroad line where the trains still ran on a regular schedule. The modern trains enchanted Isabel. Nothing stirred her heart to beat faster than hearing a train’s steely clickety-clacks rolling up on their small town while blowing its air horn whistle.

It was Alma’s turn to drive the powder blue, four-door car, and they rode over to Eve Palmer’s house. Isabel pointed to the empty space at the curb. However, the superstitious Alma refused to park behind Eve’s sedan painted unlucky green. Isabel said nothing, Alma parked further down the block, and they doubled their strides to Eve’s front yard.

They admired the Shasta daisies, purple lavender, and paprika yarrows blooming in her well-tended flower beds. As local gardeners, Isabel and Alma were best known for digging up the leg bone of a murder victim (Betsy Sweet) in their marigold bed. Glass garden stakes flanked the porch steps they climbed to the split-level.

Isabel thumbed the doorbell button. They waited. She clacked the brass doorknocker. Again, they waited. Alma shifted her pocketbook straps to her other forearm. Isabel swabbed off the beads of perspiration from her forehead. Hoping for better results, Alma also used the doorbell button and brass doorknocker. Still nobody responded.

Eve is expecting us, Isabel said. See if the doorknob turns.

Be my guest, Alma said, shifting aside. The law frowns on little old ladies breaking into homes, and I look dowdy in prison orange.

Just so you know, if I go down, I’m taking you with me, sister, Isabel said as she opened the unlocked front door. Petey Samson waddled in first to the dimmer, cooler house interior, and they followed him. 

Did Eve leave her door unlocked? Isabel asked.

The last statistic I read was twelve percent of senior citizens don’t secure their doors, Alma replied. In the small towns like ours, the rate probably runs higher.

We should remain in the eighty-eight percent who do, Isabel said. Yoo-hoo, are you home, Eve?

Alma sniffed. Is that blackberry jam I can smell cooking?

Why don’t you poke your head into the kitchen and see? Maybe Eve didn’t hear us.

She dislikes wearing her hearing aid. Where are you going?

Isabel pointed to the upstairs. Maybe she’s resting on her bed or quilting in her sewing room.

Then I’ll scout around down here.

Give me a holler if I haven’t come down when you finish. Keep in mind our quest is for Eve’s lottery ticket, not the clues in a murder mystery.

Thanks for the reminder. Sometimes I get sidetracked by our murder mysteries.

Isabel watched Alma walk toward the living room. All she needed was a deerstalker hat, tweed cape, and curved pipe to round out the scene. Isabel still wondered how they’d become amateur detectives of all things and stayed busier than ever during their golden years. She followed Petey Samson up the carpeted stairs and peeked into each of Eve’s bedrooms, the last one converted into a sewing room.

Eve wasn’t around. Isabel noted how Eve’s house looked neater and cleaner than their brick rambler did. Alma wasn’t a sloppy housemate, but she tolerated dirt better than Isabel did. Eve’s walnut double bed, dresser, and bureau looked as if they’d been unloaded from the delivery truck and set up yesterday.

Eve owned a distinctive zebra-print jewelry box. Isabel examined a few costume pieces: faux pearl earrings, rhinestone broaches (worn at night), and a kitschy mood ring from the mid-1970s. Smiling, she remembered having one. She saw no expensive pieces. Closing the lid, she spoke to her pet.

Does everything look shipshape and up to snuff? Isabel asked.

Woof-woof.

I think it does, too, Isabel said.

Woof-woof.

I realize it appears as if we’re talking, but you’re just barking at the sound of your name, Isabel said. Isn’t that true, pooch?

Woof-woof.

That’s what I thought, but I wanted to double-check, Isabel said. If the townies think I’m Doctor Isabel Dolittle, we’re in deep yogurt. We’ll keep our private conversations, well, private. Deal?

Woof-woof.

If you want Alma to know, I guess it’s okay. She probably also talks to you on occasion.

Woof-woof.

Yoo-hoo, Isabel, Alma’s voice called out from the bottom of the stairway.

Petey Samson and I are still up here, Isabel replied as she returned to the stairhead.

I thought I overheard you talking to somebody.

Petey Samson and I were chatting. You must do that with him, too.

I read out loud to him. His favorite authors are Chandler with a dash of Hammett tossed in.

Isabel laughed. He’s our hardboiled mutt. You must’ve found something. Is it Eve’s lottery ticket?

No, I found Eve.

Then just gently nudge her awake from her nap on the sofa and tell her we’ve arrived to help her search for her lottery ticket. She’ll understand and won’t bite.

As much as I’d love to gently nudge her awake, I’m afraid I can’t, Isabel.

Oh, for the love of Pete, why do I have to do everything?

You can try waking her up, but it won’t do any good.

Why might that be?

Because Eve is a corpse, and they keep on sleeping.

Are you dead certain of it? Isabel winced at making her awkward pun as she met Alma downstairs.

I can recheck, but I think I know all the right signs.

Murder?

I take no pleasure in reporting it is murder.

Poor Eve, Isabel said, shaking her head.

We liked her as a neighbor and friend. She’ll be missed by many.

Isabel dabbed the corners of her moist eyes with a tissue she’d taken out. Well put, and it’s very sad.

Do you have any extra hankies? Alma asked. I have a cinder or something in my eye.

We can take out a few moments to pause and reset, Isabel said.

Chapter 2

Isabel looked at the spot on the living room floor where a white sheet covered the sharp contours of Eve Palmer’s dead body.

I took it from the linen closet, Alma said. I don’t know if it’s according to Hoyle, but I’m not looking at her in that horrid condition any longer.

You did the right thing. Isabel looked at Alma. Eve told me her lottery ticket is worth five million dollars.

Alma’s eyebrows lifted as her eyes grew large as a pair of teacup saucers. Talk about presto, your instant multi-millionaire.

We discover Eve is dead, and we know her five-million dollar lottery ticket is gone. That adds up to murder and theft in my book.

"Obviously, Eve called you about her missing lottery ticket before her murder occurred."

What if the thief left something behind incriminating like a smartphone or key ring? What if he or she returned here to retrieve it? What if Eve had already returned home and got in the way?

Alma nodded. Murder would certainly get her out of the way. 

You received your wish for a new murder mystery.

I was only kidding. Just the same, we’re back in our old roles so let’s get busy.

Naturally, Sheriff Fox should hear the bad tidings, Isabel said.

Roscoe is always thrilled to take your call, Alma said, her tongue planted firmly in her cheek.

***

Hello yourself, Isabel, Sheriff Roscoe Fox said. Is this a social call?

Roscoe, have we ever just chatted over the phone? Isabel replied.

There is a first time for everything.

I’ll cut to the chase. Are you terribly busy at the moment?

Sheriff Fox nudged aside his laptop. He’d lost his last three games of computer solitaire and suspected he’d downloaded a weird virus that interfered with his game play.

Before I answer that, why do you ask? he replied.

Isabel chuckled. I’ve got you worried, huh?

I admit my heart palpitations have increased, and my breaths quickened. I hope you won’t be dropping the M-bomb on me.

I’m afraid it’s looking increasingly that way.