you feel sad.” Alma was contrite.
Isabel
shook her head and patted Alma on the shoulder. “It’s okay, really it is. Lilacs
are wonderful springtime flowers, and I love them.”
“By the
same token, the asters are dignified flowers. Now with our floral dispute put
to bed, maybe we can wrap our minds back around our latest conundrum.”
“We have
not made a dent in solving Ladybug’s baffling murder case.”
Alma nodded once. “This time strangely enough Sheriff Fox has given us the green light to be
snooping to our hearts’ content.”
“It’s also
strange how we haven’t received his phone call.”
“He’s sitting
at his desk cooling his heels and waiting for us to give him the killer’s
identity.”
“You
know about our doing that, we can’t always bat a perfect one thousand. There’s
going to come a time sooner or later when our best efforts will go unrewarded,
and we’ll not solve the mystery.”
“I’m
willing to admit as much, but Phyllis is depending on us too much this time to
let her down.”
Isabel
rearranged her pocketbook to lie on her lap. She laughed at a thought. “I used
to envision retirement as my golden years when I’d lounge about the house doing
little or nothing all day long.”
“What
you describe strikes me as a maddeningly boring existence and not right for us.”
“How much
longer do you estimate we’ll be able to keep doing our snooping activities?”
“I reckon
we’ll be sleuths for another ten, maybe fifteen years. I’m not just pulling
that optimistic projection out of thin air either. There are precedents to
support it. Jane Marple was an octogenarian while Jessica Fletcher was in her seventies.
By the end of her illustrious career, Emily
Pollifax had to be pushing her late seventies. ”
Isabel laughed.
“The three examples you just cited are the fictional characters found in our
library.”
“Even if
they are, I have every faith my comparisons hold up,” said Alma. “I’m just
saying we’re only getting started on our geriatric capers and haven’t hit our
stride yet.”
“Age is just
a number and nothing more,” said Isabel.
“You
said a mouthful, sister,” said Alma.
Isabel’s
cell phone pealed out with its unique ringtone, and she checked on who her
caller was. “What do you know? Sammi Jo is on the line.”
Alma did the cell phone pantomime with her hand put to her ear. “Answer it.”
Isabel
did.
”Believe
it or not, right at this moment I am standing inside of Ladybug’s townhouse,”
said Sammi Jo.
Isabel’s
glance at Alma showed surprise. “That is marvelous to hear but how did you manage
to get past her locked door?” asked Isabel. “Voodoo magic?”
“I thought
of a way to refine my lock picking technique,” replied Sammi Jo. “Are you busy?
When you get over here, I’ll lay it out for you.”
“We’ll see
you within the next fifteen minutes.” Isabel hung up.
“What’s up
with our youngest sleuth?’ asked Alma.
“She got
into Ladybug’s townhouse and is waiting for us to join her there,” replied
Isabel.
“Did Sammi
Jo crawl through a raised window?” asked Alma.
“She
said she thought of how to fine-tune her lock picking technique,” replied
Isabel. “She’s turned into our own Houdini where no type of lock fazes her.”
Alma did a nifty U-turn and they took off making a beeline for Ladybug’s townhouse. Petey
Samson would have to tarry a bit longer at Dr. Ruffian’s office before his snooping
mistresses had an opportunity to come and bring him home.
Chapter 11
Isabel looked
at Sammi Jo. “Have you had the time to poke around much?”
Sammi Jo
surveyed Ladybug’s tasteful suite of living room furniture. It included the
sofa, two armchairs, low coffee table, and two end tables. The sunflower yellow
ginger jar lamp on each end table was a recent acquisition. The darker gold
carpet underfoot carried the new carpet smell and looked freshly vacuumed. The
room looked picked up as if