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

into righting the gravestones. Several days later they drove past the cemetery and saw the gravestones had tipped over again.
    “Sheriff Fox can’t blame it on the wind again,” said Alma.
    Isabel nodded. “Even a hurricane gale force can’t blow over a tombstone.”
    “Truants bored by their free time did it.” Alma scowled at Isabel. “We should take this vandalism personally.”
    “I do but Sheriff Fox hasn’t done anything about it.”
    “Evidently graveyard vigils aren’t his main concern.”
    “It’s Friday. The vandals will probably return to get more kicks tonight, and we can be there ready to catch them.”
    Alma shivered. “We’ll catch the death of cold.”
    “The nights have been unseasonably warm.” Isabel measured up her younger sister. “I think something else is behind your reluctance.”
    Alma scoffed. “What?”
    “I count three rabbits’ feet dangling on your key ring.”
    Alma smacked her lips, a sign of irritation. “So, I like to collect rabbits’ feet, but I’ll have you know I don’t have a superstitious bone in my body.”
    “Then I dare you to play the graveyard sentry with me.”
    “Fine only because I want you to see I’m not superstitious.”
    * * * *
    Later that evening, they hunched down behind a hedge of quince shrubs in the town cemetery. The night felt warm in the low seventies, and they removed their corduroy jackets. The aroma of fecund dug earth and hyacinths was the evidence of a recent funeral. Alma shifted her large, black purse to her other forearm. Isabel had left her purse at home, but she wore her floppy straw hat.
    “The moon is luminous tonight,” she said.
    “Have you heard any strange noises?” asked Alma.
    “The only noise I’ve heard is our talking. Moving closer to the gate will give us a better vantage point.”
    “We might give ourselves away.” Alma gave a backward glance. “Coming in from the cemetery’s rear is the smart approach.”
    “No, our merry pranksters will arrive by the road.”
    Alma sneezed into a tissue. “These maples are pollen factories.”
    “I told you to refill your prescription.”
    “I can’t see spending money on what I don’t need. My allergies haven’t reached the crisis point.”
    “Yet.” Isabel sniffed. “Did you bring any extra tissues?”
    Alma plucked one for each of them from her purse.
    “How do you lug around a purse big as a wrecking ball?”
    “It’s not that heavy. Having Megan or Jake here would be nice.”
    “She had to prepare his taxes tonight.”
    “Oh, he’d be lost in blue limbo without her.”
    “She’s a big asset to him even if he stays largely blind to it.”
    “Promise me you won’t tell her we ever did this. If it leaks out, we’ll be certified as the new town idiots.”
    “My lips are a sealed vault.”
    Isabel shifted her stance behind the quince. She pushed aside a branch and surveyed the moonlit graveyard studded with the tombstones of various shapes and sizes. “Did you think to recharge your cell phone?”
    “That’s been taken care of, yes.”
    “Can you pick up any clear signal in this dead zone?”
    “I’ve already checked, and the answer is yes.”
    “Careful now. I can hear a car slowing on the road.”
    The thud to the car doors shutting reached their ears. A boyish whoop sailed up, and a flashlight beam bobbed in the distance.
    “Oh-oh, they’re back,” said Isabel.
    “I’d better contact Sheriff Fox.”
    “A stellar idea,” Isabel had said.
    Now turning in her bed, she subdued her reveries with a deep yawn. She flipped off her bed table light, and her heart slowed its beats. Her heavy lids drifted shut, and a few breaths later a dreamless sleep claimed her.

Chapter 10
     
    Early Tuesday morning, a thunderclap rattled the windowpanes in their frames. Her heart beating like the wings of wild geese, Alma jolted awake. She knew without peeping out the slats to the Venetian blinds the source to the infernal racket. The longhaired, surly boy