Ed Lynskey - Isabel and Alma Trumbo 02 - The Cashmere Shroud by Ed Lynskey Page B

served for Ray Burl.”
    “Not with Sheriff Roscoe Fox pitted against the killer, it won’t be, no sirree.”
    “Poor Sammi Jo.”
    “She must be coming un raveled at the seams over this.”
    “ She’s got to be.”
    Alma horned in before the next gentleman could pipe up in their Greek chorus. “That’s our opinion, as well. She has requested us to help Sheriff Fox.”
    Hand out of his pocket and s huffling his shoes, Ossie snorted. “Good luck to you there.”
    “If Roscoe Fox had half a brain, he’d be dangerous,” said Blue.
    “ Yeah, but when compared to his deputy sheriffs, he’s an Einstein,” said Willie.
    Alma caught herself nodding at the Three Musketeers’ skewering Sheriff Fox after Isabel frowned at her.
    “ He once tried to arrest a blue tick hound for jaywalking, or was it for spitting on the sidewalk?” said Ossie.
    “ Unbelievable,” said Blue.
    “ Ditto,” said Willie.
    “Of course, he did once lend me a sawbuck which I’ve never repaid him for,” said Ossie.
    “He also gave me a hand to find my lost raccoon Bosco inside my basement,” said Blue.
    “There was the time he gave me a lift to the doctors while I was hitchhiking to Warrenton,” said Willie. “All we talked about was sports.”
    “I guess he’s not such a bad bloke, after all,” said Ossie.
    Impatient Isabel was left tapping her toe. “What do you know about Ray Burl?” she asked.
    “He was salt of the earth folk.”
    “The A-1 best there ever was.”
    “ The Almighty never created a more honest fellow.”
    Alma stepped in again. “Isabel’s interest centers on Ray Burl’s homicide. Have you heard anything of note floating around our whistle stop of a town?”
    “ In other words any gossip,” said Isabel.
    “Information,” said Willie, indignant. “We don’t have anything to do with receiving or promulgating common gossip. It’s a sin before the eyes of our Good Lord.”
    Isabel bit down to keep her lips buttoned and not blurt out her thoughts about the hypocrite Willie.
    Blue removed the broken matchstick from between his lips. He studied the matchstick ’s chewed end for a moment. “I’ll tell you what I heard, but I can’t reveal where it came from to you.”
    “ Sock it to us, Blue,” said Alma. “We’d like to hear it.”
    He swiveled his head from left to right like a creaky weather vane, ensuring no pesky eavesdroppers lurked near them. “My confidential snitch informs me Ray Burl was a dump job at the turf farm, and he got killed someplace else.”
    “ It’s got to be a two-thugs job then,” said Willie. “One thug couldn’t lift a corpse that’s got to be as heavy as one of those rusty barge anchors set out in front of the fire station.”
    Ossie interjected. “ Then a hit man and his assistant did the bloody deed.”
    “ Ossie, you’re about as sharp as a potato,” said Willie. “A hit man doesn’t get paid enough money to hire a Sancho Panza sidekick.”
    “I bet my flat screen TV and dog tags a hit man out there uses an assistant,” said Ossie, defensive.
    Sucking between his teeth, Willie scoffed.
    Isabel , discombobulated prior to this discussion, found her thoughts tied up in messier knots. “Let’s table the hit man angle for the time being,” she said. “We can always return to it if we run out of other ideas.”
    “ Just saying it pays to think outside the box,” said Ossie. “If a professional hit was ordered on Ray Burl, the assassin is long gone from our Dogpatch, so we have nothing to fear.”
    “Corina told us she saw Ray Burl carrying a shotgun he’d bought from the hardware store,” said Alma. “Evidently he wasn’t a big hunter. The obvious question is why did he buy the shotgun?”
    “That event went right by us ,” said Willie. “I’ve also never heard of Ray Burl tagging along with the hunting crowd.”
    “He always worked up a storm at the turf farm,” said Ossie. “The only game he may’ve bagged was the night crawlers he found