Page 112 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

“Oh,” said the officer of the law, feigning surprise quite
imperfectly, in my opinion, “Photographs. Your family?”
Alma carefully folded up the array and snapped the cover shut. I
might have supposed it had popped open when it hit the floor, or
had been left open in her bag—might have, if I had not witnessed
Lieutenant Gramercy’s performance.
“Oh, yes, it is someone from my country, my sister’s children.”
Labelle nodded and shrugged, turning back to me. I tried to wipe
off my face whatever expression of lingering bemusement or
incipient outrage might have given away my suspicions. She gave no
sign of recognition, no minimal acknowledgment or grudging
admiration of my perspicacity. I was used to show business people
who really couldn’t stop acting off-stage or off-camera and who
never picked up on the fact that other folks found that an irritating
display of insincerity. Like them, Labelle Gramercy was not
convincing in her manner—relying heavily on physical comedy, as it
were, if any of it could be reckoned humorous—and, as well, seemed
unaware of her effect on anyone with the sophistication of a ten-year-
old. But she was in a very different profession: you had to take her
seriously. Her manner with me was brisk but not unfriendly, inviting
the sort of confidences peers might share. I was definitely on guard.
“I’m certain Ms. del Banco would like to go home,” she said,
loudly enough for Alma to hear. “Let’s go talk somewhere, so she can
relax until we have enough information to let you all continue with
your day.”
What could be more agreeable? I nodded, almost ready to stroll
out on the patio with her, arm-in-arm like sisters. But the temptation
was not difficult to resist.

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We strolled out on the patio, anyway. Alma and her purse dropped
from my mind immediately. There was the hot tub, between the
corner of the house and the pool: it looked larger than before, big
enough to float the Titanic. And, sure enough, a glass and an empty
bottle of whisky sat on the ledge. Nobody’s fingerprints but G.F.’s
were going to be lifted from those items: he rarely offered anyone

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