Page 135 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

came out of a sheltered environment like a convent school—if such
things still existed—her lack of preparation for hype and betrayal
even less than that of the average star-struck cheerleader fresh off a
bus from the Midwest. You have to feel for people like that, don’t
you? If you can feel anything anymore. Life could be nasty, short and
brutish in the celluloid jungle.
We entered Fish’s bedroom. I had never been in that part of the
house, for good reason. It was a bit more tastefully appointed than
other fantasy chambers I’d seen around town. No mirrors on the
ceiling, no whorehouse wallpaper or piles of silk and satin linens.
Color-coordination ruled, various shades of plum and peach
dominating the fabrics and trim. Fish had hired a conservative
decorator and followed a plan. That seemed out of character; he must
have briefly sensed his total ignorance of domestic aesthetics and
ceded control to another person. In his own line of work that could
never happen.
Tim sat erect in a large armchair across the room from the king-
size bed. It must have been his father’s favorite: old but
reupholstered in the preferred color scheme. Tim, skin slightly
greenish, clashed with it. His face was unreadable.
“Mr. Lane, I am Lieutenant Gramercy, in charge of investigating
the circumstances of your father’s death. I believe you are acquainted
with Cora Sliner.”
He looked at me, through me. I was glad another person was in
the room.
“Tim,” I began, “your father—”
“How did he die?”
I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped. How could I explain
what I did not know myself? Labelle took over, in her charmless way.
“The medical examiner has determined that G. Felton Fish
drowned in his hot tub, probably within thirty minutes before or after
six o’clock p.m. yesterday. The body does not show any external
injuries, nor were there signs of struggle in or near the tub. The water
in the tub was one hundred-eight degrees Fahrenheit, normal for
such environments, and it contained traces of the substances
commonly found in alcoholic beverages. A bottle of scotch and an
empty glass, both bearing no fingerprints other than those of Mr.
Fish, as well as a half-smoked cigar, were next to the tub.”

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