Page 15 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 15

Polished Off

        out under a full  head of steam. Muttering,  of course; she had that
        effect on people she ran through the mill.”
          “Muttering what?” I asked.
          “Who knows? Maybe threats of violence, maybe the name he gave
        his sled when he was a child. I wasn’t really listening, although I’m
        sure you must think I am a terrible snoop and eavesdropper.”
          “Oh, not at all,” I assured her. What else could I say?
          “I wonder if you could provide us with a list of those rare books
        and  what  their  current  retail  value  might  be.  Your  expert  opinion
        would  definitely  aid  and  expedite  the  investigation.”  Labelle
        Gramercy was also being about as diplomatic as she probably could
        be. Iris Call had to be stroked rather than rubbed the wrong way.
          “Sure. Anything I can do to get you people out of here. Police in a
        bookstore don’t exactly encourage business.”
          “Thank  you. Mr. Keane and I are going next door to interview
        Ms. Melton. I am leaving instructions for me to be contacted if and
        when Ms. Doyle arrives.”
          She  turned  on  her  heel  and  strode  quickly  toward  the  door,
        already  punching  up  a  number  on  her  cell  phone.  I  shrugged  and
        grinned  at  Iris,  then  followed  the  policewoman  out  the  door.
        Gutenberg stared at me from the floor by the rare books, as he might
        a whipped puppy.

        << 4 >>

           Lieutenant Gramercy had paused to speak with the officer outside
        the shop. The curiosity-seekers had just about vanished, vanquished
        by  boredom.  Bibliopoly  occupied  a  small  single-story  commercial
        building,  one  of several along the block.  The rest shared the  same
        dilapidation  and  desultory  trade,  and  some  were  unoccupied.  Two
        doors down was Esprit Decor, a shop catering, one would conclude
        from  a  walking-speed  scan  of  its  display  window,  to  interior
        decorators  trying  to  satisfy  clients  who  had  not  looked  at  a
        newspaper or television—indeed, had not left their homes—in years.
        I had met its owner once or twice in the course of my affairs with
        Bibliopoly,  but  she  had  never  expressed  any  interest  in  availing
        herself of my services. I imparted that minimum of information to
        Labelle as we entered the place.

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