Page 17 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
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Polished Off
piece of colored string. As Patty handed the coffee cup to Labelle, I
observed that the obviously recently-patinated shelves held a number
of items of non-decorative function.
Labelle put the cup in a plastic bag she had produced from within
her jacket. “I’ll give you a receipt for this later,” she said. “Do you
use these paints and polishes often?”
Patty expressed surprise. “Now and then. The merchandise does
become a bit shopworn after weeks of being examined by
prospective clients. Small scratches and scuff-marks can be
eradicated—or at least rendered less visible—with the judicious
application of the correct restorative preparations.”
“It appears as if two of these bottles were recently removed.”
Ah-ha, I thought. More distinctive footprints.
Patty Melton stared at the shelf space indicated by Labelle’s
unwavering index finger. “Well, I might have discarded a couple of
things early last week. Yes, now I remember: a bottle of brown liquid
polish and a bottle of rosewood dye. They had both dried out. I
happened to notice it then, so I disposed of them.”
“Is your trash collected from the alley behind the shop?”
“Yes. Every Thursday.” No chance for Labelle to fit the missing
objects back into place, unless she planned to unearth a very large
suburban landfill. Ms. Melton was losing a bit of her enameled
demeanor under what had quickly become a sort of interrogation. If
she had been my client, I would have objected. But she had not
exercised any foresight in selecting legal representation. I stood
silently, watching her reactions. The coffee cup was no longer in
Labelle’s hands; her notebook was, and she notated rapidly. Now she
would have a list of touching-up chemicals to go with her list of rare
books.
I felt uncomfortable in the sudden conversational void. “I was just
wondering, Patty,” I ventured, “if Mariana seemed at all bothered by
anything this morning.”
She seemed grateful for the change of subject. “Oh, she was going
on about something. I only half-listened. I don’t think she was more
upset than usual. I mean, I expected her to complain about someone
or something: maybe her niece, maybe the other people working
there, maybe a customer who had given her a hard time.”
“Not about anything you brought up?”
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