Page 19 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Polished Off

“Just me, I guess. I keep the key in my desk, which is itself locked
when I am not here.”
“You have no help?”
“Not anymore. I can’t afford it. I do use a handyman and a
cleaning service, both only as needed. When I have to get furniture
moved, I hire the cheapest day-labor I can find.”
Labelle turned toward us. The bagged mug was back in her hand.
“I think you have answered all of our immediate questions. Please do
not leave town before the inquest. I will send an officer here to get
your personal data and give you a receipt for this.”
Patty Melton nodded, brow furrowed. Now she looked as old as
Mariana. Labelle and I left Esprit Decor and stopped briefly on the
pavement. I looked up and down the street. It was as Patty had
described: these shops were an anachronism, their clientele either old
or gone, their economic function blown away by the winds of
corporate merger, demographic shift, mass marketing and urban
renewal.
“Did you know about Megashelf?” asked Labelle.
“No, but I should have. If it’s true, then Mariana wasn’t really
confiding in me as I thought. I wonder if that means someone else
was advising her: I can’t imagine she really thought she could play
hardball with a corporation like Megashelf. Not unless somebody
told her it was the right thing to do. This may complicate things
immensely.”
“Yes.”
As we returned to Bibliopoly, I reflected on those complications. I
was thinking of the estate and its disposition. Labelle was probably
looking at a motive for murder.

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My ruminations skidded to a halt in tandem with Linsey Doyle’s
vehicle, in front of the shop. I felt it necessary to re-establish my
usefulness, so I told Labelle, “That’s Mariana’s niece. It’s obviously
not a station wagon.”
The detective gave me a quick glance, no doubt as a sign of her
appreciation of my perceptiveness. “Quite so, Mr. Keane. It is a 1989

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