Page 20 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 20

Polished Off

        Camaro. The license plate tag indicates the registration is delinquent,
        and it is not parked properly.”
           She jotted a few things in her notebook, frowning slightly. Was
        she repressing an urge to write a ticket for those minor infractions,
        like  a  predator  imposing  forcible  self-discipline  in  the  presence  of
        some minor prey in order not to reveal its position to the larger game
        it was really stalking?
           Linsey clambered out of the car hastily, nearly slamming the door
        on  her  skirt.  She  was  a  tall  awkward  young  woman,  drawn
        disproportionately from the same stagnant gene pool as her aunt. Her
        gaze raked over Labelle, almost did the same to me, then stopped.
           “Uh, Mr. Keane, right? The lawyer?”
           “Yes,  Linsey.  And  this  is  Lieutenant  Gramercy,  of  the  police
        department. May I offer my condolences?”
           Her face twisted between sizing up Labelle and signaling sorrow
        to me. “I—uh, sure, thanks. Iris told me Mariana had some kind of
        fit  and  keeled  over.  She  really  died?  Do  you  need  to  talk  to  me,
        Officer?”
           Labelle  was  oblivious  of  passersby.  “Just  a  few  questions,  Ms.
        Doyle. When did you last see your aunt?”
           “Oh, yesterday. Right here at the shop. She went in and out a few
        times: I don’t know exactly when the last time was. Sometime in the
        afternoon. Sorry to be so vague.”
           “Did you have coffee with her yesterday?”
           “I never have coffee with her. I mean, she drank it in the morning
        before  I  got  there  and  didn’t  make  it  again.  I  don’t  like  coffee,
        anyway.”
           “Is this your only place of employment?”
           Linsey shrugged. Was she embarrassed? “At the moment, yes.  I’m
        going  to  school  part-time.  Mostly  night  classes,  at  the  Collagen
        College  of  Cosmetology.  I’ve  got  eight  units  to  go  to  get  my
        certificate.”
           “Were you there this morning?”
           “No.  I  attend  classes  at  night,  unless  they  are  having  a  lab  in
        daylight makeup. You can’t graduate without that. That rouge you’re
        using, for instance, is really for evening.”
           “I’m  not  wearing  any  makeup.”  Labelle  Gramercy  did  have  an
        almost  unnaturally  ruddy  complexion,  one  may  infer  an  artifact  of

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