Page 21 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 21

Polished Off

        off-hours  athleticism.  “Can  you  account  for  your  movements
        between the time you left Bibliopoly yesterday and now?’
           “Account for my—oh, well, if you must know, I went from here
        to my boyfriend’s apartment and stayed there overnight.”
           “His name and address.”
           “Buzz Cutter, 668 Via Dolorosa, apartment 3C.”
           “Does he work on your car?”
           Linsey looked back at her vehicle as if it were emitting a foul odor.
        “He picked it out for me at a used car lot. I think he wanted it for
        himself: an old muscle  car from the  Eighties.  His own car is even
        older, and he’s always fixing it on the street. Yeah, he did fool around
        with  mine  the  other  day.  Maybe  that’s  why  I  broke  down  this
        morning.  You  know:  guys  don’t  want  to  admit  they  can’t  fix
        something. I’m going to a real mechanic next time.”
           “What happened?”
           “I don’t know. If I knew, I would have fixed it myself! After it
        stalled twice, I pulled over and got the hood up. I had plenty of gas
        and the battery wasn’t dead, so I figured Buzz had managed to screw
        something up when he was tuning it. Rather than get all dirty poking
        around that hot greasy engine, I found a phone, made some calls and
        went back to the car. And there I sat for half an hour with the hood
        up until somebody took pity on me and stopped. Luckily he knew
        what he was doing or I’d still be out there.”
           “Did you get his name?”
           “No. I didn’t want him to think I was coming on, you know? So I
        mentioned  that  my  boyfriend  was  waiting  for  me  and  things  like
        that.”
           “According  to  the  bookstore  clerk,  you  telephoned  here  twice:
        first to say you had car trouble, then again to tell her that this Good
        Samaritan was fixing your carburetor. Is that correct?”
           “That’s  right.  I  remember  where  the  phone  booth  is,  if  that
        matters.”
           Her tone implied that only an imbecile would think it mattered. I
        guess she didn’t realize she might need an alibi for the morning hours
        more reliable than Iris Call. What if they were in it together? Was it
        common  knowledge  that the  police could gain access to telephone
        records, even for calls from public pay phones? Labelle had finished
        taking notes and now had both hands free.

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