Page 28 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 28

Polished Off

        spilling things and leaving hazards for the clientele to bumble into.
        Now, Mr. Keane—” she lowered her voice and leaned toward me—
        “I guess it isn’t a secret that my aunt enjoyed torturing men if they
        showed the slightest character flaw. So I can’t really say why he put
        up with it, either.  I can’t imagine she paid him very much.”
           Malicious  gossip  disrespectful  to  the  quite  recently  dead,  I
        thought: typical of today’s youth. And then I remembered that rare
        book: it kept coming back into the case. I wondered if it contained
        some  secret,  like  a  cipher  written  in  invisible  ink,  or  one  of  those
        codes using the book itself as a key. Or maybe it was worth a whole
        lot  more  than  any  of  the  concerned  parties  were  letting  on—
        including Iris, whose unusual inheritance might well include that very
        volume.  Then  I  recalled  Gutenberg’s  misadventure:  cats  were
        supposed  to  possess  extrasensory  powers.  I’m  not  particularly
        superstitious, but might the dumb animal have picked up some latent
        impression  from  that  bottle,  some  unconscious  perception  of  its
        abnormality  in  content  or  location,  and  knocked  it  over—not  to
        communicate  mutely  with  humans  able  to  understand  the
        significance, but simply in exercise of the less mysterious and well-
        documented feline curiosity? And what about Patty Melton’s interest
        in all of this? Or Linsey’s? Too many unanswered questions: I must
        have presented a picture of perplexity to Mariana’ niece.
           “Are you all right, Mr. Keane? That smell getting to you?”
           “Ah,  yes,  perhaps  so.  I’ll  step  outside  for  some  fresh  air.  You
        know, you shouldn’t have to stay here, either. I’m sure you’re anxious
        to make arrangements for your aunt’s funeral—I mean, as soon as
        the police release her body. Let me talk to Lieutenant Gramercy for
        you.”
           “Thank you.”
           I left her rifling through the cash box without a trace of shame or
        self-consciousness.  Not  my  business,  I  thought,  unless  the  will  is
        contested. I mused idly upon the subject of who might be qualified to
        do just that while I stood by the  front door, filling  my  lungs with
        slightly  less-polluted  air  and  my  mind  with  the  implications  of
        Linsey’s  revelations.  Then  it  all  became  clear  to  me.  Labelle
        Gramercy came walking up the street toward me from the direction
        of Esprit Decor. I ran up to her, my excitement evident, no doubt.


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