Page 34 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Polished Off

poison used and of your aunt’s inability to smell it; and the
opportunity to pour it in her milk carton yesterday afternoon when
you observed it approaching empty. Further, your attempt to point
suspicion elsewhere by spilling shoe polish after the fact was clumsy:
your aversion to and avoidance of the cat left you the only person in
the shop unaware of the physical impossibility of it jumping as high
as her desk. Your alibi for the time of death was also a failure
because—”
Linsey, at least fifteen years younger than Labelle, suddenly flung
her purse at the detective’s face and ran toward her car. Labelle easily
deflected the missile toward the dumfounded uniformed officer at
Bibiopoly’s door—catching him flatfooted, as it were—and followed
Linsey at normal walking speed.
“Hurry, Labelle!” I cried, forgetting all formality. “She’ll get
away!”
She did not reply. Linsey had gotten into her car and was starting
the engine. But it did not turn over. It just kept cranking—until
Labelle reached the driver’s side door. Linsey had locked it, but
miraculously Labelle had a key. She opened the door and pulled the
girl out by the collar, as easily as extracting a bulky towel from a
clothes dryer. The fight went out of her, and Labelle deftly applied
handcuffs. The policeman lumbered over and took Miss Doyle into
custody. A patrol car with a female officer appeared a moment later
and Mariana’s niece was transported elsewhere. I certainly never saw
her again.
Lieutenant Gramercy approached me. “That will undoubtedly
affect the terms of the will, Mr. Keane. If you have any questions,
please contact the district attorney’s office.”
“Yes, yes, of course, I will,” I managed to say, still a bit in shock.
“So she came in late to be certain she would be absent when her aunt
drank the lethal brew. But what was wrong with her alibi?”
Labelle maintained a straight face. Modesty must have cost her
dearly. “Counselor, I thought your interest in Linsey’s vehicle would
lead you straight to the answer. Or did you forget for the moment
that after 1985 the standard Camaro had fuel injection? No
carburetor. Perhaps she confused it with her boyfriend’s car. Do you
need a lift back to your office?”

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