Page 4 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Polished Off

So engrossed was I in these reflections and speculations that I
almost bumped into the outer semicircle of onlookers blocking the
sidewalk in front of the shop. Then I saw the police cars parked at
the curb. So this was no ordinary death-in-harness: my suspicions
were correct! I wormed my way through the crowd and approached
the uniformed officer guarding the door.
“I am Pliny Gracchus Keane, attorney for the deceased,” I
announced, and wasted one of my very nicely embossed business
cards on this minor factotum of the law. He muttered something into
his walkie-talkie, received an equally incomprehensible reply, and
waved me in. I could hear a burbling of envious disgruntlement from
the excluded mob behind me as I entered the musty confines of
Bibliopoly.
Under its previous owner the bookstore had earned a reputation
as a reliable source of good-quality hard-cover literature and
reference works, with a section devoted to first editions and other
esoterica. The latter were now crammed into one cabinet near the
cashier’s desk, and the rest of the shelf and display space had been
given over to the latest best-sellers and a panoply of self-help
manuals and celebrity biographies, all announcing their inner virtues
with blaring brazen jackets and covers. No wonder I hadn’t felt the
need to browse here lately! The whole place couldn’t have been more
than a couple of thousand square feet, cozy by traditional standards,
but I suppose it would feel cramped to any younger patrons
accustomed to gigantic warehouse emporia. And dimmer: it took my
eyes a few seconds to adjust. Something small bumped against my
left calf. It was Gutenberg, the establishment’s elderly resident cat.
Mariana had bored me stiff one afternoon cataloguing the feline’s
ailments: hip dysplasia, osteoarthritis and torn cruciate ligaments in
both hind legs, cataracts, failing kidneys, scruffiness indistinguishable
from eczema. All that, I suppose, in aid of contrasting her own
fiddle-like fitness.
“You’re an orphan, now, old fellow,” I murmured, empathizing
more with his senescence than his deprivation of Mariana’s
indifferent guardianship, and reached down to stroke his grizzled
head as he staggered past en route to other points of interest.
Looking up I noticed the place was almost deserted: Iris sat by the
register and masticated gum in a bovine stupor while another woman

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