Page 101 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

“Art Lesley’s sister, for one. I don’t think she’s really looking for
another will. And the insurance company—they told me they
couldn’t outbid you, but now they want to bribe me. And that crazy
woman from Brazil: it wouldn’t surprise me to learn she got wind of
it, too.”
“Woman from Brazil?” Mallard’s face froze in a comical pose. He
looked at me with his head cocked sideways, like the dog listening to
His Master’s Voice on the Victrola. Perhaps he thought I was pulling
his hind leg, the one he’d rather be using to scratch his ear. Then he
barked again. “To hell with all of them, O’Bleakley, my boy. You’ve
got the right attitude.” His joviality returned; honesty had been the
best policy—or was it the last refuge of a scoundrel? He gestured
toward the door. “Go get it, then. I’m counting on you. Once we get
Lesley’s book in-house, I’ll have another assignment for you—with
much greater responsibility. I’ll be working late tonight, so call me as
soon as you have it in hand.”
“Yes, sir!” He could be inspirational when he wanted. I marched
out of his office straight to my car. It would take me a bit longer to
get out there in late-afternoon traffic, and I wasn’t going to waste a
minute on the freeway I could devote to plowing through all that
junk. After a couple of jams and a few miles of stop-and-go, I
managed not to be more than five minutes late. But at least five
minutes earlier than Ruth. That interval passed quickly while I tried
to calm down. Driving in the city can really crank you up into a
fuming maniac. Almost as much as waiting for someone who has
impressed the need for punctuality deep upon your psyche.

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At last she pulled up in a sports car old enough to have been
purchased by the unlamented Mr. Lesley, and expensive enough to
have sent him burrowing deeper into his protective layers of books,
papers, gadgets and alarm bells.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lesley,” I said, while my brain screamed,
where the hell have you been, goddammit? I bust my ass to get here
on time, etc. etc. Tolerance of frustration has to be the true mark of
civilized man. “Shall we go in?”

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