Page 106 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

criterion in judging these questions is philosophical or moral, then
you may have to carry a burden of sin or guilt to the grave (or
beyond, if your metaphysics include an afterlife). Otherwise, from
a purely pragmatic or sociological viewpoint, you should be able to
recognize a few things: first, that your death will assure the well-
being of your loved ones, who will grieve no matter when and how
you die; second, that the immovable imbalance of pain, despair and
frustration grinding you down at present will cease forever in a
final expression of triumph—defiant or altruistic, according to
your temperament—cheating fate; third, if you do your work
properly, the world will remember you not as a pathetic suicide but
an unfortunate accident victim; fourth, and finally, payment of
your claim will stir no more than a ripple on the profitability of the
insurance industry (should this book’s advice be heeded by too
many people or be taken seriously by officialdom, as described
above, then a prudent person would seek elsewhere for a solution
to life’s problems, rendering this a moot point).
In the first three chapters you will learn to—

“What’s going on there? Are you playing computer games?”
Ruth Lesley’s voice broke my concentration like a sledge-hammer
on glass. I ignored her. I turned off the computer and removed the
diskette. “Nope. No games. Serious stuff. The Easter egg hunt is
over, Mrs. Lesley. We can all go home now.”
She gawked. “You mean—it was on the computer after all?”
“Yep.” I stood up, put on my jacket and slipped the diskette into a
pocket. “Thanks for your help. Mallard Books will be in touch.”
“Not so fast, sonny.” The amusement evaporated from her voice,
leaving something hard and metallic. “Hand it over.”
“I can’t do that, Mrs. Lesley. You agreed to—”
“Can it. I don’t know how the hell you found it on there. My
nephew spent an hour reading all those files and came up empty. I’ve
got a good idea how much I’ll ever realize from book sales: nothing.
Cornish Rock will pay me plenty, no questions asked. Now, give it to
me.”
A small stiletto had appeared in her right hand. It looked as big as
a bowie knife to me. I backed up, but there was nowhere to go in that

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