Page 131 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective
P. 131

Airtight

            Blanche shook her head. “She was the hardest worker in there. A
        perfectionist,  really.  Even  beyond  her  own  area  of  research:  she
        would check up on everything going on in there, to make sure we
        hadn’t  been  careless  with  some  little  detail.  I  would  have  thought
        measuring those plants’ growth every day would become a drag, but
        she maintained a good attitude.  She cheered me up more than once
        when I got homesick. As for her future, I don’t think she had any
        concerns.  In  fact,  the  longer  we  were  in  there,  the  better  her
        disposition became. You talked to her every day on the phone, Kelly:
        don’t you think I’m right?”
            I  nodded,  as  much  to  keep  her  talking  as  to  agree.  But  her
        usefulness as a diversion from Ray’s paranoia came to an abrupt end.
        The  door  opened  and  Larry  Kapil  re-entered  the  fold.  All  eyes
        swiveled  in  his  direction.  He,  at  least,  had  a  well-developed
        professional demeanor to carry him through crises; his face showed
        not a thing.
            “Your turn on the hot seat, Blanche.”
            She sighed and got up from the table, a mousy blond woman in a
        Cyborganics jumpsuit. Nobody looked good in those things, except
        Toro.  He  was  broad  enough  in  the  shoulders  to  make  the  baggy
        things fit. I snuck a glimpse at him as Blanche made her way out of
        the room. As usual, Toro was a man of few words. Somewhere along
        the way, life had taught him the best way to stay out of trouble.
            Larry got a cup of coffee from the pot on the credenza and sat
        down. “I had hoped the police would excuse me after our interview,
        but here I am again; don’t ask me why. Maybe that detective will need
        more medical advice after the final autopsy report is filed. Maybe she
        thinks I poisoned Laurel myself.”
            “You?” It was Waldo, mock-disbelief pulling his face back toward
        his  ears.  Larry  Kapil  was  the  very  model  of  a  mild-mannered
        physician,  inoffensiveness  oozing  from  every  pore.  If  Labelle
        Gramercy suspected him of anything more felonious than creeping
        through  a  stop  sign  in  his  BMW,  she  was  fishing  in  very  shallow
        waters, indeed.
            Larry  laughed,  in  his  self-deprecating  way.  “Well,  a  doctor  does
        know about poisons, after all. I told her I had no idea that a bottle of
        BugOff  was  on  the  premises.  Then  she  asked  me  about  Laurel’s
        health.”

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