Page 166 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Slow Burn

“That’s right,” replied the young man who had answered the door.
He was credibly twenty-one years of age, about five-foot ten and a
hundred sixty pounds. His features were regular, no scars, and his
brown hair did not look dyed. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers and
a gray sweatshirt. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Lieutenant Gramercy and this is Sergeant Donat. We’re
investigating your uncle’s death.”
He inspected our badges more closely than people usually do, a
sign of the con artist unwilling to be conned himself. “Okay, come
on in, but I’m right in the middle of the lunch rush.”
Then I looked into the kitchen. A middle-aged woman was up to
her elbows in mixing bowls and cooking ingredients. The place had
two ovens, probably illegally, and a tremendous blast of heat was
coming out of the kitchen. A phone rang, and Quantrill picked it up.
“Quiche and Quickly,” he chirped, then grabbed a pad and began
jotting down information from his caller. “Okay, one quarter spinach
quiche and one quarter house special. You want any drinks?”
Labelle took advantage of the interruption to look around the tiny
apartment. It was pretty grim. You couldn’t blame the kid for
wanting to get his hands on the money his uncle was holding.
Quantrill looked at his watch. “Right. We guarantee delivery in
twenty-five minutes. You can’t get custom quiche quicker than that.”
He hung up and stepped into the kitchen. “Almost ready?”
The woman nodded. She took a pie pan out of the oven. It had
one slice left on it. She lifted it with a spatula into an insulated food
box, then bent to open the other oven door. Out came another
quiche.
“As soon as that cools enough to be cut, I’ve got to make a
delivery, Lieutenant.”
“Fine. Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday between,
say, four-thirty and five-thirty?”
Quantrill frowned, then smiled. “I think so. As you see, this
business cannot afford another employee. I am also the delivery boy,
and I make every attempt to get the product to the customer while
it’s still hot. Twenty-five minutes from the time the call is received—
assuming, of course, the caller is within a reasonable distance. So I
keep a record of when calls come in and when I hand over the
quiche. It’s on this pad.”

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