Page 44 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

with another old Jolibanan, a man with a large sack resting on the
handlebars of a bicycle. He looked like the garden-variety “African
art” vendor many of us had to turn away from our doors repeatedly
until the word got around that we simply weren’t in the market for
fake antiques. I supposed he had been making his usual rounds of the
foreigners’ compounds. The Peace Corps girl had to exchange
greetings with this newcomer, as well, while I waited, jingling my
keys.
“The gardien’s hearing is little better than his vision, and I think he
is totally blind,” Labelle told me, as we walked toward my car. “But I
figured out which one was yours, anyway.”
“Oh?” I unlocked the passenger door for her, my attention still
wandering through a labyrinth of international extra-legality. Who did
she represent in this? Us or them?
“Well, assuming you were a typical embassy staffer, you would be
driving a car rather than an off-road vehicle; and most of the vehicles
here belong to people who at least want to give the appearance of
travelling in the bush. So that narrowed it down quite a bit. Then the
rain clinched it: you had to be the most recent arrival, so the ground
under your car would be as wet as its surroundings. Therefore, I
deduced that this had to be your Renault, Q.E.D.”
I started the motor. “Are you always so observant?”
“When I’m on the job, definitely. Some of it’s adrenaline, the rest
is training and discipline.”
As we pulled out into the road, I realized I had no idea where I
was headed. I turned to ask directions, and saw that Miss Gramercy
was writing in a small notebook, aided by a miniature flashlight
gripped in her teeth. She removed it long enough to direct me due
south. We crossed the Route de Nyofolo in silence as she continued
to make notes.
When she finished, my curiosity overcame my politeness. “What
are you writing there?”
“Oh, some general information about the vehicles parked on the
street in front of Lon Durer’s house. I’ll need to talk to whoever saw
her there tonight.”
“How did you know she was there?”
“Peace Corps grapevine,” she replied. “It’s a small town.”

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