Page 64 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

night long, leaving his guests only, at brief but regular intervals, to
relieve himself. Labelle was clearly not amused by the conundrum
thus presented, but she left me Friday afternoon with her conviction
in her own abilities unshaken.
I had a stack of paperwork to plow through as a result of spending
so much time on her investigations. Grumbling, I resigned myself to
yet another night of catching up at home. Ambassador Weatherall did
stick his head into my office toward the end of the day and wonder
what all the fuss was about. Evidently he perceived the Peace Corps
as shock troops in the war against Third World poverty and
ignorance, and casualties were to be expected. That any Americans
died unnecessarily during his watch was not a source of concern, as
long as their deaths did not trigger international incidents requiring a
demonstration of his limited skills in diplomacy.
We worked half a day Saturday, in keeping with local custom, and
I heard nothing further from Labelle until I arrived home. She had
left a note saying she would call again around seven in the evening, at
which time I should be prepared to go out. As I had no means of
contacting her to object to this high-handed scheduling of my leisure
hours, I was forced to pass the rest of the day speculating about her
plans. My old cook, Klengolo Keita, had learned his trade in a French
household, and his meals often left me in a state of moderate
dyspepsia. That Saturday’s dinner was a typical collation of leathery
lamb chop, heavily-buttered green beans and a syrupy sweet custard.
By seven o’clock I was not in the best of moods.
I heard her arrive on her moped, and I went outside to greet her.
“I hope you don’t expect me to ride on the back of that thing,” I
said.
She removed her helmet and shook her hair. “No, not at all. You
are going to take me to another party, of sorts, in your car. I need an
embassy representative present in case we make an arrest.”
“What!” I stopped in my tracks, car keys in hand. “Who do you
mean by ‘we’?”
“The Jolibanan police. Murder is a crime here, even of one
foreigner by another.”
“Now, listen, Labelle: you can’t involve me in the internal affairs
of this country. Diplomatic immunity has its limits.”

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