Page 71 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

“I never left the house that night! You know that’s true—just ask
Richard Tate standing there—he knows I couldn’t have done it! Sally
confronted us, said she knew all about Harry helping me buy those
things from the diggers. I begged him to give in to her, to give her
anything she wanted, but he wouldn’t. He said she’d never let go of
us, that she’d bleed us to death. After she left he took my car keys
and told me to keep quiet. That’s the truth, so help me!”
He stood there shaking, a pitiful drunk with his secrets exposed.
All eyes shifted to the Peace Corps director, who remained seated.
He too had metabolized more than one liter of Jolibrew during the
afternoon, and I could discern that he was maintaining his self-
control at great expense.
“This is ridiculous,” Hofbrauer said, his voice modulating wildly
from a squeak to a growl. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I
was at his house all evening, and I never saw Sally Furth. He’s lying
to save his skin. I’m the Peace Corps director here: I look after my
volunteers, I don’t assassinate them. Look at him, guilt written all
over his face!”
“Me?” screeched Durer. “You’re in it just as deep as I am! You
had the connections here, you spoke their language, you cut the deals!
I wouldn’t kill anyone! I liked her, for God’s sake! But you—you
couldn’t stand anyone having the upper hand, could you? You
miserable son-of-a-bitch, I’ll—” He tried to lunge across the table,
but fell, spread-eagled, on it, scattering cards and poker chips in all
directions. Ben Dover, his eyes smoldering with grief and rage,
grabbed Lon by the nape of the neck and hauled him into his chair.
“You rat!” Ben yelled into Durer’s face. “You killed my girl! I’m
going to make you pay for this!” He punched Lon in the nose before
two other men restrained him.
“Gentlemen! Please!” It was Labelle, restoring order. “This can all
be resolved very easily.” She turned to the front door. “Chef?”
As the rest of us stood or sat dumbstruck, Monsieur Coulibaly
entered the room, leading another Jolibanan by the arm. It was Lon
Durer’s aged gardien, the man who had been on duty that fateful
night.
“It’s quite true, Harry,” said Labelle Gramercy, “that no one saw
you leave the party. Certainly blind old Fafaran Diara couldn’t see
who came and went. But his other senses are fairly intact.”

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