Page 87 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

“You!” I cried. It was the woman in the car driving by Art Lesley’s
house, the one in outlandish garb. Now I could see the rest of her.
Beside the gypsy-like ornaments and accoutrements, she wore a long
embroidered skirt like a folk-dancer. And she was tall. And taken
aback.
“Ooh, Senhor, what do you mean? Keep away from me, or I will
call the policeman.” Her accent was difficult to place: south of the
border, surely, but which border? Her skin had an odd color to it, as
if she had taken a shower in the wrong makeup.
“Come off it, lady.” I adopted my toughest tone, despite the lack
of a cigar in one corner of my mouth. “You can’t fool me. I spotted
you outside the Lesley place. Don’t tell me it’s a coincidence meeting
you here again. If anyone calls the police, it’s going to be me.”
Her demeanor shifted jerkily from haughtiness and outraged
innocence to self-deprecation and exaggerated politeness. Hope
Lesley did it much better. “Oh, I am discovered. You are too clever
for me, Senhor. Please do not cause the scene. I mean you no harm.
You must believe me.” And she came closer, so I could see that her
eyes were green.
“Give me one good reason why I should believe you. I’ll bet you’re
after Art Lesley’s manuscript. Am I right?”
She appeared genuinely puzzled. “Mon-u-screept? What is that,
please? I do not comprehend all of your American slang.”
I looked her over. She really was pathetic without trying. “We
need to talk,” I said. The Sip‘n’Sinkers was still open, catering now to
night watchmen and other crepuscular workers. “Let’s go over there;
I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it.”
The old crone at the urn nearly dropped her upper plate when she
saw me come in with another simpering female. “It’s my aftershave,”
I confided, leaving a few coins in the tip jar.
“Okay,” I said sternly, putting down the mugs in probably the
same rings of dried coffee I had left on the same table earlier in the
afternoon. “First of all, my name is Lance O’Bleakley. I work upstairs
for Mallard Books. Did you already know that?”
“No, no, I did not. I only followed you because I am trying to get
a certain piece of paper from that house. His—his woman will not let
me in, so I must watch who goes in and out, and try to discover if
they have taken it. I will be deported soon if I do not get this paper.”

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