Page 89 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

even providing a few laughs. Then I remembered the calls I had to
make. Ruth Lesley answered her phone in a sultry wine-soaked voice
which quickly changed to a snarl when she learned who was on the
other end of the line. I arranged to meet her and terminated the call
quickly. According to the movies, men existed who simply adored
spitfires like Ruth; stuck in reality, I had never encountered a member
of that thick-skinned brotherhood. Then I found the note and just
for the hell of it dialed Lola Costa’s number; it was no surprise when
the response was a recorded voice regretting its inability to connect
me. Albert B. Goode, however, answered his phone promptly.
“Mr. Goode? This is Lance O’Bleakley, of Mallard Books. You left
a message for me this afternoon.”
“That’s right. Thanks for calling. Mrs. Lesley gave me your
number.”
“Oh.” Not a software vendor. Just when I had forgotten all about
the Lesleys and their soap opera.
“I’m with Cornish Rock Insurance Company. I knew Arthur
Lesley, sold him a policy several months before he died. It was rather
a large amount of life insurance, Mr. O’Bleakley, so you can
understand our concern.”
“I suppose so...” But I didn’t, really. Guess I’m a bit slow about
these things. “Who is the beneficiary? I’ve got Lola’s phone number
here—oops, no, that’s no good.”
“Lola? I don’t follow you. Anyway, we can’t divulge that sort of
information. You could talk to his executor. She is helping me with
my investigation.”
Oh? I thought. If she’s helping you like she’s helping me, you’re in
trouble, buddy.
“So I thought you might be able to help me, too. You see, one of
the reasons Art Lesley’s death was judged an accident is that nobody
ever found a suicide note.”
“You mean—”
“You must realize my company has to exhaust every possible lead
when large sums are involved. I am limited by the police report. Mrs.
Lesley informed me today that you will be going through her late ex-
husband’s papers.”

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