Q is for QUARRY

by Sue Grafton

  She gave the kitchen a cursory look while she poured her mother’s whiskey down the drain. She emptied all the pills into the trash, where I heard them rattling toward the bottom like a cupful of BB’s. She tossed in the empty whiskey bottle. “I’ll take care of this later,” she said, referring to the overflowing trash can and the pile of dishes in the sink. “Things look fine in here. The place is a pigsty, but no more than usual.”

  I trailed after her while she looked into the bathroom and the second bedroom. The latter must have been her room as a kid, the one she’d been forced to share with Charisse. The twin beds were still in place, but most of the remaining space was taken up with piles of clothing, boxes, and miscellaneous junk. I nearly confided my suspicion about someone having entered my room, but I thought better of it. I didn’t have proof and I didn’t want to sound completely paranoid. Besides, it would only encourage her to ask questions I didn’t want to answer.

  As we were returning to the living room, she said, “I heard about Pudgie. It’s horrible.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “Trust me, everybody knows by now.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Todd Chilton called. He’s a deputy –”

  “I met him. Why did he call you?”

  “Oh, right. He remembered I dated Pudgie and he thought I should know. From what he said, it was gross. At least I got that impression reading between the lines. He says you’re the one who figured it out.”

  “Someone would have noticed before long,” I said, thinking about the smell. I filled in a few brush strokes, avoiding anything of substance. I was certain Detective Lassiter would limit the information that reached the public.

  “Why’d you stop by?”

  “I had a question for your mom. I know this seems minor, but I was curious. The first time I talked to her, she said she’d gone to the police the day Charisse disappeared. But according to the police report, she waited a week. I was hoping she’d explain the discrepancy.”

  “She didn’t tell you about the note?”

  “From Charisse? Not that I remember.”

  “She probably forgot to mention it. Her mind’s completely shot from all the crap she takes. The note said she’d decided to go see her mother and she’d be back in three days. We thought she’d show up, but a week passed and Mom started getting worried. That’s when she talked to the police.”

  “You saw the note yourself?”

  “Sure. She’d left it on the bed.”

  “And the handwriting was hers?”

  “As far as I could tell.”

  “Did your mother save it?”

  “I doubt it. Why would she do that?”

  “Could you ask her please?”

  “Right now?”

  “I’d appreciate it.” She left the living room and returned to her mother’s bedroom, where I could hear her insistent questioning and Medora’s foggy response. I heard drawers being opened and shut. Moments later, Justine returned. “I don’t believe this. She says she saved the note because she didn’t want Social Services blaming her when Charisse took off. She thought if they ever asked, she could show the note as proof that Charisse left of her own accord.”

  “Amazing. That’s great. I’d love to see it.”

  “Well, that’s just it. She can’t remember where she put it. She thought it was in the chest of drawers, but it’s not there now. Knowing her, it could be anywhere. She’s such a slob.”

  “Maybe we can look again when she’s on her feet.”

  Justine gave me a look. “Yeah, right. Listen, I need to get back to the girls. Cornell must be home by now, but just in case. Let me turn off some lights and I’ll walk you to your car. It’s dark as pitch out there.”

  I waited while she double-checked, making sure the back door was locked. She turned off the lights, except for one in the hall. She tested the thumb lock on the front door, flipped it to the locked position, and pulled it shut behind her. She took her keys from her coat pocket and crossed the yard to her Ford sedan, which was parked in the driveway behind Dolan’s car.

  “Did you guys go down and have your fingerprints taken?”

  “Edna went Monday, but I haven’t had a chance. I’ll pop in tomorrow while I’m out running errands.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Adrianne said she’d try later in the week.”

  “What about Ruel and Cornell?”

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t want to be the one to nag them. It’s not my job.”

  “You’re right. Thanks anyway. I’ll bug them myself.”

  I drove to the motel with an eye on my rearview mirror. The wide streets were deserted. Businesses were shut down and most of the houses were dark. Once in my room, I spent a few minutes assuring myself everything was exactly as I’d left it. My book was facedown on the bed where I’d placed it, the bedspread still rumpled where I’d pushed it aside. The table lamp was on and the warm light made the room seem cozy. The windows were latched and I made sure the drapes were properly closed. Didn’t want any boogermen to peek in at me. After that, I stripped out of my clothes and into the oversize T-shirt I used as a nightie. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and slid into bed. I thought my paranoia might keep me awake, but since I’m a person of no depth whatever, I fell asleep right away.

  At 2:06, the phone rang. I reached for the handset automatically, noting the time as I placed it against my ear. “What.”

  “Kinsey?”

  “What.”

  “This is Iona.”

  “Okay.”

  “Frankie wants to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Pudgie.”

  “Put him on.”

  “In person.”

  I leaned over and flipped on the table lamp, which made me squint painfully and probably put permanent wrinkles on my face. “Why are you calling me in the dead of night? I’m asleep.”

  “I would’ve called earlier, but he just got here.”

  “Got here where?”

  “Quorum. He wants you to meet us at the all-night diner. Know the one I mean? On Main Street. It’s called the Chow Hound.”

  I closed my eyes. “No offense here, but there’s no way I’m going out at this hour to talk to Frankie Miracle, so scratch that idea.”

  “What if he comes there? We’re calling from a pay phone. We’re not far.”

  “Like how far?”

  “A block.”

  “Why isn’t he on the phone instead of you?”

  “He’s afraid you’ll say no.”

  I laughed. “He’s worried about me? Iona, the guy’s a killer. He stabbed a woman fourteen times.”

  “But he’s paid for his crime. He went to prison and now he’s out.”

  “Oh, crap. Why am I arguing with you? If you want to come over, I’ll open the window and talk to him through the screen. That’s as much as I can offer.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was not the kind of hotel that offered complimentary robes (hell, I felt lucky they offered complimentary toilet paper!), so I pulled on a sweatshirt. I thought about it briefly and pulled on my jeans. By then, I could see headlights arc across the drapes. I turned off the lamp and crossed to the window, peering out as Frankie’s white pickup pulled into a slot two doors down. Iona was at the wheel. She waited in the truck with the engine running, probably trying to keep warm, while Frankie got out on the passenger side and slammed the door. I said, “Great. Wake everybody up. I’ll feel safer that way.”

  I watched him check room numbers until he got to mine. As soon as he was close, I slid the window open a crack. “Hello, Frankie.”

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Come on. I can’t stand around out here. It’s fuckin’ cold.”

  “I don’t need a weather report. I know it’s cold. You want to talk, I’m listening, but get on with it.”

  �
�All right,” he said, irritably. He paused to light a cigarette. Despite the low-watt outside lighting, I could see him clearly – the brown wavy hair, the smooth baby face. He peered over his shoulder, his manner embarrassed. “I heard about Pudgie. I just wanted you to know I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Don’t you want to know the rest?”

  “Sure.”

  “The cops have already been around-Lieutenant Dolan and some pal of his. I thought my landlord was talking about you, but he said it was an old guy.”

  “Stacey Oliphant.”

  “That’s him.”

  “They’re good guys. They’re fair. You should be talking to them.”

  “I hate cops. What pigs. I’d rather talk to you.”

  “What for? I’m just going to turn around and ask you the same questions Lieutenant Dolan would have asked.”

  “You want to know where I was Friday night, right? I was in Santa Teresa, working my regular shift. Eleven to seven. And that’s the truth.”

  “I thought you were down here with Iona.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Weren’t you with her when she called and talked to Pudgie Thursday night?”

  “Sure, but I left Friday morning and drove back to Santa Teresa.”

  “Anybody see you at work?”

  “Two-thirty in the morning, I’m moppin’ floors, not entertaining the troops. Reason I like the job is it’s quiet and nobody’s there to hassle me.”

  “You were completely alone.”

  “At that hour? Of course. Who’s going to be there? The place’s all locked up.”

  “I don’t know. Someone else on the cleaning crew? A lawyer working late? A building that size can’t be empty.”

  “For starters, there’s nobody else on the crew. I’m it. And second, even if there was someone in the building, how would I know? Six floors is tough. I got a lot of ground to cover. Some lawyer’s workin’ late, he’s not going to stop and make small talk with the likes of me. So. Nobody saw me. You’ll have to take my word that I was there all night.”

  “You drove all the way down here to tell me this?”

  “Hey, I could’ve had her alibi me, which she’d’ve done in a heartbeat, but I wanted to play straight.”

  “Good boy. Now what?”

  “Iona thought you might put in a good word for me.”

  “Frankie, come on. You know better than that. No one gives a shit what I think. My opinion carries no weight at all. It’s like Iona thinking I had the clout to offer Pudgie a deal. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Those cops like you.”

  “Sure they do, but so what? Look, I’m perfectly willing to pass the story along, but trust me, without an alibi, my big, hot endorsement won’t help.”

  “But you believe me?”

  “Let’s put it this way; nothing would make me happier than your telling the truth. I’m sure the cops will be crazy about the idea, too.”

  He dropped his cigarette and stepped on the ember with the toe of his boot. “You try, okay?”

  “I’ll call Lieutenant Dolan tomorrow. Meantime, if I were you I’d get back to town before your PO gets wind of what’s going on.”

  “I’ll do that. And thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I closed the window and had it latched again before Frankie reached the truck. I heard the door slam and she backed out, the headlights doing a reverse angle on the draperies as she pulled away. I shook my head. What a baby. Gone was the tough guy I’d met the first time around. As for his story, I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Sincerity aside, he was capable of manipulation if it suited his purposes.

  In the morning, I changed rooms. There were far too many people who knew where I was and I didn’t feel safe. I chose an innocuous location on the second floor in the middle of a stretch of rooms. No ice machines. No vending machines. No reason to be up there unless you were a paid motel guest. At ground level, I figured I was a sitting duck for Peeping Toms or guys with a penchant for picking locks. Up here, even if the housekeeper propped my door open for hours on end, it would take nerve for someone to climb the stairs and pretend to be wandering around lost. From the second floor I had a nice view of the parking lot. I’d left Dolan’s car in a row of cars to one side so there was no way to associate the vehicle with my whereabouts.

  At 9:15, I called Dolan’s house. Stacey picked up. I told him my concern that someone had entered my room and had taken a long hard look at my notes. He told me to change rooms, which I told him I’d done. He told me Dolan had left for an appointment with the cardiologist. I told him about Medora’s house, the note, and Frankie’s late-night visit. He told me I better watch my step and I said I would. Then he said, “What have we picked up in the way of elimination prints?”

  “We’re not doing so well. Last I heard Edna had gone in, but none of the other four.”

  “What’s up with that? I don’t like them thinking they can bypass us. Go back and threaten. Tell them it looks bad, like maybe one of them has something to hide.”

  “So how’s Dolan doing?”

  “He’s good. I’d say good. Doing better than I thought.”

  “You think the living arrangements are going to work?”

  “Jury’s still out on that. I could probably do worse-though, frankly, the guy’s a colossal pain in the ass. Of course, he says the same thing about me.”

  “Makes you the perfect pair,” I said. “Better than some of the marriages I’ve seen.”

  “Amen to that. What’s the latest down there?”

  “I haven’t heard anything since I was at the Tuley-Belle last night, but I can stop by the sheriffs office and talk to Lassiter.”

  “Do that and call me back. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but so far no luck. Meantime, we’ll see what we can find out about Frankie’s whereabouts on Friday night.”

  “Great. Tell Dolan I said hi. I really miss you guys.” Stacey said.

  “Ditto. And you take care of yourself.”

  I retrieved Dolan’s car and drove the few short blocks to the Sheriffs Department. Todd Chilton and a civilian clerk seemed to be the only ones in. He was chatting with one of the church ladies I’d seen at Edna’s. She was in her seventies, wearing a pale green leisure suit. Her hair had just been done and it puffed out as nicely as a dandelion. She’d placed a parking ticket on the counter, and I waited politely while she wrote out a check and tore it from her register. I flicked a quick look at the name printed on the face of the check: Adele Opdyke.

  “How are you, Adele? We met at Edna’s on Saturday. Nice seeing you again.

  “Nice seeing you, too.” She seemed flustered to realize I was standing close enough to see what she was doing. “Don’t go thinking this ticket’s mine. It’s my husband’s. He parked in a fire lane Friday night, late going to a movie. He’s always doing that. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell him not to.”

  Deputy Chilton said, “Why are you the one paying? He’ll never learn this way.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. I’m entirely too good to him. I should make him take care of it. It would serve him right.” She glanced at me. “You’re that private detective, but I forget your name. Edna told us all about the fabric in her quilt.”

  “Kinsey Millhone,” I said. “Did you get that mailing out?”

  “It’s done and it’s been delivered by now.” She turned back to Chilton. “How’s the investigation? That poor Cedric had a sorry life and what a terrible end.”

  “We’re all working overtime, doing everything we can. Quorum PD’s pitching in so we’re on it.”

  “That’s good.” She tucked her checkbook in her handbag. “Well, I’m off to run my errands. I wanted to get this done first before I forgot. Nice talking to you.”

  As soon as she left, I said, “I was looking for Detective Lassiter, but I gather he’s not here.”

  “He’s at the Tuley-Bel
le. The coroner thinks Pudgie was killed with a tire iron, which hasn’t turned up yet. Detective Lassiter thinks it’s possible it’s still out there – dumped or buried. Detective Oliphant left a couple of messages for him, but they’ll have to wait. I know he’s concerned about this business with the McPhees’ fingerprints, but we’ve got all our personnel at the crime scene, so even if they came in there’s nothing we could do.”

  “Well. First things first. I’ll tell Stacey someone will get back to him later in the day. I’m sure he’d like an update.”

  Chapter 26

  *

  I sat in the car in front of the Sheriffs Department, thinking about tire irons. As murder weapons go, the lowly tire iron has the virtue of being genderless and easily obtainable. Lots of people have tire irons. They’re probably not as common as a set of kitchen knives, but they’re cheap, readily available, have no moving parts, and no one would think to question your possessing one. You don’t need a license to buy one and you don’t have to worry about a three-day waiting period” while your local hardware salesman runs a background check.

  I’d seen a tire iron in the past week. I knew it was only one of millions in the world, and the chances were remote that I’d seen the very tire iron used on Pudgie’s head. Still, it seemed like a good mental exercise. Where had I seen tools? McPhee’s automobile upholstery shop, both in the two-car garage where he sat to smoke and in the second garage where Dolan and I had found the Mustang. Also Cornell’s garage where I’d seen him at work constructing a dog house for his daughters’ pup. The question was, did any of these locations warrant another look? It seemed like a waste of time except for the fact that I had nothing else to do. While Detective Lassiter and the deputies were out combing the area surrounding the Tuley-Belle, the killer might have scrubbed the blood and brains off the murder weapon and put it back where it’d been. So finding it wouldn’t mean anything and not finding it wouldn’t mean anything, either. Well, that was dumb. I decided to try something more productive.

  I started the car and went back to the Ocean View. I wanted to call Felicia and see how she was doing. I was also interested in the arrangements she’d made for Pudgie’s funeral. My message light was blinking. I dialed 6 and picked up a message indicating that Lieutenant Dolan had called at 10:00. It was only 10:20 now, so I was hoping I’d catch him before he left the house again. He picked up on the first ring.