Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“It’s a little house off the highway. You go down here about ten blocks until you hit North Street and then turn right. Once you get to Riverside you turn right again. She’s about five blocks down.”

Roxanne Faught had turned her front porch into an outdoor room, with pale sisal carpet, a dark green painted porch swing, two white wicker rockers, occasional tables, and a double-sided magazine rack, one half stuffed with issues of People and the other with copies of Better Homes and Gardens. Five terra-cotta pots of bright orange marigolds lined the edge of the porch. When I arrived, she was sitting on the swing with a bottle of beer and a freshly lit cigarette. The house itself was white frame and completely nondescript. There were windows and doors in all the proper places, but nothing that made the house distinct. Roxanne was in her sixties and attractive, though the creases in her face were exaggerated by all the makeup she wore. Her hair was, in the main, a coppery blond, showing gray at the roots where four inches of new growth formed a wide band. Her brows were plucked to thin arches and her dark eyes were lined in black. The smoking had darkened her teeth, but they were otherwise straight and uniform, suggesting caps. She wore a long-sleeve navy T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up, jeans, and tennis shoes without socks. She took a sip of beer and pointed at me with the bottle. “You have to be the one Pop just called about. Come on up and have a seat.”

“Kinsey Millhone. I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice. I wasn’t sure where you were living so I started with him.”

“I’ve been in town all my life. I guess I don’t have much sense of adventure. My great-aunt died and left me just enough money to get the house paid off. I can survive without working if I watch my step.” She paused and picked up a strand of two-toned hair, which she studied critically. “You can see I quit going to the beauty shop. Cheaper to color it myself, when I get around to it. I can’t give these up,” she said, gesturing with her cigarette. “I smoked so long I’m probably doomed, anyway. Might as well enjoy.” She coughed once, loosening something deep in her chest. “What can I help you with? Pop says you’re here about that girl got killed, what was it, twenty years ago?”

“Just about. Eighteen in August.”

“You know what’s interesting about her? She’s got a grip on folks. Here she is dead all that time and she still has people out there wondering who she is and how to get her back where she belongs.”

“And who killed her,” I added.

“Yeah, well good luck on that. You got your work cut out. Sit, sit, sit. Can I get you a beer?”

“I’m doing fine right now, thanks.” I settled on one of the white wicker rockers, which creaked under my weight. “I can see where you’d want to spend the day out here, watching traffic go by. Nice.”

“That’s the thing about retirement. People keep asking me, don’t you miss work? Well, no way, José. I could go the rest of my life and never leave this porch. I’m so busy as it is I can’t figure out how I ever had time for a job. Between housework and errands, there’s half the day gone right there.”

“What else do you do?”

“Read. I work in the yard, play bridge with some gals I’ve known for years. How about you? You like the work you do?”

“I’m not that crazy about being stuck indoors, but the field work’s fun.”

“So now. What can I tell you that you don’t already know?”

“One thing I was curious about. Gull Cove is thirty miles south. Seems like a long way to drive for work you could have found in town.”

Roxanne coughed again, clearing her throat. As with other smokers I’ve known, her coughing was habitual and didn’t seem to warrant a remark. “That’s easy. I was diddling the owner. That’s how I got hired.” She laughed. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. He moved on to someone else and I got fired. Big surprise. My fault entirely. It’s like Pop used to say, ‘Don’t shit in your own Post Toasties, Roxanne.’”

“Live and learn.”

“You got that right. Anyway, I was working seven to three. This was summer and hotter than blue blazes, even with the breeze coming in off the ocean. You know the place at all?”

“Actually, I stopped off there on the drive up.”

“Then you’ve seen for yourself. Not a shade tree in sight; building stuck there on the side of the hill. By August the sun’s hot enough to boil water. Anyway, this was a Friday morning. I remember because I got paid once a week and I had bills up to here. So I’m working away—it’s just me by my lonesome. Business was never heavy and I could handle it myself. This gal comes in. She’s checking the aisles, walking up and down like she has some shopping to do. Then I see her move to the rear where we had a coffee machine and a self-serve case of deli sandwiches and sweets. Customers would serve themselves, then come to the register to pay once they had everything they needed. We kept tables and chairs outside on the deck and most of ’em would take their purchases out there and watch the ocean while they ate. You had to look over the four lanes of traffic whizzing by on the road, but you could see it all the same. Different every day. I never got tired of the sight myself. Any rate, she helped herself to a cup of coffee and a doughnut and had both of them scarfed down by the time she got to the front. She’d tossed the cup somewhere in back, maybe thinking I wouldn’t notice she’d just had her fill. Next thing I know, she’s halfway out the door. I rang up the charges and then I caught up with her. That’s when she told me she was broke. Well, hell, I thought. I’ve been broke in my day and I don’t begrudge anyone some brew and a bite to eat, so I told her I’d take care of it. She said, ‘Thanks. I mean that.’ Those were her exact words. ‘Thanks. I mean that.’ And off she went. Couldn’t have taken more than four minutes all told, and I’m talking from the time she came in.”