Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

He smiled when he saw me, gesturing me over so he could make the introductions. “Kinsey, this is Mattie Halstead from San Francisco. She stopped off to see us on her way to L.A.” And to Mattie, he said, “Kinsey rents the studio . . .”

“Of course. Nice to meet you. Henry’s talked quite a bit about you.”

“It’s nice meeting you, too,” I said, with a sly glance at him.

He’d had his hair trimmed, and I noticed he was wearing a white dress shirt and long pants. I didn’t think he’d ever gotten that spiffed up for a woman before. Mattie was easily his height and just as trim. Her silver hair was cut short and layered in a windblown mop. She wore a white silk shirt, gray slacks, and stylish low-heeled shoes. The jewelry she wore— matching earrings and a bracelet—were custom-made, hammered silver and amethysts.

She regarded me with intelligent gray eyes. “I was afraid he might be away so I called from Carmel when I arrived there last night. I’m taking my time, stopping to see friends as I travel down the coast.”

“Is this business or pleasure?”

“A little bit of both. I’m delivering some paintings to a gallery in San Diego. I could’ve crated them for shipping, but I needed a break.”

“You were on the cruise Henry took?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that was work. This is my time off.”

“Mattie teaches drawing and painting, and she lectures on art. Nell took her watercolor class and ended up doing quite well.”

“Better than Lewis,” Mattie said, with a smile. “I felt so bad for him. I’ve never seen anyone quite so enthusiastic.”

“He was flirting,” Henry said reprovingly before turning to me. “Why don’t you join us? We were just about to sit down and have a glass of iced tea.”

“I better pass on that, thanks. I’ve got some reading to do and then I thought I’d sneak in a run. My schedule’s been horsed up and I owe myself one.”

“What about supper? We’re heading up to Rosie’s at six.”

“No way. I don’t intend to go until she gets off this kick of hers. Gourmet entrails. Did Henry mention that?”

“He warned me, but I’m actually a fan of liver and onions.”

“Yeah, but the liver of what beast? I won’t risk it myself. You ought to have him do the cooking. He’s terrific.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe another time. I’ve been looking forward to reconnecting with William and Rosie. They were dear.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Just one night. I have a reservation at the Edgewater, my favorite hotel. My husband and I used to come here for anniversaries,” she said. “I’ll take off in the morning as soon as it’s light. With luck, I can avoid the rush-hour traffic through Los Angeles.”

“Well, it’s too bad we won’t have time to chat. Do you plan to stop by on the return trip?”

“We’ll see how it goes. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Maybe you can talk him into cooking for you then.”

I let myself into the apartment, tossed my bag on the kitchen counter, and headed up the stairs. I didn’t have any reading to catch up on and I’d done my three-mile run at six A.M. I told those tiny fibs to make sure Mattie and Henry had some time alone. I peered out the bathroom window, taking in the truncated view of the two of them down below. It was not quite four o’clock. I managed to kill an hour and a half and then thought about where to go for supper that night. I was serious about boycotting Rosie’s until she abandoned her newfound passion for animal by-product cookery. As it was currently Happy Hour, I knew Dolan would be at CC’s. I could have joined him, but I didn’t want to sit and count his drinks while inhaling his secondhand smoke. I returned to the bathroom window and peered down at the backyard. Henry and Mattie were gone, but their two lawn chairs remained, pulled slightly closer together than they’d been when I’d first arrived home. I could see the lights on in his kitchen, so they were probably fortifying themselves with Black Jack on ice before braving Rosie’s food.

Now that the coast was clear, I grabbed my shoulder bag and a jacket and scooted out the front door. I retrieved my car and drove to the McDonald’s on lower Milagra Street. I’m at the drive-through lane so often, the take-out servers recognize my voice and deal with me by name. On impulse, I ordered extras and went to Stacey’s house. In my opinion, there’s no condition in life that can’t be ameliorated by a dose of junk food.