“Not really. Many of our products fall into other categories, like cargo control—lumber tarps and steel haulers. I don’t think you’d mistake either for a painter’s drop cloth. They’re too big. Too bad you don’t have it with you. At least I could tell you if it’s one of ours.”
“Sorry. They’ve got it in the property room up north, under lock and key.”
“In that case, let’s think how else we might help. Most drop cloths are standard, though we do make two grades—eight- or ten-ounce natural. If I showed you, do you think you’d recognize the difference?”
“I could try.”
“My name’s Elfreida.”
“I’m Kinsey. I appreciate your time.”
I followed as she came out from behind the counter and clip-clopped across the bare concrete floor to a big worktable where two stacks of folded canvas tarps were sitting side by side. She grabbed a tarp from each stack and opened both across the tabletop, flapping them like bedsheets to shake the folds loose. “Look familiar?”
“It’s that one, I think,” I said, pointing to the lighter of the two.
“Here’s the trick,” she said. She held up one edge, showing me the red-stitched seam with a tiny square of red in the corner. “This is not a trademark per se, but we use it on everything.”
“Oh, wow. I remember that red square from the tarp we have.”
“It’s actually not a square. It’s a diamond.”
“The company name,” I said.
She smiled. “Of course, that doesn’t tell you anything about where it was purchased. Might have been here in Quorum or it might have been somewhere else. Problem is, we distribute to paint stores and hardware stores all across the country, plus places like Target and Kmart. There’s no way you’d ever track the outlet. We don’t code for things like that.”
“Who buys them?”
“Painting contractors, for the most part. The average homeowner usually buys a plastic tarp he can dispose of when he’s finished. Makes the job easier. You toss it in the trash and you’re done. Do commercial or residential work, you need something you can use more than once. These things are sturdy. They last for years.” She went on talking, but I found myself snagged again on the issue of painting contractors. Where had I run across mention of a paint contractor? I was sure I’d seen it in one of the county sheriff’s reports. She said, “Looks like I lost you back there.”
“Sorry. I’m fine. I just remembered where I’d seen mention of a painting contractor. I should go check that out. Thanks so much. You’ve been more help than you can know.”
20
After I left Diamond’s, I returned to the motel. The house-cleaning cart was parked on the walk outside my room. The maid had stripped off my sheets and she was using the pile of soiled linens to prop the door open while she went about her work. I peered in, trying to get a sense of where she was in the process. My plastic-covered mattress was bare and a flat stack of clean sheets rested at the foot of the bed. I could hear her in the bathroom with her portable radio tuned to a Spanish-language station. On the night table the message light was blinking on my phone. I heard the toilet flush and the maid emerged with my damp towel across her arm. She toted her carryall of cleaning products.
I said, “Oh, hi. Sorry to interrupt. How much longer will you be?”
She smiled broadly and nodded, saying, “Hokay. Sí. Una momento.”
“I’ll come back,” I said. I trotted across the parking lot to the office and went in.
The desk clerk was perched on her swivel stool, still chewingbubble gum, her skirt hiked up, swinging one foot while she read the inner pages of the National Enquirer.
“My message light’s blinking. Can you tell me who called?”
“How should I know? Pick up the phone and dial 6.”
“The maid’s in my room so I’m here to ask you.”
The look she gave me said she was feeling put-upon. “What room?”
“125.”
With exaggerated patience, she set the paper aside, swiveled her stool to face her computer, tapped on the keyboard, and read from the screen. She chewed her gum briefly and then her face brightened. “Oh, yeah. I remember now. You got a call from a dentist, Dr. Spears. What’s the problem with your teeth?”
“Did he leave a number?”
She blew a bubble and curled it back into her mouth on the end of her tongue, waiting to pop it after she’d closed her lips. “He did, but I didn’t bother to write it down. It’s in the book.”