Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

Exasperated, I returned the handset to the cradle. All we needed was Frankie Miracle on a rampage. I had to admit I was really splitting hairs on this one. Pudgie had most certainly pointed a finger at Frankie, but not in order to make a deal for himself. He was hoping to divert our attention, which he’d succeeded in doing, but only temporarily. Now that his fingerprints had shown up on the stolen vehicle, the focus had shifted back to him. His attempt to implicate Frankie only made his own behavior the more suspect, so in the end, his scheme backfired. Unfortunately, I didn’t credit Frankie with an appreciation of the finer points of finking. To him, a rat was a rat. I checked my notes and picked up the phone again, dialing Felicia Clifton’s number in Creosote. I didn’t even hear the line ring on her end before she said, “Hello?”

“Felicia? Kinsey Millhone. How are you?”

“Not good. Cedric hasn’t come home and I’m worried sick about him.”

“He hasn’t been gone that long, has he? You said he left the house this morning. That’s only a few hours.”

“Or he could have gone out last night. All I know is he wasn’t here when I got up. Either way, he should have checked in by now. This is not like him.”

“Did you call the tavern? The bartender said he was always there for Happy Hour.”

“Jerry hasn’t seen him either. I don’t know where he could have gone.”

“Maybe he met a girl and went home with her.”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t give him any money so he didn’t even have enough to buy drinks. My car’s still here so he has to be on foot. He could have walked to the tavern, but not anywhere else. You’ve seen this town. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere and everything shuts down at six.”

“Have you tried the police?”

“I suppose I could do that,” she said reluctantly. “I tried the two hospitals—the one in Quorum and the other one in Blythe—but neither has a record of him.”

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Would he skip town without telling you?”

“You mean take off for good? Why would he do that?”

“Ah. He’s in a bit of trouble with Frankie Miracle, Iona’s ex.”

“Shit. Does Pudgie know that?”

“I’m sure he’s well aware of it. So maybe he decided to lay low.”

“Without any money, where could he go?”

“Good question. Look, why not try the police? Maybe he was picked up. For all you know, he’s sitting in jail.”

“Trust me, if that was true, he would have hit me up for bail.”

“Well, I hope he shows soon, but if he doesn’t, let me know. Maybe we can come up with another idea.”

“You really think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, but I agree it’s worrisome,” I said. We chatted briefly, trying to boost each other’s confidence. Once I hung up, I thought, Who am I trying to kid? I couldn’t believe Frankie would risk jail time on a charge of assault and battery (or worse), but he wasn’t exactly famous for his impulse control. Now that Iona had set him off, who knew what he’d do?

Sunday morning at 8:45, Stacey and I were staked out in the parking lot of the Quorum Baptist Church. It was Easter and most of the women and children we’d seen were decked out in pastel suits and floral dresses, wearing fresh corsages, their hats atremble with artificial flowers. The McPhees pulled into the church parking lot in three separate cars. We’d been there for half an hour, the rental tucked discreetly behind a three-foot hedge. I was still arguing it made more sense to go straight to the house, but I think Stacey preferred the drama of doing it this way. The elder McPhees arrived first. They parked and got out, waiting while Adrianne turned in behind them and parked her car close by. Shortly afterward, Justine and Cornell arrived with their three girls. Dressed in their Sunday best, the eight of them looked like a picture-book family. Edna wore a hat. Ruel’s hair was slicked down with gel, and his light-blue suit was only slightly too big. The three girls, in matching outfits, complete with hats and white cotton gloves, bypassed the sanctuary and went into the Sunday School building attached at one end.

Stacey and I remained where we were. Some of the church windows were open, and we were treated to organ music and an assortment of hymns. The sermon itself didn’t carry that far. Stacey had bought a copy of the Palo Verde Valley Times, and while the service went on, we occupied ourselves with the local news. He said, “What’d you hear from Pudgie?”