Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)
“If you would, that’d be great,” Stacey said, taking out a ballpoint pen. “You have a piece of paper? I can give you the number.”
“You can write it on the cover of that Cosmopolitan. I never throw those out.”
Stacey jotted down the name of our motel, the number, and our two room numbers on the cover of the magazine.
“You might write your names down so I don’t forget,” she said, meaning that she already had.
Stacey scribbled our names, then clicked his pen and tucked it away. “When he goes out, do you have any idea where? We’ll be happy to scout around and see if we can find him ourselves.”
“There’s a tavern—just a little hole-in-the-wall—over on Vine. You might try there. I can’t think where else he might be, unless he drove into Blythe.”
“Who’s he hang out with?”
“No one that I know. He’s been in jail so many times, he doesn’t have many friends left. He did get a couple of phone calls Thursday night. The first, I don’t know about. He took that himself. The second time I answered and it turned out to be a woman he dated years ago . . .”
“Not Iona Mathis,” I said.
“That’s exactly who. You know her?”
“I met her a few days ago.”
“She’s nice. I like her. Too bad he didn’t end up with her. I hear she married someone else.”
“Why’d she call him?”
“I don’t know, but she must have been pissed because I heard him backpedaling like crazy, swearing up and down he didn’t do whatever it was she was so aggravated about. Then some guy got on the line and it started all over again.”
“Frankie Miracle?”
“Could be. I think so. I wasn’t paying that close attention. Phone’s in the kitchen. The call came during my favorite TV show, so after a few minutes of his yammering, I got up and shut the door.”
“After the call, he didn’t say anything about going out last night?”
“No, but then it’s not like he tells me half of what he does.”
“You think he might have gone off to meet Iona?”
“Oh god, no. I sincerely hope not. As mad as she was? He’d be smart to keep his distance.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said when Stacey and I were in the car again. “Why don’t you find a gas station and we’ll see if there’s a pay phone.”
“Who’re you going to call?”
“Annette up in Peaches. Iona’s mom.”
There were two gas stations on the main drag; a Chevron at the corner of First and Vine and an Arco station at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. Somebody had a sense of humor here, at any rate. Stacey pulled in at the Arco. The two of us emptied our pockets and came up with a handful of change. He waited in the car while I dialed Directory Assistance and got the number for the Moonlight Café. Within minutes, I had Annette on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Annette. This is Kinsey Millhone. Lieutenant Dolan and I . . .”
“I remember you,” she said. “How’s that lieutenant? I forget his first name...”
“Conrad. People call him Con. As a matter of fact, he had a heart attack yesterday. He’s in the hospital in Quorum.”
“Well, forevermore. I’m so sorry to hear that. The poor man. How’s he doing?”
“Well, he’s got good doctors and they seem to think he’ll be okay.”
“Thank goodness. You tell him I intend to keep him in my prayers.”
“I’ll do that. In the meantime, I have a question for Iona. Is she working today?”
“Honey, don’t I wish. She left Peaches shortly after you did and drove straight to Santa Teresa. She called later that same day to say she was at Frank’s. I can’t believe my own flesh and blood’s so dumb. I told her to stay away from him, but would she listen? Of course not.”
“How’d that happen? Last I heard he didn’t even know where she was.”
“Baby, that was daydreaming on my part. Now I find out she was in touch with him the whole time he was in prison. They’re on the phone with each other just about every day.”
“What sent her running to him?”
“You don’t know how protective she is where he’s concerned. She’s worse than a mama bear. She’s sure he didn’t have anything to do with that other poor girl’s death—you know, the one you were here asking about? If he did, she’d be first in line volunteering an alibi for him.”