Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“Could she do that?”

“Do what?”

“Provide him an alibi for the two days after Cathy Lee’s death? She was awfully vague on that score.”

“Iona’s convinced there’s an explanation, but so far I haven’t heard a word of it. I think that’s why she went, to find out where he was for that two days. I know she was fretting about the quarry where the girl was dumped.”

I held the receiver out and squinted at the mouthpiece. “Why would Iona fret about that?”

“Oh, she knows the place well. She used to play there as a kid. She has a couple cousins—this is my sister’s two kids. Iona stayed with them every summer for two weeks. They’d ride their bikes over to the quarry and have rock fights.”

“In Lompoc?”

“What did I just get through saying to you?”

“Why didn’t you tell Lieutenant Dolan?”

“I must not’ve been thinking or I’d have spoken right up.”

“Are you sure it’s the same one? There must be others in the area.”

“I guess that’s what Iona’s trying to find out.”

“Did she mention Pudgie at all?”

“In regard to what?”

“I’m wondering if she said anything to Frankie about him?”

“Well, she must have. You know Pudgie and Frankie were in jail together right around that same time. If anybody pointed a finger, it almost had to be him. She figures Pudgie threw Frankie’s name in the hat, hoping to make some kind of deal for himself.”

“Oh geez, that’s not true. There wasn’t any deal,” I said. “Look, do me a favor. If she gets in touch, will you have her call me? I’m in Quorum at the Ocean View Motel, room 125.”

“I don’t expect to hear from her, but if I do, I’ll be happy to tell her. Of course, you’re closer to her than I am.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, hon, she’s in Creosote. I told you that. After she left Santa Teresa, she went looking for Pudgie to see if she could straighten this out.”

“Did Frankie come with her?”

“Lord, I don’t know. I hope not. She never said.”

I didn’t actually groan, but I probably should have. “Let’s don’t worry about that now. Thanks, Annette. You’ve been a big help.”

“Honey, you tell Lieutenant Dolan I’m sending him a big old sloppy kiss.”

“I’ll do that. Just please have Iona call me if you hear from her. You don’t know where she’s staying?”

“Of course not. I’d have said if I did.”

“Great. I thought I better check in case I missed that part.”

22

We cruised Vine, which was the main street of Creosote and all of ten blocks long. There was only the one tavern, done up in the ubiquitous Western theme. We parked and went in, pausing to get our bearings: low ceilings supported by heavy beams, a wooden floor dense with sawdust, rough-hewn log walls chunked with stucco or its equivalent. There was a long, polished mahogany bar with the requisite brass foot railing, eight tables with captain’s chairs, and a Foosball table. The place was deserted, so it didn’t take long to figure out that Pudgie wasn’t there. At one end of the bar, there was an old Orange Julius machine with a perpetual fountain of juice laving the square, glass tank. Behind the bar, there was a rotisserie where old-fashioned hot dogs on skewers circled past a heat source, throwing off an irresistible cheap scent.

Stacey and I made a beeline for the bartender, ordering and consuming two hot dogs each, decorated with a squiggle of mustard, and piled high with a nasty sweet pickle relish and onions minced so fine our eyes were watering. Neither of us said a word until the last bite of bun had been munched and swallowed. I was gratified to hear Stacey making the same low whimpering sounds that accompanied most of my meals.

He chased his lunch down with a Coke and then used a paper napkin to scrub his mouth and fingers. “I’ll be burping weenies for the rest of the day, but it’s worth it. Don’t know how I worked up such an appetite.”

“Well Stacey, we haven’t eaten since noon and it’s after three o’clock.”

“Can I get you anything else?” The bartender was a man in his late fifties, with an egg-shaped face, balding head, and a gap between his two front teeth.

Stacey said, “We’re looking for Pudgie Clifton. His sister, Felicia, thought he might be here.”

“Haven’t seen him today. He usually shows up at eleven when we open the place. He’ll be in later. Happy Hour for sure. He never misses a chance to get his two for one.”