Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”

He smiled benignly. “Enjoy your evening.”

23

The phone was ringing as I unlocked my door. I dropped my bag and plucked the handset from the cradle on what must have been the fourth or fifth ring. A woman said, “Is this Kinsey?”

“Sure, who’s this?”

“Iona. My mom said you called looking for me.”

“Where are you, in Creosote?”

“Peaches. I just got in. What do you want?”

“Did you talk to Pudgie Clifton Thursday night?”

“I might have called him,” she said, cautiously. “Why do you ask?”

“Did you make arrangements to see him?”

“Why would I do that? He’s a lowlife punk.”

“His sister said you were pissed at him. What was that about?”

“None of your business. That’s between him and me.”

“All right. Let’s try this one. Your mother tells me you spent time in Lompoc as a kid. I’m wondering if you told Pudgie about the quarry up there.”

Dead silence.

“You remember telling him about that? I’m talking about the one where the girl’s body was found.”

“How would I know where the body was found?”

“Oh come on, Iona. Don’t play games with me. I don’t care if you told him. I just want the information.”

“I might have.”

“You might have, or you did?”

“All right, I did, but that was years ago. I even took him to see it once when we were out on the road.”

“Did you know Charisse Quinn?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you going to ask who she is?”

“I’m not stupid. I assume she’s the dead girl they found after Cathy Lee was killed. I asked Frankie about that and he says he had nothing to do with that. He didn’t even know her.”

“You know, he’s not stupid, either. If he killed the girl, he’s hardly going to tell you.”

“Why are you so against him? Can’t you give the guy a break? He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“This isn’t about me, Iona. It’s about Charisse. Is Frankie there by chance? I’d like to talk to him myself.”

“He took off Friday morning. He was scheduled to work Friday night and had to get back.”

“Short visit, wasn’t it?”

“So what?” she said, annoyed.

“What’d you tell him about Pudgie?”

Another silence, during which I could hear her breathing in my ear.

“Iona?”

“If you must know, I told him Pudgie’s a fuckin’ snitch. He knew somebody had pointed a finger at him. The minute you mentioned Pudgie, I figured it was him.”

“Is that why you were so pissed at him?”

“I’m not the only one. Frankie’s pissed about it, too. Pudgie cut a deal for himself by blaming Frankie for what happened to that girl.”

I felt a whisper of fear, like a millipede, running down my back. “Where’d you get that?”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Yes it is, because Frankie checked it out. He knows this guy at the county jail who’s serving thirty days? The guy told him Pudgie had a visitor—this woman private eye, who was asking about the murder—that was you, right?”

“Of course, but Pudgie never made a deal.”

“Yes, he did. You know how I know? He got out of jail the very next day. The guy said.”

“Because his sentence was up. He’d served his time and he was released.”

“Nuhn-un. No way. Pudgie went back to his cell block and bragged to everyone. He said you were doing something special for him. Next thing you know, he got out.”

“He asked me for cigarettes and I said no. That’s all it was. There wasn’t any deal.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Tell me another one.”

“Would you listen to me? Iona, think about this. I don’t have the authority to get him out. How would I do that?”

“That’s not what the guy said.”

“Well, the guy got it wrong. I don’t have the power to make a deal with anyone. I’m not a cop. I’m a private citizen just like you.”

She said, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” I snapped. “Next time you talk to Frankie, would you set him straight? If he needs to hear it from me, he can call. In the meantime, lay off Pudgie. He didn’t do a thing.”