Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“Damnation. Oh, hell. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

She hung up abruptly. I was sorry I’d annoyed her, but such is life. I returned to the couch and perched on the edge of the coffee table. I took Medora’s hand and slapped it lightly. “Medora, wake up. Can you wake up?”

Groggily, she opened her eyes. At first, she couldn’t seem to focus, but she finally coordinated her eyes and looked around the room, disoriented.

“It’s me, Kinsey. Can you hear me?”

She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

“Medora, did you take something for the pain? Let’s get you up, okay?” I slid an arm under her head, trying to lift her into a sitting position. “I’m going to pull you up here, but I need your help.”

She seemed to gather herself, pushing up on one elbow, which enabled me to haul her upright. Her gaze settled on mine with an expression of confusion. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, Medora. You tell me. Let’s get you on your feet and take a walk. Can you do that?”

“What for? I’m fine. I don’t want to walk.”

“Well, sit then and let’s talk. I don’t want you falling asleep again. Did you take something?”

“A nap.”

“I know you took a nap, but your doors were wide open and I was worried about you. Did you take any pills?”

“Earlier.”

“How many? Show me what you took, was it this?”

“And the other ones.”

I checked the labels on the bottles: Valium, Tylenol with Codeine, Percocet, Xanax. “This is not a good idea. You’re not supposed to take all of these at the same time, especially if you’ve had a drink. It’s not safe. Are you feeling okay?”

“Dr. Belker gave me those.”

“But you shouldn’t take them when you drink. Didn’t he explain that?”

“That case I couldn’t take ’em at all. I drink every day.” She smiled at my goofiness, having settled that point.

We went on in this fashion, with Medora offering short declarative sentences in response to my continued questions. While it was hardly scintillating conversation, it did serve its intended purpose, which was to keep her in contact with reality. By the time Justine arrived, fifteen minutes later, Medora was more alert and in control of herself.

Justine shed her coat and tossed it on the back of a chair. “Sorry it took so long, but I was waiting for Cornell. I finally called my next-door neighbor and she came over to watch the girls.”

Medora had focused on Justine with an air of humility and embarrassment. “I didn’t tell her to call you. I wouldn’t do that.”

Justine sat down beside her mother and took her hand. “How many times have we been through this, Mother? You can’t keep doing this. I have a life of my own.”

“All I had was one drink and a pain pill.”

“I’m sure you did. How many?”

“The usual.”

“Never mind. Just skip it. I shouldn’t waste my breath. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. You didn’t have to leave the girls and come over.”

“She says the doors were wide open. What was that about?”

“I closed them. I did. I remembered what you said.”

“Let’s just get you into bed. We can talk about this later when you’re more yourself.”

“I’m myself,” she said blearily, as Justine assisted her to her feet. Medora was a bit tottery.

“You need help?”

Justine shook her head, intent on maneuvering her mother around the sharp-cornered coffee table, across the room, and into the short hallway that led to her bedroom. I could hear the two of them murmuring, Medora apologizing while Justine went about the business of getting her to bed.

Five minutes later, Justine returned, rubbing her arms reflexively. “I swear she’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do with her. Geez, the place is freezing.”

“It’s warmer than it was.”

She went over to the thermostat. “It’s turned off. What’s she doing, trying to save money on the heating bill? No wonder she gets sick. She had pneumonia two months ago.” She adjusted the lever and within seconds, I could hear the furnace click on.

She sat down on the couch with a sigh that was laden with irritation. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve talked to her about this. She takes out the garbage or goes to pick up the newspaper from the drive and then she either locks herself out or forgets to latch the door again. On a windy night like this, the doors bang and blow open. She never even knows.”