Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“No, thanks. I don’t drink. I’ve seen enough of that.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I bumped into someone as I entered the living room. I said, “Pardon me,” and looked up to find Todd Chilton. He wasn’t in uniform and it took me an instant to realize who he was. I said, “Hey, how are you? I didn’t realize you’d be here. Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.”

We stepped to one side. Music had started up. Someone had apparently put together a tape of Pudgie’s old favorites, starting with Chubby Checker. “Come on, baby, let’s do the twist . . .” Nobody seemed to think it was inappropriate. I was just happy to have the noise to cover my conversation with the deputy. He bent his head, a hand cupped to his ear.

I said, “Have they found the murder weapon yet?”

He shook his head. “We searched until six and then we had to give it up. No point fumbling around in the dark. Detective Lassiter did say he’d return Detective Oliphant’s call first thing tomorrow morning. Lot of paperwork’s piled up since we’ve been out in the field.”

“I’m assuming Pudgie’s murder hit the news.”

“Oh yeah. Big spread this morning, asking for volunteers. I was just talking to Cornell. We got a lot of desert out there and a weapon like that’s easy to hide. We’ve searched that whole area behind the Tuley-Belle and now we’ll head toward the highway. You’re welcome to join us. We could use the help.”

“Thanks. I may do that.”

Chilton moved away. I scanned the room, looking for Cornell. Adrianne had reappeared and she gave me a look of dark distaste before she walked away. I’d probably overplayed my hand with her. I didn’t want to think she’d tell her brother what I knew, but she was capable of that.

Felicia passed me again. “They’re about to cut that chocolate cake if you’re interested. It looks great.”

“I’ll have some in a bit. Have you seen Cornell?”

She glanced around. “He was here a while ago. He might be in the kitchen. I saw him talking to Adrianne. He might have left to pick up the kids at the baby-sitter’s. I hear he’s a doll about things like that.”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

I crossed to the front window and peered out to the darkened street. Justine’s sedan was still there but Cornell’s truck was gone. I didn’t like that. His departure seemed abrupt. Maybe it was true he’d gone to pick up his kids, but it was also true he knew the search for the murder weapon was heating up. I let myself out the front door, struck by the chill night air after the suffocating level of artificial heat inside. My thrift store jacket, which had probably belonged to Justine once upon a time, was too light to offer much protection from the cold. I readjusted my shoulder bag and broke into a trot, heading for Dolan’s car.

I unlocked the door and slid in under the wheel. I jammed the key in the ignition and turned it. The car coughed and died. I tried again. No deal. I pumped the gas pedal twice and then realized I was only flooding the engine. I sat and waited and then tried again. The starter ground and turned over. I gave it way too much gas and the engine roared to life. I pulled out, tires chirping as I took off. I turned on the heat, hoping to warm up. My sense of urgency coupled with the dry cold was making me shiver.

Half a minute later, I was on Highway 78, driving north toward Quorum. At this hour of the evening, traffic was light. I thought I caught a glimpse of Cornell’s truck up ahead. There were four cars on the road between us and I was having to peer around and through them to keep an eye on him. Approaching the Tuley-Belle, the car in front of me slowed and I realized that, at the head of the line, Cornell had slowed to a stop. His turn signal winked merrily and he turned left as soon as oncoming traffic allowed.

I slowed as I passed the entrance, watching his taillights disappear into the dark. I drove on a hundred yards and pulled over to the side of the road. I doused the headlights, set the handbrake, and let the car idle while I debated with myself. I’d be foolish to follow him. The Tuley-Belle was a mile and a half from the main road, not only isolated, but riddled with hiding places better known to him than they were to me. I peered over my shoulder and stared into the darkness, picking up the parallel rounds of his headlights, now facing me. He hadn’t driven to the complex. For some reason, he’d turned the truck around and was now parked by the road, facing the highway. I saw the headlights go out. Soon after that, I picked up a faint smudge of light off to the right of the four-lane blacktop. What was he doing out there? Burying the murder weapon? Digging it up to move it? But why take that risk? Simple. He knew the sheriff’s investigators had been and gone. He also knew they’d return the next morning to start the search again. Todd Chilton had described the terrain the deputies had covered. If the weapon was out there, he could either move it into an area they’d already searched or remove the weapon from a section yet to be combed. Why would the tire iron be out there in the first place? Because he didn’t want the damn thing hidden anywhere close to home? Because he hadn’t had time to dispose of it anywhere else? Whatever he was up to, he must have decided this was his only opportunity to act.