Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

I pushed the covers back and moved into the bathroom, where I peered out the window, angling my face so I could catch a glimpse of Henry’s back door. The kitchen light was on and I was energized by the idea that he was home. I put on my shoes, washed my face, tidied my bed, and trotted down the spiral stairs. I went out, locking the door behind me, noting with satisfaction that Henry’s station wagon was now sitting in the drive where I’d parked the day before yesterday.

He had his back door open, the screen door latched but unlocked. There was no immediate sign of him, but I knocked on the frame and heard his “Yoo hoo” coming at me from the hall. He appeared half a second later in his usual T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Before he could get the door open, his wall phone rang. He motioned me in and then snatched up the receiver. He had the briefest of conversations and then said, “Let me switch to the other phone. Hang on a minute. Don’t go away.” He held out the handset and whispered, “Be right back. Help yourself to a glass of wine.”

I took the phone, waiting while he went into the bedroom and picked up in there. As soon as I knew he was on the line, I replaced the handset in the wall-mounted cradle. He’d already opened a bottle of Chardonnay, which sat in a frosty cooler with a stemmed glass close by. I poured myself half a glass of wine. I could smell chicken baking and I peered through the oven window. The plump hen I’d bought was already turning brown, surrounded by onions, carrots, and rosy new potatoes. He’d set the kitchen table for four, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before William and Rosie popped in. It’d take them a day or two to get the tavern up and running. I wondered if Rosie’s Hungarian dishes would take on the flavors of the Caribbean. I tried to imagine her pork stew gussied up with coconut, pineapple, and plantains.

Henry returned to the kitchen moments later and poured a drink of his own. He looked tanned and fit, his cheeks wind-burned, his eyes a lustrous blue. William and Rosie arrived at that point, William in a straw boater, Rosie with a tote made of woven fibers that looked like a cross between corn husks and grass. William was two years Henry’s senior and blessed with the same silky white hair and the same lean frame. To my mind, he isn’t quite as handsome as Henry, but he looks good nonetheless. William is a recovering hypochondriac who still can’t resist a good story about inexplicable illness and sudden death. Rosie, by way of contrast, is stocky and solid, bossy, opinionated, insecure, humorless, and generous at heart. The tropical sun had rendered her dyed red hair a singular salmon hue, but she was otherwise unchanged. While Henry took out lettuce and tomatoes, I asked the newlyweds how they’d liked the cruise.

Rosie made a face. “I din’t like the food. Too blend. No taste and what there was is no good.”

William poured them each a glass of wine. “You ate more than I did! You were gluttonous.”

“But I din’t enjoy. That’s what I’m say. Is forgettable. I don’t remember nothing I ate.”

“You forgot that pineapple pie? Delicious! Extraordinary. You said so yourself.”

“I make twice as good if I want, which I don’t.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that, but you were there to be pampered. The point of the whole vacation was not having to cook.”

“What about activities? What’d you do with yourselves all day?”

William pulled out a chair for Rosie and then took a seat at the table. “It was terrific. Wonderful. We docked at various ports, maybe seven in all. When we weren’t off seeing the sights, we had lectures and movies, swimming, shuffleboard, aerobics—you name it. They even had a bowling alley. At night, there was gambling and ballroom dancing. Bridge, chess tournaments. Never an idle moment. We had a ball.”

“Good for you. That sounds great. How about the other sibs? Did they enjoy it?”

William said, “Well, let’s see now. Charlie finally got his hearing aids adjusted and he’s a changed man. You can hardly shut him up. Used to be he kept to himself since he never had a clue what anyone was saying to him. He and Nell played bridge and beat the socks off their opponents.”

“And Lewis?”

“You put him around a bunch of women and he’s happy as a clam. Men were outnumbered ten to one. He was the cock of the walk.”

Rosie held up an index finger. “Not quite.” She gave Henry a sly smile. “Tell what you did.”

“No, no. Unimportant. Enough about us. What about you, Kinsey? What are you working on? Something interesting I’m sure.”

“Come on, Henry. You haven’t finished telling me about the trip. I’ve never been on a cruise. I really want to know what it was like.”