Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

Rosie crossed to the bar where she and William engaged in a baffled conversation. Meanwhile, I’d grabbed up my shoulder bag and I was rooting through the contents. Earlier that day, I’d spotted an outdated grocery list done on a sheet of yellow legal paper. I kept one eye on Rosie while I folded the note paper into a cone, pointed at the bottom with a wide mouth at the top. I turned the pointed bottom up to form a seal. I forked up crepes in rapid succession, ignoring the gnarly bits that fell back on the plate. I folded the top down, wrapped the cone in a paper napkin, and shoved the bundle in my purse.

By the time Rosie glanced in my direction, I was bent over my plate, making fake chewing motions while trying to look entranced. Another couple entered the bar and her attention was distracted. I put a twenty on the table near Henry’s plate. “Tell her I was called away on an emergency.”

Henry pointed to my soup, most of which was still in the bowl. “I’ll have her put that in a jar and bring it over to you later tonight. I know how you hate to see food go to waste.”

10

I was home earlier than I’d intended, concerned that calf brain would leak out of the makeshift container and contaminate the interior of my shoulder bag. As I passed Henry’s garbage can, I removed the bundle from my purse and dumped it. I lifted my head, alerted by the dim ringing of a phone somewhere. I banged down the lid and hurried to my front door, unlocking it in haste. Three rings. Four. I slung my bag on a kitchen chair and snatched up the receiver. My answering machine had already kicked in and I was forced to override my own voice, singing, “It’s me. I’m here. Don’t go away. I’m answering.”

“Kinsey?”

The caller was male and he spoke against the dull murmur of background conversations. I put a hand against one ear. “Who’s this?”

“Pudgie.”

“Well, hi. This is a surprise. I didn’t think I’d hear from you. What’s up?”

“You said call if I thought of something, but you have to promise you won’t let this get back to him.”

I found myself straining to hear. “Back to who?”

“Frankie. You ever meet him?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s a crazy man. You can’t tell it right off because he’s good at faking it . . . like he’s normal and all, but believe me, you don’t want to mess with him.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“I don’t, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the guy’s a freak.”

“Is that why you called, to say how nuts he is?”

“Nuhn-uhn. I’ll get to that, but lemme ask you something first. Suppose someone tells him I called you?”

“Come on. I can’t control that. Besides, who’s going to tell? I can promise not a word of this will come from me.”

“You swear?”

“Of course.”

I could hear him cup a hand over the mouthpiece, lips so close to the phone I thought he’d slobber in my ear. “He talked about stabbing some chick to death.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pudgie. That’s why he went to prison. For killing Cathy Lee Pearse.”

“Not her. Another one. This was after he killed her.”

“I’m listening.”

“He’s bragging about what happens to any bitch tries to cross him. He said he picked up this chick in a bar. She had some dope on her and the two of them got loose. They go out to the parking lot to play grab ass, but she turns all sour on him and starts giving him a hard time, which pisses him off. When she refuses to put out, he offs her and sticks her in the trunk of Cathy Lee’s car. He drives around with her two days, but he’s worried she’ll start to stink, so he dumps her when he gets to Lompoc.”

“Where’d he pick her up?”

“What bar? Don’t know. He never said. He didn’t mention the town, either. I’d guess Santa Teresa. It had to’ve been before he hit Lompoc because that’s where he got caught.”

“What about the dump site? Did he say where that was?”

“Some place outside town where she wouldn’t be found. I guess they managed to nail him on Cathy Lee, but nobody knew about the other one, so he was free and clear on that.”

“What made you suddenly remember? This doesn’t sound like something that would slip your mind.”

“It didn’t ‘slip my mind,’” he said, offended. “You’re the one came to me. I never offered to snitch. I didn’t ‘suddenly’ do anything. I remembered the minute his name came up.”