Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

It was close to 6:00 by the time I walked the ten blocks back to the motel where Dolan waited. I hated admitting I’d bombed out, but that’s what I did as soon as he answered his door.

He seemed unusually magnanimous. “Don’t worry about it. You covered a lot of ground.”

“For what it’s worth.”

“Let it go for now. Start again tomorrow. You might have better luck. Right now, it’s time for drinks and dinner. Are you up for that?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to give me half an hour. I want to check in with Henry and then I’m grabbing a shower. If you’re going to the Quorum Inn, I’ll meet you there.”

“Good.”

My call caught Henry just as he was going out the door. I gave him a hasty summary of the trip and the lack of progress, and he was properly consoling. “By the way, you received a package from Lompoc. It was on your doorstep this morning. I brought it in.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Doesn’t say.”

“What’s it look like?”

“About the size of a shirt box, two pounds. Probably not a bomb. I’m holding it to my ear and it doesn’t tick.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. Open it and peek.”

“I refuse to open your mail. I’ll keep it ’til you get back.”

“If you change your mind, I’m giving you permission to see what’s there,” I said. “How’s Mattie?”

“She’s fine. She ended up staying an extra day so she could hike Diamondback Trail. There’s a hot springs up there she used to visit with her husband. She’s thinking about a painting of the scene if she can find it again.”

“Sounds like fun. Did you go?”

“No, no. My knees wouldn’t take it so I sent her on alone. Besides, I’d agreed to do a tea for Moza and I ended up making finger sandwiches and cookies all day.” Henry had been a commercial baker during his working life, and he was still smitten with the process. He catered the occasional luncheon or tea and worked a deal with Rosie, trading homemade breads for occasional free meals.

“I liked her. She seems nice.”

“I hate to cut this short, but I’m late as it is. When will you be home?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

I hung up the phone, stripped off my clothes, and hopped in the shower, thinking Late for what? He’d been in a hurry to get off the phone, but I couldn’t tell if it was me he was avoiding or the subject of Mattie. I’d hoped to find out if he was interested in her and she in him. She and Henry had been cute together and I was feeling proprietary. I’d thought it was a good sign she stayed the extra day, but then the mention of her husband didn’t sit well with me. I’d assumed she was a widow, but she might be divorced. In either case, she’d referred to her husband twice, so maybe she was still emotionally connected to him. Not a good sign.

15

At breakfast, drinking my second cup of coffee, I said, “I’ll track down Dr. Nettleton this morning to get some closure on that.” I watched Dolan eat his eggs Benedict. The yellow of the sauce was suspiciously bright, suggesting that the “chef” had used a packet of powdered Hollandaise.

He mopped up a puddle of poached egg with a fragment of buttered sweetroll. “I thought you covered all the dentists when you were out yesterday.”

I shook my head. “Didn’t get to him. This guy’s retired. I got his address from Dr. Spears but haven’t been there yet. Are you interested in coming?”

“Sounds like something you can handle on your own. Why don’t you drop me at the Sheriff’s Department. I asked them to go through their dead files looking for any missing-persons reports that might sound like our girl. After that, I’ll walk back to the motel, see if we’ve heard from Mandel. I talked to him late last night and he said the guy who picked up the Mustang did a quick turnaround and headed right back. He and his wife were leaving on vacation this morning so that worked in our favor. Mandel said the evidence techs’ll get on it first thing this morning. He’ll call as soon as he has anything to report. I don’t hear soon, I can call him again.”

“Sounds good. I’ll report in after I’ve talked to Dr. Nettleton.”

Once back from the Sheriff’s Department, Dolan put the car in neutral and pulled on the emergency brake, then slid from the driver’s seat while I emerged from my side, went around the front, and took his place at the wheel. He’d fired up a cigarette before I could get my bearings. He fished his key out of his pocket and let himself into his room. I spent a few seconds adjusting the seat and the rearview mirror, trying to get a feel for the old Chevy, which had the bulk of a tank after my snub-nosed VW. As soon as I was set, the engine conked out on me. I turned the key in the ignition and pressed the gas pedal lightly, coaxing and cajoling until the engine caught hold again. I felt like a little kid. I peered down the length of the hood, wishing I were perched on a New York City telephone book, though my feet barely touched the pedals as it was.