Q is for Quarry (Kinsey Millhone 17)

“Adrianne Richards.”

Edna hesitated and then said, “Adrianne’s my daughter.”

“Ah. Well, it’s nice seeing you again. This is Detective Oliphant,” I said, thus forcing a round of introductions. I really hate to be pushy, but what’s a poor girl to do?

One of the women piped up and said, “I’m Mavis Brant. This is Chalice Lyons, Harriet Keyes, and Adele Opdyke.”

Stacey tipped an imaginary hat, which the ladies seemed to like.

I smiled at them briefly, my attention returning to Adrianne. “You’re Cornell’s sister? I didn’t realize that. Small world.”

“Isn’t it?” She offered me a thin smile before she turned to the woman at the end of the table. “Excuse me, Harriet, could you pass me some envelopes?”

Harriet handed a batch of envelopes to Adele who passed them on to Adrianne, who was busy being busy. She must have been married, because if her office name tag had read “McPhee,” I’d have asked if she was related. She flicked a look in my direction and then engaged the woman next to her in conversation.

“Well, we don’t want to hold you up,” Edna said to us, ushering us on.

Stacey and I went out the back door and trooped down the stairs, heading for the garage. Edna’s granddaughter, Cissy, and her two older tow-headed sisters were racing across the yard in the throes of hysteria, a little yappy dog bouncing after them, nipping at their heels. As we watched, the dog caught a mouthful of Cissy’s sock. Growling, he tugged, trying to dig in his paws while she dragged him across the grass. I envisioneddog bites, blood, and tetanus shots later in the afternoon. There was no sign of Justine, so I was guessing the girls had been parked with the grandparents while she was off somewhere.

I smelled Ruel’s cigarette before we caught sight of him. He was in the same wooden desk chair with the same straw hat pushed to the back of his head. He looked small and harmless, and I could sense that Stacey was perplexed that I’d expressed any uneasiness about him. He was close to Stacey’s age, in his early seventies I’d guess. He was watching another television show with all the concentration of a kid. This time, it was a cartoon so completely asinine that even the little girls preferred being chased and bitten by a dog.

Without looking up, Ruel said, “Back again, I see. Who’s your friend?”

Stacey stepped forward, extending his hand. “Stacey Oliphant, Mr. McPhee. I’m a homicide detective with the Santa Teresa Sheriff’s Department. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Ruel gave him an obligatory handshake. “Suppose you’re here to confiscate something else. It’s a damn shame you can walk in and take anything you want.”

“I can understand your point. Then again, the law’s the law. We don’t make it up; we just carry it out,” Stacey said.

“True enough,” Ruel said. “Nothing I can do about it now. You just be sure that car comes back without a scratch.”

I said, “Wait a minute. How’s that supposed to happen? The car was banged up to begin with.”

Ruel rolled his eyes with annoyance. “I meant, no damage aside from that.”

Stacey eased back in. “Mr. McPhee, I only drove in last night so I’m new on the scene. If it’s not too much trouble, I wonder if I can ask you to bring me up to speed.”

“Ask her, she’s so smart. I got better things to do.”

“She tells me you made quite a deal on that car.”

Like a recording, Ruel recited the details of his good fortune. “I got that Mustang free of charge back in 1969. Fella left it at the shop to have the seats repaired. Car was stolen and once it came back, he didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Is that right? Good deal,” Stacey said, as though impressed. “And what inspired you to keep the car all these years?”

“My son and I intended to restore it, though now they’ve as good as told me it was used in some kind of criminal enterprise. Homicide, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Naturally, we’re interested in taking a closer look.”

“You ought to talk to the previous owner. Feller name of Gant. He could’ve stolen the car himself. Have you ever thought of that?”

“I don’t believe we have. Wonder why he’d steal his own car and then turn around and give it to you?”

“Why does anyone do anything? Man might’ve been nuts.”

“Always possible. Happens he’s dead now.”

“Too bad. Otherwise, you could pester him instead of me,” Ruel said. He paused to light a cigarette with a wood match that he dropped in his jar. “Point is, I don’t know beans about a murder and my son knows less. Cornell should be here shortly to fetch the girls and that nasty dog of theirs. Talk to him yourself. Waste of time, you ask me.”