Q Is for Quarry

and I exchanged a look while Ruel returned his attention to the TV set. Stacey shifted his weight. "Do you happen to remember a young woman in town by the name of Charisse Quinn? Same age as your kids, so you might have met her through them."
    "Doesn't sound familiar. She the one who got killed?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "I don't remember things like that."
    I touched Stacey's arm, leaning close so I could murmur a question of my own. He nodded, saying, "What's the story on Justine's father? Medora told us yesterday the man deserted her."
    "Poor specimen of a fella, if you want to know the truth."
    "We heard he was a womanizer."
    "Everybody knew that... except his wife. Not to speak ill of the woman, but she has a serious drinking problem, has had for years. Edna and I, we don't hold with hard liquor or spirits of any sort. It's lone thing Justine's always appreciated about us."
    "You were talking about her dad's womanizing. What's the story on that?"
    "He used to drive up to Palm Springs to meet the ladies. He'd tell Medora he was working late and go keep company with floozies."
    "You know this for a fact or was that just the gossip around town?"
    "He told me so himself. Wilbur was as fond of drink as Medora, and once he imbibed, he had a tendency to brag about himself. Homely as a monkey, but he must've had his ways. Claimed he could walk into a bar and the women'd fall allover him. Married or single didn't matter to him. He'd order a drink and offer to buy one for the gal sitting next to him. Once she said yes, he'd pullout his wallet and all he'd have on him was a hundred dollar bill. She'd end up paying, assuming he'd pony up by the end of the evening. Next thing you know he'd be getting in her panties and she'd be out that, too. I never figured women for such nitwits, but that's how he told it."
    "This Quinn girl I mentioned was a ward of the court. A social worker placed her with the Sanders."
    Ruel turned and stared at Stacey. "That who you mean? Well, I'll be; I hadn't thought of her in years. Quinn. That sounds right. You should have said so in the first place."
    "We heard her name for the first time yesterday. How well did you know her?"
    "I knew her to speak to, but not otherwise. Cornell said she fooled around with any boy she met. 'Free with her favors' is how he put it. She'd take 'em up to the Tuley-Belle and misbehave."
    "The Tuley-Belle?"
    "Construction site outside town. Big condominium complex some fellas started building in 1968. Leon Tuley and Maurice P. Belle. Got it half-done and went bankrupt so the place's sat there since. Kids like it because in parts there's a roof overhead and the walls are up. Plumbing and electrical are tom out, but given what they're up to, I guess you don't need that."
    "Wilbur Sanders ever say anything to you about the Quinn girl?"
    "I didn't know him well, except as Justine's dad. Cornell was dating her and the families would get together every now and then. Medora wasn't often sober. I felt sorry for Justine. She'd sit there trying to cover up her shame and embarrassment. Meanwhile, Wilbur would excuse himself, come out here, and bend my ear about his sexual exploits. Ask me, he should have paid more attention to his wife."
    "And Charisse?"
    "I don't know anything about that. Hear Wilbur tell it, he was too much the gent to mention names. Minute they arrived, he'd make excuses and head out here. Always brought a flask of dark rum and we'd smoke our cigarettes. Once he got talking, you could hardly shut him up. Best of my knowledge, he kept his escapades to Palm Springs so Medora wouldn't get wind."
    "If she was drinking so much, would she have cared?" I asked.
    "Of course she'd have cared! Infidelity doesn't sit well with the ladies. They're apt to tear your head off."
    I heard a car pull into the driveway and I turned in time to see Cornell park his white pickup. As he came through the back gate, his three daughters made a run at him and piled into his legs, the pup bouncing along behind them like a basketball. Much squealing and hugging, punctuated by the dog's shrill barks. Cornell extracted himself and headed in our direction, combing his hair with his fingers, tucking in the tail of his shirt where the girls had pulled it loose. He said, "Hey, Dad," with some enthusiasm. To me, he said hi in a tone as flat as a tumbler of two-day-old Coke.
    I introduced him to Stacey and the two men shook hands. Stacey said, "We've just been chatting with your dad about