Q Is for Quarry

don't think you'd mistake either for a painter's drop cloth. They're too big. Too bad you don't have it with you. At least I could tell you if it's one of ours."
    "Sorry. They've got it in the property room up north, under lock and key."
    "In that case, let's think how else we might help. Most drop cloths are standard, though we do make two grades – eight-or ten-ounce natural. If I showed you, do you think you'd recognize the difference?"
    "I could try."
    "My name's Elfreida."
    "I'm Kinsey. I appreciate your time."
    I followed as she came out from behind the counter and clip-clopped across the bare concrete floor to a big worktable where two stacks of folded canvas tarps were sitting side by side. She grabbed a tarp from each stack and opened both across the tabletop, flapping them like bedsheets to shake the folds loose. "Look familiar?"
    "It's that one, I think," I said, pointing to the lighter of the two.
    "Here's the trick," she said. She held up one edge, showing me the red stitched seam with a tiny square of red in the comer. "This is not a trademark per se, but we use it on everything."
    "Oh, wow. I remember that red square from the tarp we have."

Chapter 20
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    After I left Diamond's, I returned to the motel. The housecleaning cart was parked on the walk outside my room. The maid had stripped off my sheets and she was using the pile of soiled linens to prop the door open while she went about her work. I peered in, trying to get a sense of where she was in the process. My plastic-covered mattress was bare and a flat stack of clean sheets rested at the foot of the bed. I could hear her in the bathroom with her portable radio tuned to a Spanish-language station. On the night table the message light was blinking on my phone. I heard the toilet flush and the maid emerged with my damp towel across her arm. She toted her carryall of cleaning products.
    I said, "Oh, hi. Sorry to interrupt. How much longer will you be?" She smiled broadly and nodded, saying, "Hokay. Sí. Una momenta."
    "I'll come back," I said. I trotted across the parking lot to the office and went in.
    The desk clerk was perched on her swivel stool, still chewing bubble gum, her skirt hiked up, swinging one foot while she read the inner pages of the National Enquirer.
    "My message light's blinking. Can you tell me who called?"
    "How should I know? Pick up the phone and dial 6."
    "The maid's in my room so I'm here to ask you."
    The look she gave me said she was feeling put-upon. "What room?"
    "125."
    With exaggerated patience, she set the paper aside, swiveled her stool to face her computer, tapped on the keyboard, and read from the screen. She chewed her gum briefly and then her face brightened. "Oh, yeah. I remember now. You got a call from a dentist, Dr. Spears. What's the problem with your teeth?"
    "Did he leave a number?"
    She blew a bubble and curled it back into her mouth on the end of her tongue, waiting to pop it after she'd closed her lips. "He did, but I didn't bother to write it down. It's in the book."
    "When you first took this job, did they train you?"
    She stopped chewing. "To do what?"
    "Simple clerical skills, phone etiquette, manners – anything like that ?"
    "Nah. Know what I'm paid? Minimum wage. Three dollars and thirty-five cents an hour. Besides, I don't need manners. My uncle , owns the place. My name's Geraldine, in case you feel like filing a complaint."
    I let the matter drop.
    I went out the office door and turned right, moving to the bank of pay phones I'd seen near the ice machine. I opened my bag and fished out the Quorum phone book and a handful of change. I looked up the dentist's number and dialed, receiver tucked between my shoulder and my tilted head while I put the directory back in my bag.
    When Mrs. Gary picked up, I said, "Hi, Mrs. Gary. Kinsey Millhone here. I can't believe I caught you in the office on a Saturday."
    "I'm just catching up on insurance claims. This is about the only time I have."
    "Dr. Spears left me a message. Is he there by any chance?"
    "He's off playing golf, but I can tell you why he called. He found the chart you asked about. I've got it sitting on my desk."
    "Tell him I'm in love."
    "He'll be thrilled to death," she said.
    I laughed. "Could you do me a favor? Could you slip it in a manila envelope and mail it to Sergeant Detective Joe Mandel at the Santa Teresa County Sheriffs Department? He'll talk to the forensic odontologist and they'll handle it from there." I gave her the