Q Is for Quarry

We're out here in the middle of nowhere and everything shuts down at six."
    "Have you tried the police?"
    "I suppose I could do that," she said reluctantly. "I tried the two hospitals –the one in Quorum and the other one in Blythe – but neither has a record of him."
    "Well, that's good news, isn't it?"
    "I guess."
    "Would he skip town without telling you?"
    "You mean take off for good? Why would he do that?"
    "Ah. He's in a bit of trouble with Frankie Miracle, Iona's ex."
    "Shit. Does Pudgie know that?"
    "I'm sure he's well aware of it. So maybe he decided to lay low."
    "Without any money, where could he go?"
    "Good question. Look, why not try the police? Maybe he was picked up. For all you know, he's sitting in jail."
    "Trust me, if that was true, he would have hit me up for bail."
    "Well, I hope he shows soon, but if he doesn't, let me know. Maybe we can come up with another idea."
    "You really think he's okay?"
    "I'm sure he's fine, but I agree it's worrisome," I said. We chatted briefly, trying to boost each other's confidence. Once I hung up, I thought, Who am I trying to kid? I couldn't believe Frankie would risk jail time on a charge of assault and battery (or worse), but he wasn't exactly famous for his impulse control. Now that Iona had set him off, who knew what he'd do? Sunday morning at 8:45, Stacey and I were staked out in the parking lot of the Quorum Baptist Church. It was Easter and most of the women and children we'd seen were decked out in pastel suits and floral dresses, wearing fresh corsages, their hats atremble with artificial flowers. The McPhees pulled into the church parking lot in three separate cars. We'd been there for half an hour, the rental tucked discreetly behind a three-foot hedge. I was still arguing it made more sense to go straight to the house, but I think Stacey preferred the drama of doing it this way. The elder McPhees arrived first. They parked and got out, waiting while Adrianne turned in behind them and parked her car close by. Shortly afterward, Justine and Cornell arrived with their three girls. Dressed in their Sunday best, the eight of them looked like a picture-book family. Edna wore a hat. Ruel's hair was slicked down with gel, and his light-blue suit was only slightly too big. The three girls, in matching outfits, complete with hats and white cotton gloves, bypassed the sanctuary and went into the Sunday School building attached at one end.
    Stacey and I remained where we were. Some of the church windows were open, and we were treated to organ music and an assortment of hymns. The sermon itself didn't carry that far. Stacey had bought a copy of the Palo Verde Valley Times, and while the service went on, we occupied ourselves with the local news. He said, "What'd you hear from Pudgie ?"
    "Not a word. I called last night, but Felicia said he hadn't showed. I'll call again this afternoon. With luck, he'll be back and we can talk to him. I'll bet you money he has a story cooked up to explain his prints on the Mustang."
    I read the front section and the funnies, and Stacey entertained himself by reading aloud ads for cheap desert real estate. I looked up. "You ought to do it, Stacey. Now that you're a homeless person, you could live down here."
    "Too hot. I've been thinking to ask Dolan about moving in with him."
    "Hey, I like that. He needs someone to ride herd on his profligate lifestyle."
    "I'd have to sneak out for junk food. That's the only thing worries me." With a rattle, Stacey flipped the page, his attention shifting to sports.
    "It wouldn't hurt you to cut down."
    "Speaking of which, what would you like to try next? Taco Bell, Long John Silver's, or Jack in the Box?"
    "I thought we were going to McPhee's."
    "I'm talking about later. A fella has to eat."
    After the church service ended, we waited until the family headed out, and we followed them to the house. Ruel and Edna turned off a block early. "What's that about? Are they ducking us?" I asked, peering back at them.
    "They do that every week – visit a shut-in before Sunday lunch."
    "You're too much," I said. "Is there anything you don't know?"
    Justine let us in. She and Adrianne were apparently in charge of the kitchen until Edna got home. The house smelled of the baked ham she must have put in the oven before she left for church. I detected whiffs of pineapple and brown sugar and the burnt sugar smell of baking sweet potatoes oozing sap onto the oven floor. Justine's girls had settled at the coffee