Q Is for Quarry

for me. The car sailed into one of those inevitable calms. We were waiting for work, waiting for test results, waiting for comparison prints; in waiting for a break that might never come. I probably should have headed home at the same time they did. I'd certainly join them in day or two, if nothing further developed.
    I said, "In the meantime, what's left? I don't want to sit here Dolan said, "Just don't get in trouble."
    "How could I do that? There's nothing going on."
    Tuesday morning, I saw them off at 8:00, giving a final wave as turned out of the parking lot. I went back to my room, feeling, depression mixed with relief at being on my own again. I usually experienced a similar reaction after Robert Dietz had been with n finally hit the road. It's hard to be the one left behind. If I were I'd clean house, but in the confines of the motel, I couldn't even do that. I gathered my wee pile of laundry, rooted in the bottom of r for loose change, and walked to the Laundromat half a block There's no activity more profoundly boring than sitting in a Laundromat, waiting for the washer and dryer to click through their from beginning to end. If you dared leave your clothes, thinking return later when the load was done, someone would steal them out of the machines and leave them in a heap. I sat and did surveillance on my own underwear. It beat doing a records search, but not by much.

Chapter 24
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    I hadn't been back from the Laundromat for more than ten minutes when I heard a knock on my door. I peered through the fisheye and saw Felicia Clifton standing outside, staring off across the parking lot. I opened the door. The face she turned to me was pale and undefined, free of makeup. Her eyes, without the black liner and false lashes, were actually prettier, though not nearly as large or as vivid. She wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and running shoes without socks, as though she'd dressed in haste. Her red hair was pulled back in a jumbled ponytail.
    "This is a pleasant surprise. Come in."
    She stepped in, reaching out a hand to steady herself. At first I thought she was drunk, but I realized within seconds, she was shaken and upset. "Felicia, what's wrong? Is it Pudgie?"
    She nodded mutely. I moved her to one side and closed the door after, saying, "Hey, you're safe. You're fine. Take your time.
    She sank onto the desk chair, putting her head between her knees as though on the verge of passing out.
    So far, I didn't like the way the conversation was shaping up. I went J into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth. I rung it out with cold water and carried back to her. She took it and pressed it to her face. She made a sound that was half-sigh and half-moan.
    I sat down at the foot of the king-size bed, almost knee to knee with her. "Is he all right?" From the way she was behaving, I suspected he was dead, but I was unwilling to voice that possibility until she did.
    "They called at seven. They think it's him. They need someone to look, but I can't."
    "What happened?"
    "I don't know. They told me to come in."
    "Where, the Sheriffs Department downtown?" She nodded. "This is bad. He's been gone for days. If he was hurt, they wouldn't ask me to come in, would they? They'd tell me where he was."
    "You don't know that for sure. Did they call you at work?"
    "I was still at home. I don't start until eight. I was having a cup of coffee in my robe when the phone rang. I don't even know how I got here. I remember getting in the car, but I don't remember the drive."
    "We'll go. Leave your car where it is and we'll take mine. Just let me grab my things. In the meantime, breathe."
    I breathed in and out for her, demonstrating the process. I knew her anxiety was such that she'd end up holding her breath. Jacket and bag in hand, I ushered her out and pulled the door shut behind us. She didn't have a purse and her hands were shaking so badly the car keys she carried jingled like a length of chain. I put a hand out to still them. She looked at me in surprise and then stared down at the keys as though she'd never seen them before. She tucked them in her jeans. I opened the passenger door for her, then circled the car and slipped in under the wheel. Once I started the car, I turned the heat on full blast.
    The day wasn't cold, but she was so tense I knew she'd be feeling chilled. She sat, shoulders hunched, pressing her hands between her knees, while she shook like a dog on the way to the vet's.
    The Police Department and Sheriffs Department were