Q Is for Quarry

Thanks anyway. I'll bug them myself."
    I drove to the motel with an eye on my rearview mirror. The wide streets were deserted. Businesses were shut down and most of the houses were dark. Once in my room, I spent a few minutes assuring myself everything was exactly as I'd left it. My book was facedown on the bed where I'd placed it, the bedspread still rumpled where I'd pushed it aside. The table lamp was on and the warm light made the room seem cozy. The windows were latched and I made sure the drapes were properly closed. Didn't want any boogermen to peek in at me. After that, I stripped out of my clothes and into the oversize T-shirt I used as a nightie. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and slid into bed. I thought my paranoia might keep me awake, but since I'm a person of no depth whatever, I fell asleep right away.
    At 2:06, the phone rang. I reached for the handset automatically, noting the time as I placed it against my ear. "What."
    "Kinsey?"
    "What."
    "This is Iona."
    "Okay."
    "Frankie wants to talk to you."
    "About what?"
    "Pudgie."
    "Put him on."
    "In person."
    I leaned over and flipped on the table lamp, which made me squint painfully and probably put permanent wrinkles on my face. "Why are you calling me in the dead of night? I'm asleep."
    "I would've called earlier, but he just got here."
    "Got here where?"
    "Quorum. He wants you to meet us at the all-night diner. Know the one I mean? On Main Street. It's called the Chow Hound."
    I closed my eyes. "No offense here, but there's no way I'm going out at this hour to talk to Frankie Miracle, so scratch that idea."
    "What if he comes there? We're calling from a pay phone. We're not far."
    "Like how far?"
    "A block."
    "Why isn't he on the phone instead of you?"
    "He's afraid you'll say no."
    I laughed. "He's worried about me? Iona, the guy's a killer. He stabbed a woman fourteen times."
    "But he's paid for his crime. He went to prison and now he's out."
    "Oh, crap. Why am I arguing with you? If you want to come over, I'll open the window and talk to him through the screen. That's as much as I can offer."
    "Okay."
    I hung up and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was not the kind of hotel that offered complimentary robes (hell, I felt lucky they offered complimentary toilet paper!), so I pulled on a sweatshirt. I thought about it briefly and pulled on my jeans. By then, I could see headlights arc across the drapes. I turned off the lamp and crossed to the window, peering out as Frankie's white pickup pulled into a slot two doors down. Iona was at the wheel. She waited in the truck with the engine running, probably trying to keep warm, while Frankie got out on the passenger side and slammed the door. I said, "Great. Wake everybody up. I'll feel safer that way."
    I watched him check room numbers until he got to mine. As soon as he was close, I slid the window open a crack. "Hello, Frankie."
    "Hi. Can I come in?"
    "No."
    "Come on. I can't stand around out here. It's fuckin' cold."
    "I don't need a weather report. I know it's cold. You want to talk, I'm listening, but get on with it."
    "All right," he said, irritably. He paused to light a cigarette. Despite the low-watt outside lighting, I could see him clearly – the brown wavy hair, the smooth baby face. He peered over his shoulder, his manner embarrassed. "I heard about Pudgie. I just wanted you to know I had nothing to do with it."
    "Good for you."
    "Don't you want to know the rest?"
    "Sure."
    "The cops have already been around-Lieutenant Dolan and some pal of his. I thought my landlord was talking about you, but he said it was an old guy."
    "Stacey Oliphant."
    "That's him."
    "They're good guys. They're fair. You should be talking to them."
    "I hate cops. What pigs. I'd rather talk to you."
    "What for? I'm just going to turn around and ask you the same questions Lieutenant Dolan would have asked."
    "You want to know where I was Friday night, right? I was in Santa Teresa, working my regular shift. Eleven to seven. And that's the truth."
    "I thought you were down here with Iona."
    "Who told you that?"
    "Weren't you with her when she called and talked to Pudgie Thursday night?"
    "Sure, but I left Friday morning and drove back to Santa Teresa."
    "Anybody see you at work?"
    "Two-thirty in the morning, I'm moppin' floors, not entertaining the troops. Reason I like the job is it's quiet and nobody's there to hassle me."
    "You were completely alone."
    "At that hour? Of course. Who's going to be there?