Q Is for Quarry

about where they are. I'm worried about Charisse. Somebody killed her. That's what I'm here to discuss."
    "I understand that. Of course. And if I thought anyone of them was capable of murder, I'd speak up."
    "Let me' tell you something, George. The person who killed her turned around and killed Pudgie Clifton. And you want to know why? Pudgie knew something he shouldn't have. I'm not sure what, but it cost him his life. You keep quiet and you could end up putting yourself at risk. That's not a smart move, especially if your only motive is to protect a bunch of horny high school dudes."
    "I do business with a lot of those dudes. Honest, I don't mean to be uncooperative, but I don't like being put on the spot."
    I was watching him, fascinated, because he'd started to perspire. I'd never really seen that, a man breaking out in a sweat while he talked. I said, "All right. Try this. Let's just talk about you. Were you intimate with her?"
    "Swoozie would have killed me."
    "You never made it with Charisse?"
    "I'd rather not answer that."
    "Which means yes."
    He paused, taking out a handkerchief to mop at a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face.
    "George?"
    "Okay, yes, but that's just between us. If it ever got out, my marriage would be over. Swoozie thinks I was a virgin. I told her she was the first. She hated Charisse. All the girls did."
    "I'm listening."
    "I was kind of nerdy. You know the type – smart and earnest and inexperienced. I'd pretend I'd made out. The guys'd be talking about sex and I'd act like I knew what they meant when I didn't have a clue. Then Charisse came along and she was really nice to me. I liked her – I mean that sincerely – so when she offered to, you know, I just figured what the hell, no harm was ever going to come of it. I felt better about myself after that, a lot more confident."
    "How many times?"
    "Three. Swoozie and I had been dating since we were kids. I knew we'd get married and then I'd never have a chance to be with anyone else. I didn't want to live my whole life only knowing one girl."
    "And afterwards?"
    "I wasn't sorry I'd done it, but I was scared Swoozie would find out. I already had a job lined up with her dad."
    "You must have been relieved when Charisse disappeared."
    "Well, hey, sure. I'll admit that, but so were a lot of guys, including Mr. Clean."
    I smiled. "Mr. Clean?"
    "Sure. Cornell. We called him that because he worked for his dad and his hands were always dirty. He used to scrub 'em with lye soap, but it never did any good."
    My smile had faded because I'd blocked out his explanation and tuned into what he'd actually said. "Cornell was screwing Charisse?"
    "Sure. Justine was holding out for marriage. She came up from nothing. And I mean her family was for shit –"
    "I know about that," I said, cutting him off.
    "She saw Cornell as the answer to her prayers. She wasn't about to put out unless he married her."
    I thought about that. "I did hear Charisse had the hots for him."
    "Oh, sure. She was also jealous of Justine. Compared to her life, Justine's already looked better, so she got competitive."
    "And Justine knew about this?"
    "Oh, no. No, no. Charisse knew better. After all, she was living at Justine's. She wasn't about to get herself thrown out on the street."
    "You're telling me Cornell was in the same jeopardy you were."
    "Big time. Even more so. He was everybody's hero – scholastics, sports, student government, you name it. We all looked up to him."
    "Who else knew about this, aside from you?"
    "Adrianne, I guess. She walked in on 'em once over at the Tuley-Belle. That's how she found out."
    "How do you know that?"
    "Because she told me."
    "Why? Were you a close friend of hers?"
    "No, not really. We were in the same church youth group. We went on a weekend retreat and I could see she was upset. I asked and she told me what was going on. She thought she should talk to our pastor, but I disagreed. I said it wasn't her job to save Cornell's soul. He was a big boy and he could work it out for himself."
    I arrived at Felicia's house in Creosote at precisely 7:00 that Wednesday night. Cars were lined up at intervals along the darkened street. I didn't think I could manage to parallel park in Dolan's tank so I was forced to leave his car around the comer and walk back. Cornell's white pickup truck was parked in front of the house, behind Justine's dark Ford sedan. The moon had been reduced to the size of a fingernail paring. The air was dry and