Q Is for Quarry

wandered off to get help. I didn't see a note on the windshield so I drove on. Next time I passed, the car was gone."
    "Did you tell Melvin about that one?"
    "I told Madge and she told him, but that's the last I heard. I didn't want to force my observations on a fella doesn't want to hear. He'd have pooh-poohed that, too. Trouble with Melvin is he didn't believe a thing unless it come from him. He's the type if he didn't know something, he made it up. H he didn't feel like doing something, he claimed he did it anyway. You couldn't pin the man down. Ask him a question, he'd act like he'd been accused of negligence."
    "Sounds like a pain."
    "Yes, he was. Madge, too."
    "Well. I appreciate the information. I'll mention this to the guys and see if it's something they want to pursue." Inwardly, I was still hung up on the fact that he'd mentioned my "grandma." I never thought of Grand that way. I had a grandmother. How bizarre.
    As though reading my mind, he said, "I knew your mama once upon a time."
    "Really."
    "Yes ma'am. You know Arne Johanson worked for the Kinseys from the age of seventeen. He was sweet on her himself, but Rita wouldn't give him the time of day. He figured it's because he was too old for her and then she up and marries your dad, the same age as him. He got his nose out of joint, I can tell you that. I told him don't be ridiculous. In the first place, she was never going to take up with a cowpoke. Second place, she'd rather die than get stuck where she is. She was wild, that one, and pretty as they come. Restless as all get out. She'd have taken up with anyone to get off the ranch."
    "That's flattering," I said. In truth, this was the first concrete image I'd ever had of her. In that careless vignette, he'd captured the entire story of her life. My cousins, Liza and Tasha, had spoken of her in ways that seemed larger than life. She'd taken on the aura of family myth, a symbol of that legendary clash of wills. "I understand she and my grandmother didn't get along."
    "Oh, they tangled, those two. Rita was Cornelia's pride and joy. I felt sorry for her in a way..."
    "Who, my mother?"
    "Your grandma. She liked to maintain she didn't have a favorite among the five girls, but Rita was her firstborn and Cornelia doted on her. You know the story, I suppose."
    "Well, sure. I heard it once," I said, lying through my teeth. Somehow gossip seems less pernicious if the person telling the tale thinks it's one you've already heard.
    "Cornelia married Burton Kinsey when she was seventeen, exactly half his age. That's one more reason she didn't want Rita to marry young like she did. She lost three babies in a row, all of them boys and not a one went to term. Rita was the first of her children to survive. Cornelia's boys were stillborn. Only the girls made it through alive."
    "What was that about?"
    "I don't think the doctors determined the cause. In those days, medicine was largely good luck and guesswork. People died of diabetes until those two fellows discovered insulin in 1923. Folks died of anemia, too, until liver therapy came along in 1934. Think of it. Eating liver was a cure. We forget things like that; forget how ignorant we were and how much we've learned." He stopped to clear his throat. "Well, now. I didn't mean to run on at the mouth. Trouble with getting old is you lose all the people you tell your stories to. You let me know if that red car turns out to be anything. I'd like to have a laugh at Melvin's expense after all these years."
    "Thanks for your time. I'll be in touch." I replaced the handset in the cradle and headed for the elevator, which I took to 6 Central. The doors slid open and I stepped off just as Dolan approached, having exited Stacey's room. He took a seat on a couch positioned under a window. The area wasn't designated as a waiting room, but it probably served as a getaway for friends and family members who needed a break. He rose when he caught sight of me.
    "Don't get up," I said.
    "What are you doing out here? I thought you'd be down the hall with Stace."
    Dolan sat down again on the couch. "The doctors are in there. Oncologist, radiologist, and another specialist nobody bothered to introduce."
    "What's going on?"
    "Beats me. All three had on those long medical faces so the news' couldn't be good. How'd the phone call go? Did you talk to Vogel?" He scooted over on the couch to make room for me. "Here. Have a seat."
    I perched on the near arm and propped my hand on the back of the