Q Is for Quarry

He tried a cautious bite, which he chewed with suspicion, letting the flavors mingle in his mouth. He wagged his head from side to side. With his second bite, he seemed to get the hang of it, and after that he ate with the same dispatch I did.
    I reached into the bag and took out another burger that I passed to him. This time, halfway through, a nearly subliminal moan escaped his lips. I laughed.
    "Where'd you get that?" I asked, pointing to the shredder with a french fry.
    "Fellow next door," he said, pausing to swallow his bite. "I'm cleaning out my desk. Can't quite bring myself to shred my receipts. I don't intend to file a tax return. I figure I'll be dead before the IRS catches up with me. Even so, I worry about an audit without the proper paperwork on hand." He licked his fingers and wiped his mouth. "Thank you. That was great. I haven't had an appetite for weeks."
    "Happy to help." He gathered all the trash and put it back in the bag, then turned and made a free throw, tossing it in the wastebasket. He reached into the bottom drawer and took out a cardboard box filled with black-and-white photographs. He set the box in his lap, picked up a handful, and fed them to the machine.
    I watched while six images were reduced to slivers. "What are you doing?"
    "I told you. Cleaning out my desk."
    "But those are family photographs. You can't do that."
    "Why not? I'm the only one left."
    "But you can't just destroy them. I can't believe you'd do that."
    "Why leave the job for someone else? At least if I do it, there's a personal connection." He sang, "Good-bye, Uncle Schmitty. Bye I Cousin Mortimer..." Two more images were converted to confetti in the shredder bin.
    I put a hand on his arm. "I'll take them."
    "And do what? You don't even know these folks. I can't identify the better half of' em myself. Look at this. Who's he? I swear I never saw this guy before in my life. Must have been a family friend." He touched the edge of the photo to the shredder teeth and watched it disappear before he picked up the next.
    "Don't shred them. Aren't those your parents?"
    "Sure, but they've been dead for years."
    "I can't stand this. Give me those. I'll pretend they're mine."
    "Don't be ridiculous. You're alone just like me. HI let you take 'em, someone else will end up throwing them in your trash."
    "So what? Come on, Stace. Please."
    He hesitated and finally nodded. "Okay. But it's dumb."
    He handed me the box of photos, which I placed near my bag out of his reach. I was worried he'd change his mind and shred someone else. He turned his attention to a file folder marked AUTO INSURANCE and fed its contents into the shredder. Idly, he said, "I almost forgot to mention, Joe Mandel called with an address for Iona Mathis. She's living in the high desert, little town called Peaches."
    "Which is where?"
    "Above San Bernardino, off Highway 138. There's no phone in her name so she might be bunking in with someone else. Did I tell you Mandel got a line on the red Mustang? This guy Gant, the original owner, died about ten years ago, but his widow says the car was stolen from an auto upholstery shop in Quorum, California, where he'd taken it to get the seats replaced. Gant had the car towed back from Lompoc, but it was such a mess he turned around and sold it to the guy whose shop it was stolen from an auto upholstery shop in Quorum, California, where he'd taken it to get the seats replaced. Gant had the car towed back fro Lompoc, but it was such a mess that he turned around and sold it to the guy whose shop it was stolen from – fellow named Ruel McPhee. According to our sources, the car's now registered to him. I've left him four messages, but so far I haven't heard back. Con thinks it's worth a trip down there just to see what's what."
    "Where's Quorum? I've never heard of it."
    "Well, neither had I, but Con says it's just south of Blythe near the Arizona line. Now here's the kicker on that. Turns out Frankie Miracle grew up in Quartzsite, Arizona, which is just a few miles from Blythe in the same neck of the woods. Con wants to take a detour through Peaches and talk to Iona Mathis on his way to Quorum."
    "When?"
    "Tomorrow morning he says. I thought I better warn you in case you want to make up an excuse."
    "Not at all. I'll go. I could use a change of scene. What about you? Are you feeling up to it?"
    "You two go on. I'll wait and see what the doc has to say. They may want me back in the hospital for the third time this month. Talk