Q Is for Quarry

we'll see if we can establish a connection between the car and Jane Doe."
    We got out and crossed the street to the front entrance. Under the big plate glass window, a large concrete planter sat empty except for packed dirt. To the right of the shop there was a lumberyard; to the left, a long-distance hauling company with a lot full of tractor rigs and detached semitrailers. This was a commercial neighborhood made up of businesses that catered to customers in pickups and vans.
    The showroom was an extension of the shop area out back. The floor was done in black-and-white vinyl tile. Behind a glass case filled with service manuals, there was a metal desk, metal file cabinets, and a Rolodex. The top surface of the glass case was piled high with sample books showing automobile and marine vinyls, "Performance-rated fabrics for heavy-duty application." Rear and side camper windows in a variety of styles had been mounted on pegboard and hung on the wall. We picked our way through a cluster of bench and bucket car seats still exhibiting their tom upholstery. A display board was set up to show the leather/vinyl match for Ford, GM, Chrysler-Jeep Eagle, Honda, and Toyota interior upholstery. You could order any number of convertible tops, tonneau covers, floor mats, and glass or plastic window curtains.
    An open door led from the showroom into the first of the three connecting bays, where one of the two men looked up. I pegged him in his mid-thirties. He was medium height, clean-shaven, his complexion ruddy. His hair had the kind of blond streaks that women pay money for. He wore it parted in the middle with strands falling loosely on either side of his face. Most of his teeth were good. There were creases around his mouth where his smile had made inroads. His hands were dirty, his nails permanently underlined with black like a lady's French tip manicure in reverse. Blue-plaid flannel shirt, jeans, desert boots. He was built like a high school football player-which is to say, some guy who'd get creamed if he played football today. I tried to decide whether I'd have been attracted to him when I was sixteen. He looked like the type I'd have had a crush on from a distance. Then again, most guys in high school were like that as far as I was concerned.
    He was using a crescent wrench and a pair of pliers to dismantle a car seat that was propped up in front of him. The workbench, which extended the length of the wall behind him, was stacked with bolts of vinyl, hoses, coffee cans, sheets of foam rubber, toolboxes, cans of latex paint, tires. Two fans were blowing, thus circulating the smell of synthetics. Beside him there was a garbage bin full of scraps. A second ripped and cracked auto seat sat on a counter nearby. He was smoking a cigarette, but he put it out casually before he spoke to us. "Help you?"
    Dolan put his hands in his pants pockets. "We're looking for Ruel McPhee."
    "That's my dad. He's retired. Who are you?"
    "Lieutenant Dolan, Santa Teresa Police Department. This is my colleague, Ms. Millhone. I didn't catch your name."
    "Cornell McPhee. Are you the one who left the phone message?"
    "That's my partner, Detective Oliphant. As a matter of fact, he left four and says your father never called him back."
    "Sorry. I didn't realize it was urgent. I gave Dad the messages and he said he'd take care of it. I guess it slipped his mind."
    The second man in the shop was older, possibly in his fifties. He'd returned to his work as soon as he figured out the conversation had nothing to do with him.
    "Your dad still in town?"
    Cornell put down his crescent wrench and wiped his hands on a rag. "Sure. What's this about?"
    "We're hoping to track down a vehicle stolen from his shop in 1969."
    Cornell's brow shifted slightly. "That car was recovered. It belonged to a guy in Arizona."
    Dolan smiled briefly. "We know about him. DMV says the car's now registered to Ruel McPhee."
    "What brought this up again?"
    "We're looking at the possibility of a link between the car and a homicide back then."
    "A homicide?"
    "That's right," Dolan said. "We're taking another run at it."
    "I'm still not clear why you want to talk to him."
    "We have a witness who says he saw a red Mustang in the area shortly before the body was found. We're wondering if the vehicle's the same one stolen from his shop."
    "You can ask him if you want. He and Mom live on Fell. 1520. It's just a few blocks away. You go down two blocks, take a left at Ruby. You'll find Fell