Q Is for Quarry

and returned to the counter.
    "Shall we try again?"
    Mrs. Gary went into the examining room. I could hear the murmur of voices as she explained my request.
    Dr. Spears came out to meet me, still wearing his white coat, wiping his hands on a paper towel he then tossed in the trash. He was gray-haired and blue-eyed and after we shook hands, mine were left smelling like soap. While he seemed to appreciate my problem, he wasn't much help.
    Before I could even get through the details, he was shaking his head. "I couldn't do that without a name. Inactive charts are filed alphabetically. I've got hundreds of them. From what Mrs. Gary's said, the girl was a minor, which further complicates matters. I don't see how you'd find her."
    "'She had tons of fillings, buckteeth, and a crooked eyetooth on the left," I said.
    "Most of my patients have crooked teeth. I'd like to help, but what you're asking is impossible."
    "That's too bad. I'd hoped for more, but I can see your point. What about the other dentists in the area back then? Can you tell me anything about Dr. Towne or Dr. Nettleton? I noticed both were in practice in the late sixties."
    "Dr. Towne died two years ago, but his widow might be willing to help if his records are still in her possession. Dr. Nettleton's over ninety. He's reasonably sharp, but I doubt you'll get much." He turned to Mrs. Gary. "You know the family, don't you? Where's he living these days?"
    "With his daughter. She goes to my church."
    "Why don't you give Miss Millhone the information. Maybe he'll remember. It's worth a try, at any rate."
    "Thanks. I'd appreciate that." Mrs. Gary checked her Rolodex and made a note of the daughter's name and address. From her expression, I was guessing I'd be lucky if Dr. Nettleton could remember how to tie his own shoes.
    I left the office, pausing on the sidewalk out front. I consulted my map and my list, moving on to the next name. I repeated the same conversation, with variations, in my chats with the three remaining dentists. The response was polite but discouraging. They seemed willing to help, but all of them were busy and no one was interested in searching dead files on the off chance of finding her. Not only was I unable to supply them with a name, but I couldn't prove she'd ever lived in Quorum or that her dental work was done there. My only hope had been that the meager facts in my possession might have triggered a recollection. I did have Dr. Nettleton's address, but I was too tired by then to pursue the point.
    It was close to 6:00 by the time I walked the ten blocks back to the motel where Dolan waited. I hated admitting I'd bombed out, but that's what I did as soon as he answered his door.
    He seemed unusually magnanimous. "Don't worry about it. You covered a lot of ground."
    "For what it's worth."
    "Let it go for now. Start again tomorrow. You might have better luck. Right now, it's time for drinks and dinner. Are you up for that?"
    "Sure, but you'll have to give me half an hour. I want to check in with Henry and then I'm grabbing a shower. If you're going to the Quorum Inn, I'll meet you there."
    "Good."
    My call caught Henry just as he was going out the door. I gave him a hasty summary of the trip and the lack of progress, and he was properly consoling. "By the way, you received a package from Lompoc. It was on your doorstep this morning. I brought it in."
    "Who's it from?"
    "Doesn't say."
    "What's it look like?"
    "About the size of a shirt box, two pounds. Probably not a bomb. I'm holding it to my ear and it doesn't tick."
    "Now you've got me curious. Open it and peek."
    "I refuse to open your mail. I'll keep it 'til you get back."
    "If you change your mind, I'm giving you permission to see what's there," I said. "How's Mattie?"
    "She's fine. She ended up staying an extra day so she could hike Diamondback Trail. There's a hot springs up there she used to visit with her husband. She's thinking about a painting of the scene if she can find it again."
    "Sounds like fun. Did you go?"
    "No, no. My knees wouldn't take it so I sent her on alone. Besides, I'd agreed to do a tea for Moza and I ended up making finger sandwiches and cookies all day." Henry had been a commercial baker during his working life, and he was still smitten with the process. He catered the occasional luncheon or tea and worked a deal with Rosie, trading homemade breads for occasional free meals. "I liked her. She seems nice."
    "I hate to cut this short, but I'm late as it is. When