Q Is for Quarry

easily exhausted, so please don't stay long."
    "Fifteen minutes tops."
    Vonda returned to her exercise mat while I went down the hallway to the back bedroom. The door was ajar. I pushed it open. Dr. Nettleton was sitting in a bentwood rocker, staring out the window, which was open about six inches. On the sill outside, someone had scattered sunflower seeds. A squirrel was perched up on its haunches peering in at him.
    The old man looked ninety; frail and bent, hunched in his chair with a shawl across his knees. His face was long and his earlobes drooped like melting candle wax. Most of his hair was gone, but what he had was pure white and clipped close to his head. Flesh-colored hearing aids filled his ear cavities like flattened wads of bubble gum.
    "Dr. Nettleton?"
    Rheumy-eyed, he turned in my direction and cupped a hand behind one ear. "What say?" His voice was powdery and dry, as though dust had accumulated on his windpipe.
    "May I join you?"
    "Are you the visiting nurse?"
    "I'm a private detective." I spotted a small wooden desk chair that I pulled close to his. I sat down. He seemed perfectly accepting of my appearance on the scene. Perhaps at his stage in life, he'd given up the notion of personal boundaries and privacy. In a slightly elevated voice, I explained who I was and what I needed from him. As I talked, Dr. Nettleton kept his head tilted, his trembling right hand cupped behind his ear. "Come again?"
    I pulled my chair closer and went through it again, speaking louder this round. I could see the intelligence in his eyes, though I wasn't at all certain he was following me. When I finished, the ensuing silence went on so long I wondered if he'd caught any of what I'd said. The squirrel picked up a sunflower seed and nibbled rapidly, cracking the shell, tail twitching. Dr. Nettleton smiled with such sweetness I nearly wept.
    "Dr. Nettleton?"
    He turned his head. "Yes?"
    "I was wondering about the girl. Did you ever have a patient like her?"
    He pulled himself upright, staring at a spill of sunlight on the floor. "The last year I had my practice, there was one girl fits that description. I was forced to retire when I was seventy-five. Hands weren't steady and I couldn't take standing on my feet all day. I forget her name now, but I remember the fuss I made when I saw her teeth. Told her, 'Cavities like that can undermine your health.'"
    I blinked at him. Maybe he'd misunderstood. "She had the buckteeth I mentioned?"
    "Oh, yes. Occlusion was pronounced and her upper left cuspid was pointed anteriorly and slightly outward. That's this one right here," he said, pointing to his eyetooth. "Left third .molar hadn't yet erupted and I warned her she might have a problem with it II it didn't come through shortly. She had considerable plaque, of course, and her gums tended to bleed. Teeth spoiled her looks. Pleasant-looking girl otherwise, though if I remember rightly, she had behavioral problems."
    "Like what?"
    "Not sure. Something off about her. She'd been taken from her natural parents and placed in foster care. Must've had their hands full with her. Boisterous. Inappropriate. I believe she had a tendency to take things that weren't hers. She'd come in for an appointment and the next thing we knew, the stapler'd be missing or the paper clip dispenser. I took care of her fillings and then referred her to Dr. Spears for orthodontic evaluation. Don't know what happened to her after that. Doubt she had the work done. Didn't seem the type. Pity, if you ask me."
    "Can you remember the name of the foster family?"
    His focus shifted to the wall. "Not offhand. They weren't patients of mine. I forget now who they went to."
    "What about the girl? Do you remember her name –first, last? Anything that might help?"
    He gave his head a shake like a horse irritated by a fly. "I had to sedate her to get the work done and that affected her badly. Sometimes happens. Made her wild. I did one quadrant at a time, but she fought me every step. Novocaine didn't seem to take either. I must have stuck her four times for every tooth I filled."
    I wiped my damp palm casually against my jeans, my dental phobia and my needle phobia having collided midair. "Did she attend the local high school?"
    "Must have. State law. Pretty girl I'd say until she opened her mouth. Bad teeth spoil your looks and I told her so. Uncooperative. Missed two appointments and she came late for the ones she made. My hygienist could have told you the name, but she