by Sue Grafton
“You don’t seem upset about the murder. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Look, I’ll be honest. I’m sorry for what happened, but I’m not sad. Why would I be? I knew her four months at best.”
“Tell me about the friendship, such as it was.”
“I don’t know what to say. I thought she was funny. She didn’t care what she said and she really didn’t care what other people thought. I was feeling rebellious. She did things I didn’t have the nerve to do. I was a good girl. She was bad. I guess opposites attract.”
We turned left, ambling down an aisle stocked with canned vegetables, dried pasta, white and brown rice, and dried legumes. She picked up a package of lentils.
I said, “Do you know Pudgie Clifton?”
“Sure. He dated Justine.”
“How long did they go together?”
“A year or so, less. Personally, I thought he was a bum, but she liked him. Even after they broke up, they stayed friends.”
“He seems like an odd choice for her.”
“You should have seen the guy I dated. Talk about a misfit.”
“Did Pudgie know Cornell?”
“We all knew each other.”
“What about Frankie Miracle and Iona Mathis?”
“I’ve heard the names, but I don’t know either one.”
“Did Pudgie spend much time at your house?”
She seemed mildly baffled. “A fair amount. What makes you ask?”
“Do you think he could have stolen the Mustang from your father’s shop?”
I could see her consider. “It’s possible. He stole other cars back then.” She moved over to the shelves, choosing a can of tomato sauce and two cans of pork and beans.
“Did you suspect him at the time?”
“It might have crossed my mind.”
“Did you ever mention that to your dad?”
“No. I didn’t see Pudgie do it so why get him in trouble when I didn’t know for sure. I figured he was trying to impress Justine.”
“Hadn’t they broken up by then?”
“Well, yes, but he was hoping to get her back.”
“Did she know he took the car?”
“I don’t even know that. It’s just a guess on my part. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“I think he not only stole the car, but drove up to Lompoc with Charisse.” I didn’t mention “dead in the trunk.”
“So what?”
“You never asked him if he knew what happened to her?”
“I’m sure if he’d known something he would have spoken up.”
“Didn’t anybody seem concerned?”
“Not really. Medora reported her missing so we all assumed the police would take care of it. I’m sorry if that sounds mean.”
By now she’d turned onto an aisle lined on both sides with freezer cases: ice creams, frozen pies, pizzas, and bags of frozen vegetables. Adrianne opened a glass door and removed a bag of baby peas.
I studied her with puzzlement. “Why do I have the feeling you know something you’re not telling me?”
“I’m sure I know lots of things I haven’t told you.”
“About Charisse.”
“I don’t want to make trouble. I told you that before.”
“Who would you be making trouble for?”
“I’m speaking in generalities, not about anyone specific.”
“Let’s hope that’s true. Thanks for your time.”
She moved on and I remained where I was, watching the efficiency with which she went about her business.
I stopped by the motel. Stacey’s car was gone. He hadn’t left me a note, so I figured I’d catch him later. I drove on over to Quorum General, where I found Dolan sleeping, his dinner tray pushed to one side. I tiptoed to his bedside and tucked one copy of the report, sealed in a manila envelope, under the edge of the blanket folded at his feet. On my way past the nurses station, I had a quick chat with Ms. Kovach, who told me he was being transferred out of CCU and onto a regular medical floor. I told her to tell him I’d been in and had left him an update at the foot of his bed.
“I’ll be sure and tell him,” she said.
As I eased out of the parking lot, Stacey was just pulling in. We both rolled down our windows and had a chat, car to car. I passed him the second copy of the notes I’d typed and included a quick account of my conversation with Adrianne, plus the gossip I’d picked up from Betty Puckett regarding Wilbur Sanders’s decampment and his subsequent bigamy.
Stacey said, “Sorry to hear Pudgie spent so much time at the McPhees. I hate rooting against the guy, but we could use a break about now.”
“So what if he knew them? He still could have stolen the car, don’t you think?”
“How’re we going to prove it? I thought the prints would turn out to be significant,” he said. “Oh, well. I’ll ask the boys to get to work on Wilbur. Shouldn’t be hard to track him down. Might as well cook his goose while we’re at it.”
“Yeah, Medora’s in bad shape. It’d be nice to see him taking some responsibility. Meanwhile, where were you? I stopped by the motel and you were gone.”
“I went over to the sheriff’s office and talked to a couple of detectives. They said they’d take a set of elimination prints on the McPhee’s if I can talk them into it.”
“You think they’ll agree?”
“I can’t think why not. By the way, I want you to go to the Baptist Church with me. It’s Easter and Edna tells me the McPhees will all be there. Two services tomorrow, but I think the nine o’clock’s our best bet. Afterward, they’re going back to Edna’s for a big Sunday dinner. Easter, I bet she does a spiral-cut ham.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s just like my mother. We had ham every Easter, along with yams and green beans. We’ll follow them to the house and have a quick chat with them while they’re all there together.”
“I don’t know, Stacey. Maybe you should go alone. I’ll only end up irritating Ruel.”
“I want you with me. I promise we’ll keep it brief.”
A car pulled up behind me and the driver gave a quick, polite beep of his horn.
I said, “I’ll catch you later at the motel.”
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
We ate supper in Dolan’s room, which Stacey had by now adopted as his own. Both of us sat on the king-size bed, sharing a bucket of franchised fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and watery corn on the cob. Once we finished, I gathered the chicken bones, empty cartons, and used plasticware and tossed everything in the trash. Stacey wanted me to stay and watch a movie, but I was ready for a break. I’m not accustomed to spending so much time in the company of others. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Great. I’ll knock on your door at eight. That’ll give you time to shower and get dressed.”
“Oh shoot. I just remembered. The only thing I have with me are blue jeans.”
“No problem. We don’t have to go in. We can wait in the parking lot and follow them home.”
“Why not go straight to the house?”
“What if they change their minds and decide to go out for Sunday lunch? This may be the only chance we have to talk to them together.”
“You think she’d give up the chance to cook her big Easter dinner?”
“Probably not, but I want to see the congregation all dressed up,” he said. “We used to do that as kids.”
“You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”
He smiled benignly. “Enjoy your evening.”
23
The phone was ringing as I unlocked my door. I dropped my bag and plucked the handset from the cradle on what must have been the fourth or fifth ring. A woman said, “Is this Kinsey?”
“Sure, who’s this?”
“Iona. My mom said you called looking for me.”
“Where are you, in Creosote?”
&nbs
p; “Peaches. I just got in. What do you want?”
“Did you talk to Pudgie Clifton Thursday night?”
“I might have called him,” she said, cautiously. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you make arrangements to see him?”
“Why would I do that? He’s a lowlife punk.”
“His sister said you were pissed at him. What was that about?”
“None of your business. That’s between him and me.”
“All right. Let’s try this one. Your mother tells me you spent time in Lompoc as a kid. I’m wondering if you told Pudgie about the quarry up there.”
Dead silence.
“You remember telling him about that? I’m talking about the one where the girl’s body was found.”
“How would I know where the body was found?”
“Oh come on, Iona. Don’t play games with me. I don’t care if you told him. I just want the information.”
“I might have.”
“You might have, or you did?”
“All right, I did, but that was years ago. I even took him to see it once when we were out on the road.”
“Did you know Charisse Quinn?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you going to ask who she is?”
“I’m not stupid. I assume she’s the dead girl they found after Cathy Lee was killed. I asked Frankie about that and he says he had nothing to do with that. He didn’t even know her.”
“You know, he’s not stupid, either. If he killed the girl, he’s hardly going to tell you.”
“Why are you so against him? Can’t you give the guy a break? He hasn’t done anything to you.”
“This isn’t about me, Iona. It’s about Charisse. Is Frankie there by chance? I’d like to talk to him myself.”
“He took off Friday morning. He was scheduled to work Friday night and had to get back.”
“Short visit, wasn’t it?”
“So what?” she said, annoyed.
“What’d you tell him about Pudgie?”
Another silence, during which I could hear her breathing in my ear.
“Iona?”
“If you must know, I told him Pudgie’s a fuckin’ snitch. He knew somebody had pointed a finger at him. The minute you mentioned Pudgie, I figured it was him.”
“Is that why you were so pissed at him?”
“I’m not the only one. Frankie’s pissed about it, too. Pudgie cut a deal for himself by blaming Frankie for what happened to that girl.”
I felt a whisper of fear, like a millipede, running down my back. “Where’d you get that?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Yes it is, because Frankie checked it out. He knows this guy at the county jail who’s serving thirty days? The guy told him Pudgie had a visitor—this woman private eye, who was asking about the murder—that was you, right?”
“Of course, but Pudgie never made a deal.”
“Yes, he did. You know how I know? He got out of jail the very next day. The guy said.”
“Because his sentence was up. He’d served his time and he was released.”
“Nuhn-un. No way. Pudgie went back to his cell block and bragged to everyone. He said you were doing something special for him. Next thing you know, he got out.”
“He asked me for cigarettes and I said no. That’s all it was. There wasn’t any deal.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Tell me another one.”
“Would you listen to me? Iona, think about this. I don’t have the authority to get him out. How would I do that?”
“That’s not what the guy said.”
“Well, the guy got it wrong. I don’t have the power to make a deal with anyone. I’m not a cop. I’m a private citizen just like you.”
She said, “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” I snapped. “Next time you talk to Frankie, would you set him straight? If he needs to hear it from me, he can call. In the meantime, lay off Pudgie. He didn’t do a thing.”
Exasperated, I returned the handset to the cradle. All we needed was Frankie Miracle on a rampage. I had to admit I was really splitting hairs on this one. Pudgie had most certainly pointed a finger at Frankie, but not in order to make a deal for himself. He was hoping to divert our attention, which he’d succeeded in doing, but only temporarily. Now that his fingerprints had shown up on the stolen vehicle, the focus had shifted back to him. His attempt to implicate Frankie only made his own behavior the more suspect, so in the end, his scheme backfired. Unfortunately, I didn’t credit Frankie with an appreciation of the finer points of finking. To him, a rat was a rat. I checked my notes and picked up the phone again, dialing Felicia Clifton’s number in Creosote. I didn’t even hear the line ring on her end before she said, “Hello?”
“Felicia? Kinsey Millhone. How are you?”
“Not good. Cedric hasn’t come home and I’m worried sick about him.”
“He hasn’t been gone that long, has he? You said he left the house this morning. That’s only a few hours.”
“Or he could have gone out last night. All I know is he wasn’t here when I got up. Either way, he should have checked in by now. This is not like him.”
“Did you call the tavern? The bartender said he was always there for Happy Hour.”
“Jerry hasn’t seen him either. I don’t know where he could have gone.”
“Maybe he met a girl and went home with her.”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t give him any money so he didn’t even have enough to buy drinks. My car’s still here so he has to be on foot. He could have walked to the tavern, but not anywhere else. You’ve seen this town. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere and everything shuts down at six.”
“Have you tried the police?”
“I suppose I could do that,” she said reluctantly. “I tried the two hospitals—the one in Quorum and the other one in Blythe—but neither has a record of him.”
“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“Would he skip town without telling you?”
“You mean take off for good? Why would he do that?”
“Ah. He’s in a bit of trouble with Frankie Miracle, Iona’s ex.”
“Shit. Does Pudgie know that?”
“I’m sure he’s well aware of it. So maybe he decided to lay low.”
“Without any money, where could he go?”
“Good question. Look, why not try the police? Maybe he was picked up. For all you know, he’s sitting in jail.”
“Trust me, if that was true, he would have hit me up for bail.”
“Well, I hope he shows soon, but if he doesn’t, let me know. Maybe we can come up with another idea.”
“You really think he’s okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine, but I agree it’s worrisome,” I said. We chatted briefly, trying to boost each other’s confidence. Once I hung up, I thought, Who am I trying to kid? I couldn’t believe Frankie would risk jail time on a charge of assault and battery (or worse), but he wasn’t exactly famous for his impulse control. Now that Iona had set him off, who knew what he’d do?
Sunday morning at 8:45, Stacey and I were staked out in the parking lot of the Quorum Baptist Church. It was Easter and most of the women and children we’d seen were decked out in pastel suits and floral dresses, wearing fresh corsages, their hats atremble with artificial flowers. The McPhees pulled into the church parking lot in three separate cars. We’d been there for half an hour, the rental tucked discreetly behind a three-foot hedge. I was still arguing it made more sense to go straight to the house, but I think Stacey preferred the drama of doing it this way. The elder McPhees arrived first. They parked and got out, waiting while Adrianne turned in behind them and parked her car close by. Shortly afterward, Justine and Cornell arrived with their three girls. Dressed in their Sunday best, the eight of them looked like a picture-book family. Edna wore a hat. Ruel’s hair was slicked down with gel, and his ligh
t-blue suit was only slightly too big. The three girls, in matching outfits, complete with hats and white cotton gloves, bypassed the sanctuary and went into the Sunday School building attached at one end.
Stacey and I remained where we were. Some of the church windows were open, and we were treated to organ music and an assortment of hymns. The sermon itself didn’t carry that far. Stacey had bought a copy of the Palo Verde Valley Times, and while the service went on, we occupied ourselves with the local news. He said, “What’d you hear from Pudgie?”
“Not a word. I called last night, but Felicia said he hadn’t showed. I’ll call again this afternoon. With luck, he’ll be back and we can talk to him. I’ll bet you money he has a story cooked up to explain his prints on the Mustang.”
I read the front section and the funnies, and Stacey entertained himself by reading aloud ads for cheap desert real estate. I looked up. “You ought to do it, Stacey. Now that you’re a homeless person, you could live down here.”
“Too hot. I’ve been thinking to ask Dolan about moving in with him.”
“Hey, I like that. He needs someone to ride herd on his profligate lifestyle.”
“I’d have to sneak out for junk food. That’s the only thing worries me.” With a rattle, Stacey flipped the page, his attention shifting to sports.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to cut down.”
“Speaking of which, what would you like to try next? Taco Bell, Long John Silver’s, or Jack in the Box?”
“I thought we were going to McPhee’s.”
“I’m talking about later. A fella has to eat.”
After the church service ended, we waited until the family headed out, and we followed them to the house. Ruel and Edna turned off a block early. “What’s that about? Are they ducking us?” I asked, peering back at them.
“They do that every week—visit a shut-in before Sunday lunch.”
“You’re too much,” I said. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Justine let us in. She and Adrianne were apparently in charge of the kitchen until Edna got home. The house smelled of the baked ham she must have put in the oven before she left for church. I detected whiffs of pineapple and brown sugar and the burnt sugar smell of baking sweet potatoes oozing sap onto the oven floor. Justine’s girls had settled at the coffee table in the living room, playing a board game with only minor squabbling. I could see their Easter baskets on the floor where they’d left them. Judging from the bits of crumpled foil, it looked as though the girls had already begun to sample the hollow chocolate bunnies and foil-wrapped chocolate eggs. All three had received bright yellow plush ducks. The dining room table had been set with the good china. The centerpiece was an enormous arrangement of Easter lilies I could smell from where I stood.
