by Sue Grafton
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“But what’d she say when she hired you on?”
“She’s upset. She says she’s never made peace with her mother’s leaving her.”
“None of us made peace with that,” he said. He looked away from me and then shrugged, as if in response to some inner debate. “All right. I guess we best get it over with. You can ask anything you like, but I want to say this first: Pastor of this church is the only man in town with any charity in his heart. After Violet left, I got laid off and I couldn’t get work. I did construction before, but suddenly no one would hire me to do anything. Based on what? I was never arrested. I was never charged. I never spent a day in jail in regard to her. The woman ran off. I don’t know how many times I have to say that.”
“You hired an attorney?”
“I had to. I needed to protect myself. Everybody thought I killed her, and what was I supposed to do? I had Daisy to support and I couldn’t get a paying job to save my soul. How can you prove you didn’t do a thing when the whole town believes you did?”
“How’d you earn a living?”
“I couldn’t. I had to go on welfare. I was ashamed of myself, but I had no choice. All the time we were married, Violet wouldn’t take a job. She wanted to stay home with Daisy and that was fine with me, though I could have used the help. Some months, I couldn’t pull in the money we needed to cover the bills. That was hard. There’s people who seem to think I didn’t care if I was behind on my bills, but that’s just not true. I did what I could, but once she was gone, I didn’t know where to turn. If I left Daisy for a single minute, she’d come unglued. She had to have me in her sights. She had to know where I was. She had to hang on my pant leg for fear I’d up and disappear. That’s how it was. Violet did what suited her, regardless of us. She was a self-centered woman, and mothering wasn’t something she did all that well.”
“What was?”
“Come again?”
“What did she do well? I’m asking because I’d like to get a sense of her…not just how she behaved, but who she was.”
“She was a party girl. She stayed out late and drank. Sometimes she danced.”
“What about you? Did you go dancing as well?” I asked, wondering if he was using the word as a metaphor.
“Not often enough to suit her.”
He replaced the unshelled peanut in the bowl and put his big hands in his lap under the table. I could hear a popping sound and I knew he was systematically cracking his knuckles.
“Did she have hobbies or interests?”
“Like what, did she do macramé?” he asked with a touch of bitterness. “Not hardly.”
“Cooking, for instance. Anything like that?”
“She fixed things out of cans. Tamales wrapped in paper. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to dump them in a pan and put them over heat. I know I sound negative and I apologize. She might have had good qualities, just none I could see. She was beautiful, I’ll give her that. She had her hooks in me deep.”
“Why’d you stay?”
“Dumb, I guess. I don’t know, it seems so long ago. Sometimes I can hardly remember what it was like. Not good, I know. Why I stayed was I loved that woman more than life itself.”
“I understand,” I said, though the statement was preposterous, given what I’d heard.
He went on. “Anyway, I’m not the only one who had complaints. She wasn’t happy, but she stayed on, too. At least until she went.”
“Daisy tells me you believe she was having an affair.”
“I know she was.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Aside from the fact that she told me?”
“Really. What’d she say?”
“She said he was twice the man I was. She said he was a tiger in bed. I don’t want to go into that. She cut me to the quick, which is what she intended.”
“Maybe she was making it up.”
“No, ma’am. Not her. There was someone all right. You can trust me on that.”
“Do you have any idea who?”
“No.”
“There was no one you suspected even the tiniest bit?”
He shook his head. “At first, I thought it was someone from Santa Maria or Orcutt, somewhere like that, but there was never a claim from anyone else about a missing spouse, which is why no one gives credence to anything I say.”
“Let’s talk about you. What’s your story?”
“I don’t have a story. Like what?”
I shrugged. “Were you ever in the military?”
He shook his head, his expression sour, as though I was adding one more item to his list of grievances. “Army wouldn’t take me: 1941 when the war broke out, I was fifteen years old. As soon as I turned eighteen, I tried to enlist, but the physical messed me up. Teeth were bad. You were supposed to have six biting teeth and six chewing teeth lined up right. I didn’t get mine fixed until later. By then, I could see how being in the army wasn’t such a hot idea. Bunch of boys from around here went off and never did come back.”
“Daisy told me Violet was fifteen when you married her.”
“Bet she told you why, too.”
“I know she was pregnant. Did you ever think about putting the baby up for adoption?”
“Violet would have done that or worse, but I stood in her way. I wanted that child. I wanted to get married and raise a family. She acted like I forced it on her, which maybe I did, but I thought she’d adjust.”
“Fifteen is young,” I said, stating the obvious to keep the conversation afloat.
“Violet was never young. She told me once she was fooling around by the time she was twelve. I wasn’t the first to have her and I certainly wasn’t the last.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Her past? I didn’t care about that. What bothered me was everything she did after. You probably heard I hit her, but there’s two sides to every story. She was unfaithful—time and time again—and I defy any man who says he can live with a thing like that. Could you live with it?”
“That’s what divorce is for,” I said, blandly.
“I know, but I loved her. I didn’t want to live without her. I thought I might knock a little sense into her. That’s all I was trying to do. I know I was wrong. Sometimes I can’t believe I ever thought that way, but I did. She was stubborn…willful…and she never changed her ways. I was as good to her as I knew how and she left us anyway. About broke my heart.”
“And you’ve never remarried?”
“How could I? I have nothing to offer. I can’t say I’m divorced, can’t say I’m a widower. Not that any woman’s asked. Once Daisy left home, I took this job. Pastor gave me a place to live and I’ve been here ever since.” He was silent for a moment, emotion churning under the surface.
“Tell me about the car.”
“I can tell you exactly. Her and me had a fight. I forget now over what. I tore down a panel of her lace curtains and she went berserk, tore down the rest and threw them in the trash. She went over to the Moon and I followed her. We started drinking and she calmed down some. I thought everything was okay, but that’s when she up and told me she was leaving me. She said it was over and she’d be gone the next day. I didn’t believe a word. Violet said things like that every other week. This time she was crying so hard it tore me up. I was sorry for what I’d done. I knew those lace curtains meant something to her. I wanted to make up for that and everything else.
“She’d seen the car a couple days before and that’s all she talked about, so I went down to the dealership and bought it. I drove it home that same day and parked it out in front, then went in and told her to look outside. When she saw the car, she was like a little kid. It’s the happiest I’d ever seen her.”
“When was that? What date?”
“July third. Day before she left.”
“Did she talk about going somewhere, a road trip?”
“Not a word. She was nicer than she’d been
in a long, long time, so I thought things were fine. We spent Saturday morning together, the three of us—her, me, and Daisy. I had a job at work to take care of in the early afternoon, but after that I came back and we did some stuff around the house. At five, she fixed Daisy’s supper—bacon and scrambled eggs, which was Daisy’s favorite. Violet had a babysitter coming at six. She was going to put Daisy in the bath and get her ready for bed. She wanted to change clothes and she said we’d meet at the park in time for the fireworks.
“I stopped by the Blue Moon on the way. I’ll admit I had a couple of beers…more than a couple, if you want to know the truth. By the time I got to the park, it was almost dark and the fireworks display was about to begin. I looked everywhere for her and finally took a seat and enjoyed the show by myself.”
“People saw you there?”
“Yes, indeed. That’s one thing people had to give me. Livia Cramer was sitting right there talking to me, big as life. When I got to the house, I could see the car wasn’t in the drive. I went in and realized Violet was gone as well.”
“But the babysitter was there, yes?”
“That’s what she says. My thinking wasn’t all that clear.”
“Why was that?”
“I had a couple more beers at the park and then stopped off at the Moon on my way home. That’s why I wasn’t too steady on my feet. I went in the bedroom and laid across the bed. I didn’t look in Daisy’s room because it didn’t occur to me. I thought she was out with Violet, riding in the car. I figured Violet changed her mind and decided Daisy should see the fireworks. Next thing I know it’s morning and Daisy’s tugging on my hand.”
“And then what?”
“Then I went through the roughest two days of my life. Sunday morning, I called the sheriff ’s department to see if they knew anything. I thought she might have been arrested, or in a car wreck. Deputy said no, but if I hadn’t heard from her by Tuesday, I could come in and file a missing-persons report, which is what I did when she hadn’t come back. I gave up drinking that day and I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since.”
“And she never got in touch?”
“Not a call. Not a postcard. No word of any kind from that day to this.”
“Why’d you keep making payments on the car?”
“To show I loved her. To show I was sincere about changing my ways. I believed she’d come back, and on the day she did, if she ever did, I wanted her to know that I’d never lost faith.”
“It didn’t make you angry to have to pay for the car she went off in?”
“It made me sad, but in a way…if she had to go…I was happy she had that. Like a parting gift.”
“By then, everybody thought you’d done something to her.”
“That’s been my burden to bear and I hope I’ve done it like a man. I might sound bitter, but it’s not about her. It’s about the fact that I’ve been judged and condemned.” He reached for the bowl of peanuts and took one, then changed his mind and put it back. The dark sunken eyes came up to mine. “Do you believe me?”
“I don’t have an opinion. I’ve been on this one day. You’re only the second person I’ve talked to so I’m not in a position to believe or disbelieve. I’m gathering information.”
“And I’m telling you what I know.”
“What about the fifty thousand dollars she was said to have?”
“That was after Daisy’s birth. I don’t know the details except the labor went on for hours. Her water broke at nine o’clock on a Friday night, but nothing much went on. She was having contractions now and then, but she wasn’t in much pain. She thought it might not be as bad as she’d heard. I don’t know why but the minute any woman finds out she’s pregnant, other women haul out some terrible tale about how hard it was, how somebody’s cousin ended up hemorrhaging to death, about babies born deformed. She was scared to death and she wanted to hold off going to the hospital as long as she could. We stayed up all night playing cards—gin rummy—and she played me for a penny a point. I think she took something like fifteen dollars off me. After a while, the pains started coming harder and she got so she couldn’t concentrate. I told her we ought to go and she finally gave in. We got to the hospital and they took her off to the labor room. That was at six A.M. The nurse came out and said she was only four centimeters dilated, so they took me in the back and let me sit with her. She was suffering something awful, but the doctor didn’t want give her anything for pain for fear it’d slow her down. Noon, I went out to get something to eat. I got back to the waiting room as the doctor arrived. The nurse had called him because she didn’t think Violet’s labor was progressing like it ought. I don’t know the particulars about what happened next. I know something went wrong and Dr. Rawlings was at fault. Daisy was okay. She was finally born around seven that night by forceps. There were female complications and the upshot was that he removed Violet’s womb. There she was, sixteen years old, and she could never have another child. I don’t think she gave a hoot about that, but she saw the opportunity to get some cash. I think she sued him for half a million dollars and got considerably less. She was tight-lipped about that and never would tell me the amount. She said the money was hers and it was none of my affair. Said she earned it the hard way and she wanted to make sure I never got my hands on it. She wouldn’t put it in a regular savings account because she was afraid of community property laws. She got a safe-deposit box and kept the cash in there. I told her it was foolish. I said she ought to invest, but she was adamant. I think the money made her feel powerful.”
We sat and stared at each other while I digested the information. Finally, I said, “I appreciate your candor. At the moment, I can’t think what other ground we need to cover. I may have questions for you later on.”
“I understand,” he said. “All I ask is you’ll keep an open mind.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “And if further questions come up, I hope I can talk to you again.”
“Of course.”
8
After I left the church parking lot, I found a quiet side street and pulled over to the curb. I shut off the engine and took out a handful of index cards, jotting down what I remembered about the conversation. During interviews early in my career, I tried using a tape recorder, but the process was awkward. It made some people self-conscious, and both of us tended to watch the tape reel going around and around, assuring each other the device was working. Sometimes a reel came to an end and clicked off while the interviewee was in the middle of a sentence. I’d have to turn the tape over and then backtrack, which was off-putting to say the least. Transcribing a tape afterward was a pain in the rear because the sound quality was often poor and the ambient noise made some of it impossible to hear. Taking notes in longhand was just as distracting. I finally gave up and started winging it, quieting the chatter in my brain so I could hear what was being said. My memory has improved to the point where I can remember the bulk of an interview, but I still find it helpful to nail down the details while they’re fresh in my mind. Over time, a portion of any recollection fades, and while I might remember the gist, it’s the minutia that sometimes makes all the difference.
Cynic that I am, I did wonder if Foley had quit drinking because he was afraid alcohol would one day loosen his tongue, tricking him into saying something he shouldn’t. For the same reason, I questioned his reasons for the lack of an intimate relationship since Violet had disappeared. Guilt produces a loneliness of its own. The temptation to confide has to be overwhelming at times. His suffering had been intense, but he’d never sought solace, or so he claimed.
I looked at the map again, noting the distance between the service station where Violet had filled her tank, the park in Silas, and the Sullivans’ house. Must have been fifteen or twenty miles from point to point. It was possible, I supposed, that Violet had bought gas and then driven home, in which case she might well have been there when Foley returned. If that were the case, surely the babysitter would have said so. I put a rubber
band around my fat stack of cards, then fired up the engine, put the car in gear, and headed for home.
As I was unlocking my front door, Henry emerged from his kitchen and locked the door behind him. He was looking very spiffy for a guy who favors shorts and flip-flops. He waved and I waited while he crossed the patio. It was close to cocktail hour and I figured he was on his way to Rosie’s. “Actually, I’m driving down to Olvidado to take Charlotte to the movies. We’ll catch the five-o’clock show and have dinner afterwards.” Charlotte was a real estate agent he’d dated twice. I was happy to see him take an interest after his recently failed romance.
“Sounds like fun. What are you seeing?”
“No Way Out with that actor, Kevin Costner. You think this is okay?” He held his arms out, asking me to make a judgment about his slacks and collared T-shirt.
“You look fine.”
“Thanks. What are you up to?”
“I’m on a job up in the Santa Maria area. I’ll be driving back and forth, but I don’t want you to worry if you don’t see me for a couple of days. You better get a move on. Traffic’s tricky at this hour.”
I watched him cross to his two-car garage, pausing long enough to see which car he took. His pride and joy is a 1932 Chevrolet, the five-window coupe, painted bright yellow. His other car is a workaday station wagon, which is serviceable but no great shakes. He backed down the drive in the vintage Chevy, waving at me as he disappeared from sight.
Once in my apartment, I dropped my shoulder bag on a kitchen stool and went through my usual ritual of phone messages and mail. Cheney had called to say hi and he’d catch me later. Mail was boring. When I peered into the refrigerator, the sight that greeted me was no big surprise. The contents consisted of condiments—mustard, pickles, olives, and a jar of jalapeños—a stick of butter, a head of browning lettuce, and a six-pack of Diet Pepsi. I hadn’t been to the grocery store for days, which meant I’d either have to make a supermarket run or eat out again. While I debated, I returned Cheney’s call. I knew he’d be gone, but I left a lengthy message, telling him what I was up to. I wasn’t sure what my schedule would look like after tomorrow, but I said I’d be in touch. Already this was feeling like the same sort of absentee relationship I’d had with Robert Dietz. How do I get myself into these situations with men?
