Three Complete Novels: A Is for Alibi / B Is for Burglar / C Is for Corpse

by Sue Grafton

  “How about I tell you where he’ll be at seven in the morning and you can talk to him yourself? Maxi’s Coffee Shop. It’s right on the road between Silas and Serena Station. He’s there every morning for an hour or so.”

  I could feel my eyes cross at the notion of an early morning drive. I’d have to leave S.T. at dawn. “I’d hate to pop in unannounced. He might not like being quizzed while he’s enjoying his morning coffee and eating his eggs.”

  “BW won’t care. He’s an easygoing guy and he loves to hold court.”

  “How would I recognize him?”

  “Easy. He weighs three hundred pounds and his head is shaved.”

  He glanced at the entrance behind me, and I turned to see Daisy and Tannie coming in the door. They spotted us and crossed to the table with Tannie leading the way. She was sunburned from a day spent outside battling the brush, but she’d managed in the interim to shower and change clothes. Her jeans were freshly pressed and her white blouse was crisp, her hair still damp and tucked under a baseball cap. Daisy wore a red cotton cardigan over a red-and-white-print dress. She’d pulled her blond hair back, clamping it in place with a red plastic clip.

  Jake rose as they approached. Tannie gave her dad a buss on the cheek. “Hey, Pop. I see you’ve met Kinsey,” she said, and then slipped into the chair beside mine.

  He pulled out a chair for Daisy. “How’re you doing, Daisy? You’re looking good.”

  “Thanks. I’m fine. Place smells divine.”

  “I got an eight-ounce filet with your name on it.”

  Tannie lowered her gaze, but the comment she made was directed to me. “Don’t look now, but Chet Cramer just walked in with Caroleena, the Violet Sullivan clone.”

  Of course, I looked straight up, catching Chet Cramer’s eye. His smile was friendly, but I noticed he promptly steered his wife toward another part of the bar. From the glimpse I had, she looked too old to be dying her hair such a harsh shade of red. Her pale complexion was more the result of makeup than the delicate Irish coloring she hoped to simulate. Tight dress, big boobs, getting thick in the waist.

  “Does she really look like Violet?”

  “Oh, hardly,” Daisy scoffed. “That woman’s a cow. My mother was a natural beauty. Poor Kathy Cramer. I’d be mortified if my father connected up with someone like that.”

  The dinner crowd was picking up, so Jake excused himself to tend to business while the three of us settled in with our drinks and a serious contemplation of the menu. We all ordered the filet mignon, medium rare, with a salad up front and a side of baked potato. We were finishing the meal when the subject of Kathy Cramer surfaced again. Having been granted immunity from any accusation of gossiping, I naturally passed along the news about the collapse of the Cramer-Smith marriage.

  “Well, good for him. She is such a bitch. I’m happy to hear he’s finally busting out,” Tannie said.

  Daisy said, “I’m with you. About time he got a backbone.”

  “I’m not sure you can call it ‘busting out’ when she’s giving him the boot,” I said.

  Tannie made a pained face. “But he used to be so cute. And really, the name Winston. Could you just die?” she said. “I do think someone should tell him to drop the weight. Even twenty pounds would make a difference. He goes back on the market, I know half a dozen women who’d snap him up.”

  “Including me,” Daisy said, offended that Tannie would offer him up without consulting her.

  “Oh, right. Just what you need, another guy with an ax to grind. Wait till Kathy hits him up for alimony and child support. He’ll never get out from under.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “What choice does he have?” Tannie asked. “They’ve been married close to thirty years. She had a crush on him since eighth grade. Remember that? No, you wouldn’t. You were still in elementary school. But I’m telling you, even when I was ten, I’d see her moping around town. So pathetic. She’d find ways to bump into him and she’d be going, ‘Oh gee, Winston, I had no idea you’d be here.’ She’d sit behind him in church and stare at him like she could eat him alive. The guy never had a chance.”

  I said, “I saw the wedding photo he keeps in his office. He was very trim.”

  Tannie said, “True. And she was big as a tank.”

  “How’d she lose the weight?”

  “How do you think? She’s popping pills like after-dinner mints.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. Black-market speed. She’s got a source, from what I heard.”

  “Now that I think about it, she did seem amped,” I said.

  The busboy removed our plates and the waitress showed up again to offer us dessert, which all three of us declined.

  I watched as a man leaving the bar did a detour toward our table. From across the room, I placed him in his midforties, but by the time he’d reached us, I’d added thirty years. His wavy hair was dark, but the color was a shade I imagined Grecian Formula would produce. His eyes were blue behind heavy black-frame glasses that had hearing aids built into the stems. He was roughly my height, five-six, but the heels on his boots gave him another couple of inches. He wore jeans, a red plaid shirt with a string tie, over which he’d buttoned a powder blue western-cut sport coat, nipped in at the waist.

  He greeted Daisy and Tannie with familiarity, taking each by the hand. When all the air-kissing was over, Tannie introduced us. “This is Kinsey Millhone. Tom Padgett. He owns Padgett Construction and the A-Okay Heavy Equipment yard in Santa Maria. Daisy bought her old house from him.”

  “Nice meeting you,” I said.

  We made polite noises at each other and then he and Tannie chatted while Daisy excused herself.

  Tannie gestured toward the empty chair. “Join us for a drink.”

  “I don’t want to barge in.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve been meaning to call you anyway to pick your brain.”

  “What’s left of it,” he said.

  He treated us to a round of after-dinner drinks, and the conversation moved from the general to the specific, that being the Tanner house and the debate about rehabilitation. Padgett’s expression was pained. “House hasn’t been lived in since 1948. You forget I did a lot of work for Hairl Tanner, and he showed me around. Plumbing and wiring were both a mess even back then. Recent fire aside, the house looks good from the outside, but once you go in, you got a real disaster on your hands. Hell, I don’t have to tell you. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Let a house like that sit empty and first the raccoons move in. Then the termites, then the bums. It was grand once upon a time, but try bringing it back and you’ll go broke. You’re looking at well over a million bucks.”

  “So I take it you’re opposed,” she said, and then laughed. “I know it’s bad, but that’s a piece of my childhood. I can’t see knocking it down. Besides, we do make some money from the property, between the oil and gas leases.”

  “Well, you asked and I’m giving you my opinion. You know the rumors about rezoning. You want to save the house, you’re better off selling to developers and letting them do the work. They could turn it into offices or a party center in the middle of a housing tract.”

  “Steve’s point exactly. Don’t tell me you’re in league with him.”

  “I got no stake in the matter one way or the other. You ought to get a contractor out there and have him take a look.”

  “Why not you?”

  “You already know what I think. You need to hear it from someone else. You’ll be happier that way. I’d be willing to meet with anyone you want and throw in my two cents.”

  “You’d poison the well.”

  “I wouldn’t open my mouth until you heard what he had to say.”

  “Who do you recommend?”

  “Billy Boynton or Dade Ray. Both are good men.”

  “I guess I better do that. I know I’m only postponing the inevitable. I keep thi
nking, one step at a time, but who am I trying to kid? It’s like having to put a dog down. You know the mutt’s too sick to go on, but it’s just that you don’t want to do it today.”

  “I understand. You have to do it in your own time.”

  “Enough said. I got it and I appreciate your input.”

  “Anytime,” he said. His attention shifted to me. “Pardon my bad manners. Jake was just telling me about you. You’ve got quite a job on your hands.”

  “Well, it’s a challenge at any rate. At first the idea seemed absurd, but now I’m enjoying myself. Me against Violet. It’s like playing hide-and-seek.”

  “So what’s your theory?”

  “I don’t have a theory. Right now I’m talking to anyone and everyone, filling in the blanks. The questions don’t change, but sometimes I get an answer I don’t expect. One of these days, I’m going to pick up a thread and then I’ll see where it goes. From what I’ve heard about Violet, she might have been devious, but she wasn’t good at keeping secrets. Somebody knows where she is.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do. Either the guy she ran off with or the guy who did her in. It’s really just a matter of tracking him down.”

  He shook his head, his tone skeptical. “I have to hand it to you, you’re an optimist.”

  “That’s what keeps me on my toes. What about you? Where do you weigh in on the debate?”

  “What, whether she’s dead or alive? Personally, I think she ran off and I said it from the get-go. I spent more than one night listening to Violet bitch. I promise, it was only a matter of time before she found a way out.”

  “But where would she have gone; have you ever asked yourself?”

  “Sure, I’ve thought about that. She was young and in her own way she was innocent. A small-town kind of girl. She had experience with men, but she didn’t know anything about the world at large. I can’t picture her in a big town like San Francisco or L.A. I can’t even picture her in the state. California’s as expensive now as it was back then, relative to income. Given the cash she had—which probably didn’t amount to much—I’m guessing she’d go someplace she could afford. Midwest, the South—someplace like that.”

  “You heard about her money?”

  “Half a dozen times. She’d get on a tear and threaten to pull out if Foley didn’t straighten up and fly right.”

  “Like that was ever going to happen,” Tannie put in.

  The subject shifted. There were only so many ideas you could bounce around with so little information. At 10:30, Padgett made his excuses and headed for the door.

  Daisy, meanwhile, was feeling no pain. She’d had enough to drink that some merrier, more loquacious personality had taken over her ordinary self. She was flirting with some guy, laughing too loudly. From a distance, she appeared to be having fun. Up close, I was betting, she was out of control. It was the first indication I’d seen of the trouble she was capable of getting into. Tannie followed my gaze, and the two of us locked eyes briefly. “Once she reaches this point, it’s all over,” Tannie said. “He’ll end up in her bed and things will go downhill from there.”

  “We can’t intervene?”

  “This time, sure, but she’ll be in here again tomorrow night and the night after that. You want to take on that kind of responsibility? Because I sure don’t. After this round, at any rate. Tannie to the rescue. What an idiot. Wish me luck.”

  She left the table and joined Daisy, who was dancing with her cowboy. She took some persuading, but she did return to the table without her new best friend. By the time we were ready to part company, it was 11:00 and I’d had one too many glasses of wine. I was fine for the short haul, but I didn’t like the idea of driving all the way home. “You know what, guys? It’s not such a hot idea my being on the road. Is there a motel around here, or maybe a B-and-B?”

  17

  The Sun Bonnet Motel was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, a one-story stucco building that was plain, shabby at the seams, but allegedly clean. My room was the kind you’d be wise to avoid examining with a black light after dark because the stains illuminated—bedding, carpeting, furniture, and walls—would suggest activities you wouldn’t want to know about. It was a family business, Mr. and Mrs. Bonnet having owned the place for the past forty years. Its single virtue was that Mrs. Bonnet—Maxi—owned and ran Maxi’s Coffee Shop, which was attached to one end. Oh happy day. In the morning, I could intercept BW within a hundred yards of my bed.

  Daisy had been apologetic that she couldn’t put me up at her house, but that’s where Tannie was staying, and she had only the one spare room.

  “Sorry ’bout that, but I got dibs,” Tannie injected, clearly pleased with herself.

  “You could sleep on my couch,” Daisy said.

  “Oh no, not me. I’m too old for that stuff. Maybe some other time.”

  After I checked in, I left the registration desk and returned to my car. Mrs. Bonnet had put me in 109, which was down at the end of the line, the second to last of ten rooms. All the other rooms were dark, but there was a car parked on each side of the slot for 109. I left my car in front of my door, only slightly worried by the sight of the drapery sagging off the hooks. I unlocked the door, went in, and flipped on the light. The room was small, the color scheme leaning toward cantaloupe and peach. A double bed was centered on the wall to my right. The pillows looked flat, and there was a trough down the middle of the mattress where my body would just fit, thus saving me needless tossing and turning. The bed tables and the chest of drawers were paint-grade wood with a wood-laminate veneer. The easy chair didn’t look that easy, but I didn’t plan to sit.

  I went into the bathroom, floor squeaking as I walked, and pulled my toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of underpants from my shoulder bag, where I keep them for such occasions. My only serious lament was that I hadn’t brought a book, but I’d expected to drive up and back without any opportunity to read. I checked all the drawers, but there wasn’t so much as a Gideon’s Bible or a stray paperback. I stripped off my jeans and brassiere, and slept in the very T-shirt I’d worn all day. During the night, I could hear—like the sound of a train passing—thunder in the walls as the guests in rooms on both sides of mine flushed their toilets at random intervals. My bedspread smelled musty, and I was happy I didn’t see the article about dust mites until the following week.

  At 6:00 A.M. my eyes popped open. For a moment I couldn’t think where I was, and when it finally occurred to me, I was annoyed with myself for waking up so early. I had neither sweats nor running shoes, which meant a morning run was out of the question. I closed my eyes to no avail. At 6:15 I threw the covers back, went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and showered, as those were the only options open to me. I put on my clothes again and sat on the edge of the unmade bed. I didn’t want to walk over to Maxi’s Coffee Shop until 7:00, when I was hoping to meet BW.

  I got out my index cards and reviewed my notes, which were beginning to bore me senseless. None of the items were monumental. I’d been asking the same six to eight questions for two days, and while nothing revolutionary had come to light, I had to admit I was better informed. I started working on the timeline for the days leading up to Violet’s disappearance. The story I kept coming back to was Winston’s account of spotting the Bel Air on New Cut Road at the point where construction ended. What had she been doing out there? I thought his guess had merit, that the site was the rendezvous point of Violet and someone else—male, female, lover, friend, family member, or passing acquaintance, I knew not which. The landscape out there was flat, and Winston’s headlights would have been visible for at least a mile. She’d had time enough to move the car, but there was no place to hide it unless she’d driven it to the far side of the Tanner house or across the open fields. A better bet was to conceal herself (alone or with her theoretical companion) in hopes that the approaching driver would turn around and go back without stopping to investigate. If she’d had car trouble and needed he
lp, why not step out of the shadows and flag him down? And what of Baby, the yapping Pomeranian pup? This was not a Sherlockian situation where silence suggested familiarity between the dog and someone else. The dog barked at everyone, at least according to reports. It was still a puzzlement why Violet had chosen the place, but that was an issue I’d have to table for the time being.

  At 6:58 I packed my toiletries in my shoulder bag and emerged from my room. The motel parking lot was now packed with cars. I left mine where it was and walked to the coffee shop, which was located in front. The moment I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the noise: conversations, music from the jukebox, laughter, the clattering of china. It was like a party in progress, and the air of comradery suggested the gathering was a daily occurrence. Farmhands, construction workers, oil workers, gang bosses, husbands, wives, infants, and school-age kids—anybody who was out and about apparently made the trek from neighboring towns to have breakfast here. I could smell bacon, sausage, fried ham, and maple syrup.

  I was fortunate to capture the one remaining stool at the counter. Specials were posted on a blackboard above the pass-through that opened into the kitchen. The menu was standard: eggs, breakfast meats, toast, muffins, biscuits and gravy, waffles, pancakes, and the usual assortment of teas, coffees, and juices. Two waitresses were working the counter, with another four busy serving the booths and tables that filled the room. I told Darva, the waitress who took my order, that I was looking for BW. I’d scanned the place myself and hadn’t seen anyone remotely fitting his description, but it was always possible I’d missed him in the crush. She did a visual survey, as I had, and shook her head. “Wonder what’s keeping him. He’s usually here by now. I’ll point him out to you the minute he comes in.”

  “Thanks.”

  She filled my coffee cup, set the cream pitcher within range, and moved down the line, offering refills and warm-ups before she put in my order. My breakfast arrived and I focused my attention on my orange juice, rye toast, crisp bacon, and scrambled eggs. This was my favorite meal, and I wasted no time putting it away. Darva slipped my check under my plate, and when she topped off my coffee cup she said, “That’s him.”