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

by Sue Grafton

  At the desk, while I paid for my photocopies, I spoke to one of the librarians and explained what I needed. “Where else can I get information about Serena Station in 1953? I’ve gone through the old directories.”

  He said, “You might want to look at the Index to Precinct Registers for Santa Teresa County. I believe we have ’51 and 1954.”

  “Great.”

  Or not great, as it happened. We returned to the shelves and he found me the requisite volume from 1951. Again I sat down and looked up the community of Serena Station. The listings included names, addresses, occupations, and party affiliation (more Republicans than Democrats, for what that’s worth), but all the addresses listed were post office boxes, which didn’t do me any good. I flipped back to the pages devoted to Santa Maria, running a finger down page after page of residents. I gave up after ten minutes because the numbers were overwhelming, and I was hoping I’d already snagged what I needed. I gathered my notes and took the elevator to the ground floor in search of a pay phone.

  I tried the Treadwells’ number first and bombed out big time. The Mrs. Treadwell who answered had never lived in Serena Station, had never known the Sullivans, and couldn’t be any help at all when it came to tracking down the former Serena Station Treadwells. She suspected I was trying to sell her something and declined any further questions.

  I tried A. Ericksen and got a machine, on which I left the following message: “Hi, my name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a private investigator from Santa Teresa and I’m wondering if you’re the same Ericksen who lived in Serena Station in 1953. I’d appreciate a call back when you get this message.” I recited my Santa Teresa phone number and repeated my name. Then I went out to my car and headed for the 101.

  I unlocked my apartment door at 5:15. I’d been away since Thursday morning, and the living room was stuffy, smelling of old cleaning products and hot dust motes. I put my portable typewriter on the desk. I had two messages from Cheney, asking me to call him when I got home. I tried his number and got a busy signal. I didn’t have a duffel, but my newly purchased clothing was folded and packed in a handsome plastic bag. I trotted up the spiral stairs and unloaded the bag.

  I fired up the kettle and made myself a cup of tea, which I sipped while I sat at the kitchen counter and sorted through my notes. I thought it was entirely possible that I’d already spoken to Violet’s killer. The motive might have been anything—jealousy, hatred, greed, revenge—but I knew the killing itself was cold-blooded because the hole had been dug well in advance of the burial. The killer couldn’t have been sure the necessary equipment would be on the scene unless he’d set it up that way. When Violet disappeared, her money had disappeared as well. Ostensibly, she’d taken possession of the fifty thousand dollars in her safe-deposit box. She’d also borrowed two thousand from her brother and five hundred dollars from her mother, in addition to the jewelry she’d stolen. So where did all the money and the jewelry end up? It was always possible the stash would be found in the car, but if the killer knew she had it, why not help himself to the money before he bulldozed the dirt back into the hole?

  He had to be someone she knew and probably a local, since he was sufficiently familiar with both the Tanner property and the building of New Cut Road to feel assured he’d have privacy. He must have had a cover story to account for the time he’d spent digging the hole. That meant he was either his own boss, in which case he could take all the time he needed, or if he was a nine-to-five kind of guy, he was off on vacation or he’d called in sick. With the holiday weekend, he might have had the time off.

  Foley Sullivan was still at the top of my list. Granted, I’d found the man sympathetic, but he’d had years of practice declaring his innocence. I believed him when he spoke of his love for Violet, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed her.

  I went back to the notes I’d taken after talking to Chet Cramer. I couldn’t see what he had to gain, but I didn’t rule him out. He didn’t strike me as a fellow with much experience operating heavy equipment, but I’d jotted down an offhand remark he’d made. He’d said you could always hire somebody to do your dirty work.

  I thought about Winston Smith, who’d been fired because of Violet. While Cramer had rehired him the following week, he hadn’t known about that when she vanished. I was iffy about him. He was convinced she’d ruined his life, which in some ways she had. If he’d gotten the education he’d planned, he wouldn’t be selling cars and he might not be married to the woman who now proposed booting his butt out the door.

  I knew little about Tom Padgett, but he was worth checking out. Steve Ottweiler? Nah. I put a tick by his name, but only in the interest of being fair. As long as I was suspicious of the other guys, I might as well include him. He’d been sixteen at the time, and from Violet’s point of view, he was probably fair game. However, if the two had engaged in a torrid affair, why kill the golden goose? I added BW’s and Jake’s names to the list.

  I kept thinking I’d overlooked something obvious, but I couldn’t think what it was.

  I took a break and made myself a peanut butter and pickle sandwich for my supper. I substituted a paper napkin for a plate and thus reduced the dirty dishes to a bare minimum. I was just in the process of washing my knife when the telephone rang.

  The woman on the other end of the line said, “This is Anna Ericksen. I believe you left a message on my machine.”

  “Are you the Ericksen who once lived at 3906 Land’s End Road in Serena Station?”

  There was a cautious silence. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have explained myself earlier. I’m interested in contacting the family who lived next door to Foley and Violet Sullivan in 1953.”

  “That was my parents’ house, where I grew up.”

  “Really? Wow, that’s great. I’m lucky you didn’t get married or I’d have never tracked you down.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m gay. You couldn’t pay me to get married. I got troubles enough.”

  “Do you remember Violet?”

  “Not directly. I was a little kid back then, but people have been talking about her for years and years. We lived next door to the Sullivans when I was growing up. I suppose you know they found her buried in her car.”

  I said, “So I heard. Look, I know this is a long shot, but is there anything you can tell me about Violet?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say I don’t remember her, but I do remember that Fourth of July.”

  “You’re kidding. You remember that particular Fourth of July?”

  “I sure do. We’d gone to the fireworks and afterwards Daisy’s friend Tannie spent the night with me. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was. I was five years old and she was nine, and I just admired everything about her. She talked me into jumping on the bed in my room, which I wasn’t allowed to do. So there we were bouncing away, having the time of our lives. She bumped me and I toppled off and broke my arm. The bone didn’t heal right and I got a hump in it to this day. It’s one of my first concrete memories.”

  I could feel myself blinking, wondering if the woman had made a fundamental mistake. “I was told Tannie went to the fireworks with her dad.”

  “Oh, she did, but we ran into them at the park, and Tannie’s father asked Mother if we could keep her overnight. He said he had something to take care of and wasn’t sure what time he’d be back.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “If he did, it didn’t register with me. He might have told Mother, but she’s long dead. Why not ask Tannie? She might know.”

  “I’ll do that, thanks. I truly appreciate your help.”

  “You’re entirely welcome.”

  27

  LIZA

  Saturday, July 4, 1953

  Liza Mellincamp often thought about her fourteenth birthday, which fell on July 3, 1953, the day before Violet Sullivan left Serena Station. Years later, she found it hard to believe so much changed in that forty-eight-hour period. She’d spent the morning o
f her birthday cleaning her room. Violet was taking her out for lunch, and Liza wanted to be ready in plenty of time. She had never eaten in a real restaurant and she could hardly contain herself. She and her mother had shared sandwiches at drugstore lunch counters, but that wasn’t the same.

  At 9:30 she turned on her Philco clock radio and listened to The Romance of Helen Trent and Our Gal Sunday while she made her bed, emptied the wastebasket, and shoved her dirty clothes into the hamper. Monday, she’d take everything to the Laundromat as she did every week. She’d end up doing most of the household chores in any event because her mom was usually too drunk to do much except lie on the couch in the living room, smoking cigarettes and burning holes in the rim of the wood coffee table. She tidied and dusted her desktop, night table, and bookshelves. She shook out the scatter rugs off the porch rail and left them there to air. She wet-mopped the linoleum on her bedroom floor and then went over it with Johnson’s Jubilee, liking the glossy wet shine, though she knew it would dull as it dried. In the bathroom, she scrubbed the tub, toilet, and sink with Bab-o cleanser. There were too many chips and stains to make a difference, but she felt better knowing it was done.

  At 11:00 she ironed her best white Ship’n Shore blouse with the Peter Pan collar and baby doll sleeves. She took a shower and got dressed. Violet had called to say she had a big surprise, and when she and Daisy swung by the house at 11:45, she was driving a brand-new Chevrolet. She laughed at Liza’s wide-eyed response. Liza couldn’t remember ever even sitting in a new car, and here she was marveling at the white sidewall tires, the dashboard, the interior upholstery, and shiny chrome window cranks.

  Violet drove into Santa Maria, where the three of them had lunch in the tea room at the Savoy Hotel. Liza and Violet both had shrimp cocktails for a first course and then this tiny cup of chicken soup and a plate of finger sandwiches—brown bread with cream cheese and chopped nuts, egg salad, ham salad, even one with watercress and thinly sliced radishes. She and Violet ate with their little fingers crooked up, pretending to be oh so lah-di-dah. Daisy had buttered noodles, which was just about the only thing she’d eat except for Welch’s grape jelly on bread. They had layer cake for dessert, and Liza’s arrived with a candle in it, which she blew out, blushing with pleasure as the waiters and waitresses stood around and sang to her. Just when she thought life couldn’t be any more perfect, Violet handed her a small box wrapped in beautiful lavender paper. Liza opened the gift with trembling fingers. Inside there was a silver heart-shaped locket about the size of a fifty-cent piece. Inside there was a tiny photograph of Violet. “And look at this,” she said.

  She pulled the photo aside to reveal a second heart-shaped compartment behind the first. “That’s for your true love,” Violet said, pointing to the blank space. “I predict within a year, you’ll know exactly who it is.

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, Sweetie, don’t cry. It’s your birthday.”

  “This is the best day of my life.”

  “You’ll have others much better, but enjoy. Here, let’s put it on.”

  Liza turned around and lifted her hair while Violet fixed the clasp. Liza put her hand against the locket that was nestled in the hollow of her throat. The silver was already warm from contact with her skin. Her lucky charm. She could hardly quit touching it.

  Violet paid for lunch out of a thick wad of bills, making sure everybody noticed. She seemed pleased as Punch and more than once remarked that life was soon going to be one hundred percent improved. Liza thought if that were really true, she wouldn’t have to repeat it four times during the meal, but Violet was like that.

  “Oh geez Louise, I almost forgot,” she said. “I need a babysitter tomorrow night. Are you free?”

  Liza’s smile faded. “Not really. Kathy and I are going to the fireworks.”

  Violet looked at her with a momentary consternation, having assumed she’d agree. “Couldn’t you skip just this once?”

  “I don’t know. I told her I’d go with her, and I don’t want to break a date.”

  “Trust me, if you’re going out with a girl, it’s not a date. It’s marking time.”

  “Couldn’t you get someone else?”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Lies. At this late date? There’s no chance. Besides, Kathy’s a sourpuss. I’ve seen the way she bosses you around. Aren’t you ever going to stand up to her?”

  “Maybe I could come for a little while. Until eight forty-five. We could hold off going over to the park till then.”

  Violet fixed Liza in her clear green gaze. “If you sat the whole evening, you could have Ty come over. You know I wouldn’t care. Missing the fireworks isn’t that big a deal. There’s always next year.”

  Liza was stricken. What was she supposed to say? The day had been so perfect, all because of Violet, who wanted only this one small thing.

  Violet’s eyes widened. “Please, please, please? You can’t let Kathy take up all your time. I really need the help.”

  Liza didn’t see how she could refuse. She sat for Violet all the time. Violet had been counting on her even if she forgot to ask. And Kathy had been such a pill of late. “All right, I guess. Maybe I can do something with her on Sunday instead.”

  “Thank you, Sugar Bun. You are too too sweet.”

  “That’s okay,” Liza said, flushing with pleasure. Praise of any kind always made her warm.

  After lunch, for the finale, Violet took Liza and Daisy to see a 3-D movie called Bwana Devil, with Robert Stack and Barbara Britton. It had been in the theaters for seven months, but it hadn’t come to Santa Maria until recently. The three of them settled in front-row seats with their cardboard glasses, wearing wax lips for fun, munching popcorn and Milk Duds. Violet told her that for the early 3-D movies, one lens of the give-away glasses was green and the other was red. This was new technology, Polaroid, with both lenses clear, though Violet wasn’t quite sure how either process worked. Why one green and one red lens would produce a 3-D effect was beyond her, she said. The credits began and they settled in. Unfortunately, the first time a lion jumped straight out of the screen at them, Daisy got hysterical and cried so hard Liza had to take her out to the lobby and sit for an hour. Still, it was the best birthday Liza could remember, and she hated to see the day come to an end.

  After they got back to the Sullivans’, Liza sat with Daisy for an hour while Violet ran an errand. Thankfully, Foley didn’t get home until 6:00, so she didn’t have to deal with him. True to form, Violet took longer than she said, so it was close to 5:45 by the time Liza finally got to her house. Her mother heard her come in and called her into the living room. Liza stood at the door while her mother struggled into a sitting position. Her mother had that fuzzy look that made Liza want to scream.

  “What,” she said. She didn’t want to spoil the good mood she was in, but she knew better than to ignore her mom.

  “Word of warning. Kathy Cramer came by with your birthday present, and when she found out you weren’t here, she got that look on her face.” Her mother’s consonants were only slightly soft. In her own curious way, she was aware of what was going on.

  Liza felt her heart sink. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Kathy to find out she’d had lunch with Violet and had seen Bwana Devil afterward. Kathy had been talking about Bwana Devil for weeks, trying to get her dad to drive them into town and drop them at the theater. Liza didn’t feel she was under any obligation to wait and go with her, but she knew Kathy would see it differently. “What’d you tell her?”

  “I forget. I made some excuse for you. She woke me from a sound sleep, standing on the porch, pounding on the front door like the house was burning down. I hollered for her to hold her horses, but by the time I got there, she was already acting like she had a stick up her butt. I told her I didn’t have a clue where you were and she got all snotty and sullen. Honestly, Liza, what do you see in her? She’s chained to you like a rock and she’s dragging you down.”

  “You didn’t mention Viole
t?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Where’d you put the present?”

  “She took it to your room and said she’d leave it on your desk.”

  Liza made a beeline for her room, suddenly worried that Kathy had taken advantage of the opportunity to snoop. Her room was much as she’d left it, but when she went to check her diary, hidden behind the bookcase, she couldn’t be sure if it had been moved or not. She sat on the bed and leafed through the pages, waves of anxiety coursing through her. She’d recorded every detail of her romance with Ty Eddings, and if Kathy had read the last few entries, she was doomed. According to Kathy, even the use of Junior Tampax was an affront to the notion of Absolute Purity.

  Liza found a new hiding place for the diary and then sat on her bed and opened Kathy’s present, which was beautifully wrapped in pink-flowered paper with a pretty pink bow on top. Pink was Kathy’s favorite color. Liza herself preferred shades of purple, which was also Violet’s favorite.

  When she saw what Kathy had given her, she could hardly believe her eyes. The box of lily of the valley dusting powder was the same one she’d given Kathy for her birthday in March of the year before. She checked the bottom of the box and, sure enough, there was the same drugstore sticker she’d torn in half when she’d tried to peel it off. Clearly Kathy hadn’t used the powder and didn’t remember who’d given it to her. Now what?