S is for SILENCE

by Sue Grafton

  "I don't see how a postcard could have put her in jeopardy."

  "You're wrong about that. Sonia, the woman at the post office, would've spotted it when she was sorting the mail. I wouldn't have told a soul, but word would've gotten out. Sonia was a blabbermouth, which Violet well knew."

  "You were the last person who had any substantial contact with her."

  "I know and I've thought about that night. It runs like a loop in my head. You ever get a song on your brain and no matter what you do, it keeps playing and playing? That's how it is with her. Even now. Well, maybe not so much now. The images do fade, but you know what? I smell violet cologne and bang, she's there again. It brings tears to my eyes."

  "Did it ever cross your mind something might have happened to her?"

  "You mean, foul play? People talked about that, but I didn't believe it for a minute."

  "Why not? You'd seen what Foley did to her. Didn't it occur to you she might have come to grief?"

  She shook her head. "I thought it was something else. I was there earlier that day and saw these brown paper bags sitting on the chair. I recognized some of her favorite things on top and I asked her what she was doing. She said she'd cleaned out her closet and the stuff was going to the Goodwill. Well, that seemed looney even at the time. Later — this was after she was gone — it occurred to me that she'd been packing."

  "To go where?"

  "I don't know. A friend's house? There must have been some place."

  I blinked. "Did she say anything to that effect?"

  "Not a word. Foley was gone — I don't know where — and I'd gone over to the house to hang out. She went on talking about something else so I let it drop."

  "How come this is the first I've heard of it? I've read all the articles about Violet, but I didn't see a reference to any bags of clothes."

  "I don't know what to say. I told the sheriffs deputies, but they acted like they didn't want to hear. By then they were busy quizzing Foley about where he was on Saturday night. I didn't want to make a big deal of it. I figured since she hadn't mentioned it, she didn't want anyone to know."

  "But you had to think someone would have been in touch with the authorities once word got out that she was considered a missing person. Surely someone could have contacted the police without compromising her safety."

  "Exactly, but the papers ran the story twice and no one came forward, so then I figured I must have made a mistake. She might have left town instead."

  "And that's what you told them?"

  "Well, no. I got worried that if they thought she'd run off, they'd put up road blocks or something."

  "What for? She was an adult. If she left of her own accord, they'd have no right to interfere. Cops aren't in the business of chasing runaway spouses, assuming that's what she did." I was trying not to sound accusatory. She'd been fourteen years old and the account she was giving me was her adolescent reasoning, untempered by later maturity or insight.

  "Oh. I guess what you're saying makes sense, but I didn't understand it at the time. Foley was a basket case by then, and I didn't want him hearing about it either, for fear he'd go after her."

  "But this was what, five or six days later? She could have been in Canada by then."

  "Exactly. I thought the bigger head start she had, the safer she'd be."

  Inwardly I was rolling my eyes. "It didn't bother you that your silence left Foley on the hot seat?"

  "He put himself there. I didn't do anything to him."

  "He's always maintained she ran off. You could have backed him up."

  "Why would I help him? He beat her up for years and no one ever said a word. She finally got away from him and good for her. He could stew in his own juices as far as I was concerned. I wasn't going to lift a hand."

  "I'm curious why you'd tell me when you never mentioned it before. Reporters must have asked."

  "I wasn't under any obligation to them. For one thing, I don't like journalists. What do they call themselves... 'investigative reporters.' Oh, please. Like they think they'll get a Pulitzer out of the deal. They're rude, and half the time they treated me like I was on the witness stand. All they cared about was selling papers and promoting themselves."

  "What about the sheriffs department? You didn't think to go back and set the record straight?"

  "No way. By then they'd made such a federal case of it I was scared to say a word. I'm willing to admit it now because I'm fond of Daisy and I'm glad she's doing this."

  I thought about it briefly, wondering how this fit in with what I knew. "Something else came up today. Winston Smith told me he saw her car out on New Cut Road that night. This was sometime before the fireworks ended because he could hear 'em in the distance. He didn't see Violet or the dog, but he knew the Bel Air. I can't understand why she wasn't gone by then if she'd left the house at six fifteen."

  Liza shook her head. "I can't help you there. How does that fit in?"

  "I have no idea."

  "So why didn't he bring it up before? You talk about me keeping quiet. He could have said something years ago."

  "He did. He mentioned it to Kathy and she shrugged it off. It was one of those occasions where the longer he kept quiet, the harder it was for him to speak up. If she'd given him any encouragement, he might have passed the information on."

  Liza's expression held a tinge of distaste. "I'm not sure how much credence you can give him. He and Kathy are having a hard time. He'd probably say anything to make her look bad."

  "Maybe so, but the point is it shores up Foley's claim."

  "I never said Foley killed her. Just the opposite."

  "But a lot of people thought he did. His life has been ruined. The point is, with the car all the way out there and him at the park, how's he going to kill her and get away with it?"

  "Dumb luck, I guess."

  "I'm serious."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to be flippant."

  "Am I overlooking something here?"

  Her gaze shifted to the floor and I could see her running the possibilities through her mind. "Not that I believe this, but just for the sake of argument, what if she was already dead by then?"

  "That's not out of the question," I said. "But if Foley was the one who killed her, how'd he pull it off? He was at the park until the fireworks ended, then he went to the Moon. How's he going to get out there, get rid of her body, and then dispose of the Bel Air. He doesn't have transportation because he's traded in his truck and she's driving the only car they own."

  "He could have borrowed a car or even stolen one. He drives out and buries her. What's so hard about that?"

  "But then he's stuck with two cars, the Bel Air and the one he borrowed or stole. You said he came in after midnight, but the timing's still too tight. What'd he do with her car? If he drove it off a cliff or pushed it down a ravine, he still has to walk back to the stolen-slash-borrowed car, pick that up, and drive home. It's too elaborate and it's way too labor intensive. It would have taken him all night."

  I saw a tint of pink rise in her cheeks. She said, "You really don't even know if she was there. You're just arguing for the sake of it. She could have abandoned her car and gone off with someone else."

  "Ah. You're right about that. I like that. But then what? A car thief conveniently arrives and makes off with her Bel Air?"

  Liza was getting impatient. "Oh, who knows? I don't even care by now. I care what happened to her, but not the car."

  "All right. Skip that. Let's go back to your point and say she ran off with some guy. Any idea who?"

  "I never saw her with anyone. Besides, I'm not sure I'd tell you even if I had."

  "You still feel protective?"

  "Yes, I guess I do. If there was a guy and they figured out who, it might tip them off to where she went."

  "I thought you said you wanted to help Daisy. If you have any ideas, it'd be nice to hear."

  "I didn't say that. I said I was glad she was doing this for her sake. It's not like I'm with
holding information. I mean, what if Violet doesn't want to be found? Shouldn't she be left in peace?"

  "Unfortunately, Daisy's interests and her mother's may not coincide."

  "Look, all I know is I don't like being put in the middle like this. I've told you as much as I know. The rest of it is your problem. I hope Daisy gets what she wants, but not at Violet's expense."

  "Fair enough," I said. "I guess in the long run, it's theirs to deal with. I'll find her if I can. What the two of them do with it is up to them. Daisy's struggling with the notion of rejection. She doesn't want to think her mother walked off and left her without a backward glance."

  "Violet wasn't necessarily rejecting her. Maybe she was saying yes to something else."

  "Bottom line in that case? She put her interests above Daisy's."

  "Wouldn't be the first time a woman did that. Sometimes the choices are hard. If she had a guy and he was really good for her, it might have been worth the price. I don't mean to keep defending her, but the poor woman isn't here to defend herself."

  "That's fine. I understand. She meant a lot to you."

  "Correction. Not 'a lot.' She meant everything to me."

  "Which puts you and Daisy in the same boat."

  "Not quite. I didn't think I'd recover, but here I am and life goes on. Daisy should learn to do the same."

  "Maybe she'll get to that one day, but for now she feels stuck." There was a momentary pause while I roamed over the stories I'd heard, looking for something else. I'm sure she was wishing I'd leave her alone. "What happened to your boyfriend?"

  "What?"

  "Your boyfriend. Weren't you going steady with a guy back then?"

  "That was Ty Eddings. How'd you hear about that?"

  "Somebody mentioned him. I forget now who. We were talking about all the stuff that went on in the same time frame. The two of you broke up, right?"

  "More or less. He left the day after Violet."

  "Because?"

  "I have no idea. I mean, it's not like we had a falling out. Sunday morning, we were going to meet and spend the day together. Instead, his mother drove in from Bakersfield and hauled him off. I never heard from him again."

  "That's a tough one."

  "Yes, it was. He was the love of my life. He was a bad boy, but so adorable. I was crazy about him. He was seventeen — three years older than me. He'd been in trouble — truancy and poor grades — things like that. His parents sent him to Serena Station so he could start fresh. I thought he was doing fine."

  "There was no relationship between him and Violet?"

  "You mean like he's the one she ran off with?"

  "Bad boys can be appealing if you have a reckless streak."

  "Ah, I see what you mean, but there's no chance. We spent every waking minute together, and if I wasn't with him I was with her."

  "Just a thought."

  "It wasn't him. I can guarantee you that."

  "You really suffered a double whammy, losing Ty and Violet virtually the same day."

  Her smile was fleeting. "Luck of the draw. You play the hand you're dealt. There's no point in dwelling on it afterwards."

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  TOM

  Wednesday, July 1, 1953

  Tom Padgett sat in the Blue Moon, working on his second beer while he brooded about life. Thinking about it later, he could visualize that sequence of events — narrow slivers of reality lined up like the pickets in a fence. Or maybe not the pickets so much as the spaces between. Over the course of three months, his perception had shifted, and suddenly he realized the world was not as he'd imagined it — fair, equitable, or just. People were grasping and self-centered. People were busy looking out for themselves. That had actually shocked him, discovering that truth, though it was apparently obvious to everyone else. In a remarkably short period of time, he'd gone from hope and optimism to a much bleaker view of human nature until, finally, reluctantly, he'd realized he was among the disenfranchised, which was Perhaps where he'd been all along.

  The first glimpse he'd had of what was coming his way occurred in a counseling session back in the spring. April Fool's Day in point of fact, which should have been a clue. He and Cora had been married for three years, knocking heads for the better part of two. They were like two dogs tugging on opposing ends of a towel, going round and round, yanking and jerking, but neither one giving ground. Basically the struggle was about power, and the measure of power was related to control of the funds, of which she had the bulk. He couldn't remember who'd suggested the meeting with the minister at the church where he and Cora attended services. He wasn't a religious man himself, but Cora felt church was important and that was good enough for him. She was, of course, fifty-six years old, closer to her demise than he was at the age of forty-one, so that might have had its effect. Where he'd sworn up and down the age difference between them didn't mean a thing to him, he could see that it was going to be tougher as the years went by. Cora looked every bit of her fifty-six years. Her face, not beautiful to begin with, had suffered a collapse in the course of one year, right after she turned fifty-five. He had no idea why, but it was as if somebody yanked a chain and a curtain of wrinkles descended with a thud. Her neck looked like something that had sat unattended in the dryer for days. Her hair had thinned. She started going to the beauty parlor twice a week to have it fluffed and back-combed into an appearance of volume. The problem was he could see right through the ratting to the scalp beneath. She needed constant reassurances, anything to soothe her insecurities. The one thing that gave her confidence was all the money she had. Tom was coming into his prime, but he hadn't made quite the success of himself that he'd hoped. Part of that was Cora's fault because she had the wherewithal to help, but she refused to lift a finger. Which is what had brought them to the pastor's study. Tom had made a cursory study of the Old and New Testaments, and he was pleased with the many admonitions about a wife's duty to her spouse. She was meant to be his helpmeet, submissive in everything. It said so right there in 1st Peter 3, verses 1 through 12.

  That's what he was hoping to get down to. Here's how it went instead.

  The pastor, in a mild and caring tone, had asked him what he saw as the problem.

  Tom had his answer all set. "In a nutshell, I see marriage as a partnership of equals, like a team, but that's not what I'm dealing with here. She has no faith in me, and that undercuts any faith I might have in myself. I'm no expert on the Bible, but Scripturewise, that doesn't seem right."

  Cora had jumped in, giving the minister her side. "But we're not equals. I brought a fortune into this marriage and he didn't have a dime. I don't understand why I have to sacrifice half of what I have so he'll feel like a whole man."

  The minister said, "I understand what you're saying, Cora, but there has to be a little give here."

  Cora blinked at the man. "Give?"

  The minister turned to him. "Tom?"

  "I'm not asking for a nickel of her money. All I want is a little help getting on my feet."

  "Why don't you direct your comments to her?"

  "Sure. Of course. I'd be happy to. What I can't understand is your attitude. It's not like you earned the money. Loden Galsworthy did that. When you met him, you were clerking in a dry goods store. He was a shrewd businessman. His funeral parlors are a big success, and I admire that about him. Who else would be ghoulish enough to make money off the dead? I'm asking for the chance to show you that I'm just as good or better."

  "Why do you insist on seeing yourself in competition with him?"

  "I don't. I'm not. How can I compete when the man is dead? Cora, I'm not a taker. That's not my nature. Given half a chance, I can prove it to you. All I need is a stake."

  "Loden didn't have money handed to him. He earned it all himself."

  "But he was born a man of privilege as you well know. I admit I come from humbler stock. You come from humble stock yourself and that's nothing to be ashamed of. What I don't see is why you'd begr
udge me the opportunity."

  "What do you call the twenty thousand dollars I loaned you last fall?"

  "That wasn't enough to do me any good. I tried telling you at the time. You might as well have made it twenty dollars instead of twenty thousand. You can't start a business without capital outlay, especially one like mine. But look at what I've accomplished. I got myself up and running and I did it on my own. What I'm talking about now is a little boost."

  "If your business were up and running, you wouldn't be sitting here trying to browbeat me into giving you more."

  Tom looked at the minister. "Browbeating? Is this browbeating when I'm practically down on my hands and knees?"

  The minister said, "I think Cora can appreciate your position in this."

  Tom said to Cora, "No, wait a minute. Who's idea was this? Mine. I'm here trying to work things out, trying to resolve our differences with precious little help from you."

  "You're here because you thought you could use him to pressure me into it. I'm sorry, but I won't give you a cent. It's out of the question."

  "I'm not asking you to give me the money. We're talking about a loan. We can draw up any kind of papers you like and I'll sign on the dotted line. I don't want charity. I want your trust and respect. Is that too much to ask?"

  Cora stared at her hands.

  Tom thought she was formulating a reply, but then he realized this was her reply. He could feel the heat rise in his face. Her silence said everything. She had no respect for him and she had no trust. What it all boiled down to was she'd married him knowing full well that his financial situation was limited. She'd said it didn't matter, but he could see now that what she wanted was the upper hand. Money was control and she had no intention of surrendering her advantage. When she'd been married to Loden he'd held the whip and she'd been dependent, jumping through hoops. Now she was doing the same thing to him.

  He couldn't remember how the session ended. Certainly not with Cora making a concession of any kind.