Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

Winston shrugged. “She could have been waiting for someone. This is a hell of an isolated spot. I was only out here by happenstance. I’d been driving around randomly. I got this far and realized there wasn’t any place else to go. This was literally the end of the road.”

“Did you see any other cars?”

“No. I just remember the pitch-black dark. It was a clear night, and I could hear the muffled sound of the fireworks in Silas, off in that direction.”

“Which means it had to be before nine thirty when the fireworks display ended.”

“True. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Foley swears he was at the park and I gather there were people willing to vouch for him. Meanwhile, what was she doing out here? By nine thirty she should have been two hundred miles away.”

We chatted idly of other things on our way back into town. When we pulled into the dealership, Winston dropped me at my car. I got out and then leaned in the window. “Thanks for lunch,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your telling me about the car. I’m not sure it’s significant, but it’s fresh information and that’s encouraging.”

“I’m glad.”

“One more quick question and then I’ll let you get back to work. This business about you and Kathy. Is that classified?”

“You mean, is it a secret? By no means.”

“I’m asking because I’ll be talking to Daisy later, bringing her up to speed. I can certainly keep the information to myself if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t care who knows. Kathy’s always airing our problems, blabbing to her girlfriends and then sharing their opinions, as long as they coincide with hers. You can tell anyone you want. The more the merrier. Let her see how it feels.”

Once I left him, I pulled off on a side street and made notes. I’d been the happy beneficiary of Winston’s anger at his wife. His report about the car had created more questions than it answered, but at least he’d placed her on New Cut Road when the sheriff’s department assumed that she’d already left town. Or died. But if Foley killed her and buried her, how had he pulled it off? The Sullivans had only one car, and if it was parked out on New Cut Road, how did he get there and back? The park in the little town of Silas was six miles away. Granted, there was a three-hour gap between the end of the fireworks and his arriving home, but it would have taken him that long just to walk as far as New Cut Road and back. And what could he have done with the car? Winston had speculated that Violet might have been out there waiting for someone, in which case they might have hightailed it out of town as soon as he showed up. That possibility was at least compatible with the facts. What seemed worrisome was the dog. From all reports, Baby yapped incessantly, so why hadn’t Winston heard her bark?

At 4:00 I presented myself at Liza Clements’s front door. The house itself was plain, a long wood-frame box with a nondescript porch built across the front. The Santa Maria neighborhood was nicely maintained, but it had seen better days. Trees and shrubs had grown too large for the lots, but no one had had the nerve to cut them down. Consequently, the yards were dark and the windows were obscured by evergreens that towered above the rooflines. The shade created a chilliness that seemed to shroud all the houses on the block.

The woman who answered the door looked much younger than her years. She wore tennis shoes, baggy pants, and a double-breasted white chefs jacket that buttoned across the front. Her fair hair was shoulder-length, parted down the middle, and pulled back behind her ears. She had blue eyes, wide straight brows, and a wide mouth. Her complexion was pale and creamy, with a smattering of freckles across her nose. She wore a silver heart-shaped locket that glinted in the V of her shirt. She stood and looked at me blankly. “Yes?”

“You’re Liza?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Kinsey Millhone.”

It took another half a beat before she remembered who I was and then she put a hand to her mouth. “I’d forgotten you were coming. I’m so sorry. Please come in.”

“Is this an okay time?”

“Fine. I didn’t mean to cut you short yesterday, but I was halfway down the walk when I heard the phone ring.”

I stepped into a living room that was ten feet by twelve, furnished out of Pier 1 Imports with very little money but a good eye for design: wicker, plump Indonesian tan-and-black block-print pillows, a reed rug on the floor, and lots of houseplants that, on a second glance, turned out to be fakes.

“No problem. Thanks for seeing me today. Are you a chef?”

“Not with any formal training. I bake as a hobby, but I’ve been doing it for years. I make wedding cakes in the main, but just about anything else you’d want. Why don’t you have a seat?”

I took one of the white wicker chairs with sturdy canvas cushions forming both the seat and the back. “My landlord was a commercial baker in his working days. He’s retired now, but he still bakes every chance he gets. Your house smells like his-vanilla and hot sugar.”

“I’ve lived with it so long I don’t even notice it. I guess it’s like working in a brewery. Your nose eventually goes dead. My husband always thought that was just how our house smelled.”

“You’re married?”

“Not now. I’ve been divorced for six years. He owns a party rental business in town. We’re still good friends.”

“You have kids?”

“One boy,” she replied. “Kevin and his wife, Marcy, are expecting their first baby, a little girl, sometime in the next ten days unless the little bugger’s late. They’re naming her Elizabeth, after me, though they plan to call her Libby.” Her fingers moved to the silver locket, touching it as though for luck.

“You look too young to be a grandmother.”

“Thanks. I can hardly wait,” she said. “What can I help you with?”

“Daisy Sullivan’s hired me in hopes of finding her mother.”

“That’s what I heard. You talked to Kathy Cramer earlier.”

“Nice woman,” I lied, hoping God wouldn’t rip my tongue out.

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “I wish you luck. I’d love to know where Violet ended up. She changed the course of my life.”

“Really. For better or for worse?”

“Oh, for better. No question. She was the first adult who ever took an interest in me. What a revelation. I’d grown up in Serena Station, which has to be one of the crappiest little places on earth. Have you seen it?”

“Daisy showed me around. It’s like a ghost town.”

“Now it is. Back then, a lot more people lived there, but everyone was so boring and conventional. Violet was like a breath of fresh air, if you’ll pardon the cliché. She didn’t give a hoot about obeying the rules and she didn’t care what other people thought about her. She was such a free spirit. She made everybody else seem stodgy and dull by comparison.”

“You’re the first person I’ve talked to who’s had anything nice to say.”

“I was her lone defender even back then. I can see now she had a self-destructive streak. She was impulsive, or maybe ‘reckless’ is the better word. People were attracted to her and repelled at the same time.”

“How so?”

“I think she reminded them of all the things they wanted but didn’t have the courage to pursue.”

“Was she happy?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. She was desperate to get away. She was sick of being poor and sick of Foley’s knocking her around.”

“So you believe she left town?”

She blinked at me. “Of course.”

“How’d she manage it?”

“The way she managed everything else. She knew what she wanted and she outfoxed anyone who got in her way.”