Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

“That’s poppycock and you know it. You can’t let emotion rule you in these things. You gotta be hard-nosed.”

“But I’m not.”

“Call it practical if you like. Look at me and Cora. There’s nothing wrong with her. I admire the woman, but what good is that? The marriage is dead. She knows it as well as I do, but you want to know what happens if I ask for a divorce? I’ll be out on my ass. Same thing with you. You can walk away, but all you’ll take with you are the clothes on your back.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. If I could get free, I’d be willing to leave it all behind. Who cares about possessions? Anything I have can be replaced. I got money of my own.”

“You just can’t get off that, can you?”

“You’re the one brought up money.”

“Now you sound just like Cora.”

“Anyway, what the hell do you have to complain about? You got that big house and those cars. You know what I’d give to have a car like yours?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Violet. Four thousand for a car? That’s chump change. You’re out there with your head down, hunting for pennies on the ground. You gotta look at the bigger picture.”

“You paid four thousand dollars for a car? You can’t be serious.”

“See, that’s what’s wrong with you. You think small. You think if you keep a real-tight hold on your money you can keep the dollar bills from flying away. Doesn’t work like that. You gotta loosen up. Put your money to work. Okay, so you got what in the bank, twenty?”

Violet jerked her thumb up, indicating more.

“Thirty-five?”

“Fifty,” she said.

“That’s good. Great, but every day it sits, you’re losing money on your money-”

She cut him off. “Nun-hun. I know what you’re getting at and it’s no deal.”

“You have no idea what I’m getting at so would you listen for a change? I’m saying we pool our funds.”

“Oh, sure, pool our funds. I bet you’d like that. You know why? Because I got more than you.”

“I got money.”

“How much?”

He tilted his head, calculating. “I’ll be honest with you. I got a lot, but not as much as you. That’s what I’m working on right now.”

“Super. I’m thrilled on your behalf. I’m still not giving you a dime.”

“That’s what I like about you. You’re stubborn as hell. Tell you what, though, you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

I arrived at the Blue Moon that night in advance of Tannie and Daisy. It was 6:45 and the whole of Serena Station was bathed in golden light. The air smelled of bay laurel, the scent underscored by the faint suggestion of wood smoke. In the absence of a visible autumn, Californians are forced to fabricate, stockpiling wood for the fireplace, hauling heavy sweaters out of the bottom drawer. Many residents live in exile; eastern-seaboard and midwestern transplants who end up on the West Coast in search of good weather. No more ice storms, no 108-degree days, no tornadoes, and no hurricanes. First comes relief at being delivered from bugs, humidity, and climatic extremes. Then the boredom sets in. Soon they’re making nostalgic trips home at considerable expense to revisit the very elements they’d sought to escape.

The patron parking lot was full and cars were lined up along the road. I made one circuit of the lot, found a small, probably illegal spot and managed to squeeze in. As I made my way to the entrance, I glanced back, amused at how conspicuous my VW looked in the midst of all the pickups, camper shells, vans, and RVs.

The exterior of the restaurant was rough-hewn, its weathered board-and-batten facade as squared up and staunch as a saloon on a western movie set. The interior was a continuation of the theme: wagon wheels, oil lamps, and wooden tables covered in red-and-white-checked cloths. Happy hour was under way. Where I’d anticipated the odor of cigarettes and beer, the air was rich with the scent of prime beef being grilled over oak.

Tannie had reserved us a table on the left side of the bar area, which was jammed with people. On the right, through an arch, I could see two or three dining rooms, but my guess was the regulars preferred to eat here, where they could keep an eye out for pals. I was probably one of the few unfamiliar faces they’d seen in a while, judging by the curious looks being turned on me.

The hostess showed me to the table and moments later a waitress approached. She handed me a menu printed on plain white paper. “You want something to drink while you wait for your friends? Wine list is on the back.”

I glanced at the list of wines by the glass, bypassing hard liquor in favor of something more familiar. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay and then caught sight of a man, sitting at the bar, whose gaze seemed to be fixed on me. I turned to see if he was staring at someone else, but I seemed to be it. Once the waitress went off to fetch my wine, he eased off the bar stool and headed in my direction. He was tall, with a lean, rangy body, and long arms. His face was narrow, as lined and weathered as a contour map. Broken capillaries in his cheeks made him appear flushed, and exposure to the outdoors had mottled his skin to a nutty brown. His hair, once dark, was now a salt-and-pepper mix.

When he reached the table, he held out his hand. “Jake Ottweiler, Tannie’s father. You must be her friend.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kinsey. How are you?”

“Welcome to the Blue Moon, which most of us refer to as ‘The Moon.’ I saw you when you came in.”

“So did everyone else. You must not get a lot of walk-in trade.”

“More than you’d think. Folks from Santa Teresa drive up on a regular basis.” His eyes were a piercing blue against the sunburned darkness of his face. Tannie had told me he’d farmed the land for years, but his part-ownership in the Blue Moon had apparently introduced an element of gentility. He’d traded in his work boots and overalls for slacks and a nicely cut navy sport coat over a soft white shirt.

When the waitress reappeared and set down my glass of white wine, he murmured, “I’ll take care of that” with scarcely a glance at her. It was clear they’d dealt with each other for so long the need for conversation was reduced to a minimum.

I said, “Will you join me?”

“Briefly. At least until Tannie gets here. I’m sure you girls have lots to talk about.” He pulled out a chair and ordered a drink with the lift of one hand. When the waitress had moved off again, he leaned back in his chair and studied me. “You don’t look like my idea of a private eye.”

“These days, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

“How’s it going?”

“An investigation like this requires the patience of a saint.”

“Seems like a fool’s errand, if you want to know the truth.”

“No doubt,” I said. “Can I ask you a few questions as long as I have you here?”

“Be my guest. I don’t know that I can help, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“How well did you know Violet?”

“Well enough, I guess. I used to see her in here two and three times a week. She was a troubled soul, but not a bad person by any means.”

“I heard she took you to small-claims court because of an incident in which your dog killed hers.”

“That was bad. I felt sorry for her, but I had my dog under control. Hers was running loose, so she was as much at fault as I was. In the end, I had to put my dog down, but it had nothing to do with her. Anyway, we settled it. I could have argued the point, but to what end? Her toy poodle was dead and she was brokenhearted until she got Baby.”

“Were you at the park for the fireworks the night she disappeared?”