Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

Livia sat down and arranged her napkin in her lap. “We’re having International Night. The first Friday of every month. Kathy prepared the dish and I think it’s lovely.”

“It’s Welch Rabbit,” Kathy said, happily, already lifting a fully loaded fork to her lips.

“Welch? There’s no such place as Welch. Are you out of your minds? This isn’t rabbit. It’s cheese goo on toast.”

“Would you sample a bite before you judge, or is that too much to ask after Kathy’s worked so hard?”

“This is shit! I can’t work a full day and sit down to a meal like this. There’s no meat.”

“Please watch your language. There’s a young lady present.”

He pushed his plate back. “Excuse me.” He left the table and went into the downstairs powder room, where he pulled out his flask and downed the remaining vodka in six swallows. It wasn’t nearly enough, but maybe he’d managed to survive the next fifteen minutes without going berserk.

He returned to the table and began to eat, trying to imagine how normal men behaved. Husbands all over America must be sitting down to dinners just like this, with wives and daughters like the two he faced. How did they do it? Making small talk? He could do that. Clearly there was no point discussing world peace. He glanced at Kathy, not looking too closely as she tended to chew with her mouth open. He said, “I saw your friend today.”

“Who?”

“Liza.”

“Oh.” She was so intent on stuffing her face, he wondered if she’d heard.

“Whatever happened to her?”

Kathy flicked him a look. “Nothing. Why’d you say that?”

“Six months ago the two of you were like Siamese twins, joined at the hip. She dump you or what?”

“No, Dad. She didn’t dump me.”

“Then how come you don’t see each other anymore?”

“We do. All the time. She was busy today. Is that against the law?”

“She didn’t look that busy to me. Unless a fancy lunch downtown counts.”

“Liza didn’t have lunch downtown.”

“I thought today was her birthday. Didn’t you say something to that effect here at dinner last night?”

“So?”

“So nothing. I thought she’d be spending the whole day with you.”

“We talked on the phone. She said her mother’s been sick and might even be contagious or she’d have come right over to celebrate.”

“Ohhh,” he said, drawing the word out. “Well, maybe that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“What she was doing all dressed up with Violet Sullivan. The two had their heads bent together over shrimp cocktails.”

Kathy put her fork down and stared. “They did not.”

“Yes, they did. Uh-hum. Yes, indeedy.”

“Where?”

“The Savoy Hotel. The tea room’s on the ground floor. I saw ‘em through the window.”

Livia said, “Chet.”

“Very funny. Ha ha. And where’s Daisy all this time? Did you forget about her?”

“She was sitting right there with a big bowl of buttered noodles she was slurping through her lips.”

“You’re just saying that to bug me because you’re in a bad mood. Liza might have gone out, but it had nothing to do with Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Why don’t you ask her and see what she says?”

“Chet, that’s enough.”

“I can’t call her again. I just talked to her. She’s taking care of her mother, who’s extremely ill.”

“Okay. Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it. I’d feel bad if things went sour between the two of you. That’s my only concern.”

Kathy retreated into silence. Meanwhile, Livia sent him dark, meaningful looks that suggested a serious dressing-down to come. Chet didn’t intend to stick around for that. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and tossed it on his plate. He got up, working to control the urge to run. He could feel the spite rising in his chest. What the hell was wrong with him? He was never going to get back at Violet by making trouble somewhere else. Why put his daughter at odds with her best friend? The pettiness of what he’d done only fueled his rage. He thought he was close to madness, irrational, erratic, out of control.

He took his sport coat from the hook and shrugged himself into it. Livia had followed him into the hall. “Are you going out?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m expecting company. This is my canasta night. The girls are going to be here at eight. You said you’d take Kathy and go somewhere.”

He walked out the front door and slammed it behind him, so choked with fury he couldn’t utter a word.

I went back to the motel office and borrowed Mrs. Bonnet’s phone. I contacted the sheriff’s office to report the incident and was told they’d send someone out. I then called Southern California Automobile Club and requested assistance. While I waited, I called Daisy’s house and Tannie answered the phone. She said Daisy had already left for work. When I told her about my tires being slashed, she was properly outraged. “You poor thing! I can’t believe someone would do that to you.”

“Personally, I’m thrilled. I mean, on one hand, I’m peeved. I hate to be without transportation and buying four new tires is the last thing I need. On the other hand, it’s like hitting all three cherries on a slot machine. Three days into the job and someone’s already nervous as a cat.”

“You don’t think it was vandalism?”

“Absolutely not. Are you kidding? I grant you my car’s conspicuous in a parking lot full of trucks, but the choice wasn’t random. This was supposed to be a warning, or possibly punishment, but I take it as a good sign.”

“Well, your attitude beats mine. I’d be raising six kinds of hell if somebody slashed my tires.”

“Shows I’m on the right track.”

“Which is what?”

“I have no idea, but my nemesis must think I’m close to figuring it out.”

“Whatever ‘it’ is.”

“Right. Meantime, I need the name of a garage, if you know someone good.”

“You forget my brother’s in the business. Ottweiler Auto Repair in Santa Maria. At least he won’t gouge you on the price.”

“Great. I’ll call him. What about you? What’s your day looking like?”

“I’ll be out on the property with a couple of guys. If I were so minded, I could be clearing brush for the rest of my life. I’m meeting with a contractor at eleven thirty, but you’re welcome to come by.”

“Let’s see how long it takes me to get my tires swapped out. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll stop and pick up some sandwiches and we can have lunch.”

“Tell Steve I sent you. That’ll surprise him for sure. Better yet, I’ll call him myself and tell him you’ll be in.”

“Thanks.”

A sheriff’s deputy arrived at the Sun Bonnet within thirty minutes, and he spent an additional fifteen minutes, taking photographs and filling out information for his report. He said I could pick up a copy to forward to my insurance company. I couldn’t remember the amount of my deductible, but I’d doubtless end up paying for them myself. Shortly after he left, the tow truck arrived, and the driver loaded my car onto a flatbed truck. I hopped in the cab with him and we covered the fifteen miles to Santa Maria without saying much.

While the car was being unloaded, Steve Ottweiler appeared and introduced himself. He was seven years Tannie’s senior, an age spread that seemed to favor him. According to social standards other than my own, a man, at fifty, is just starting to look good, while a fifty-year-old woman is someone the eye tends to slide right past. In California cosmetic surgery is the means by which women stop the clock before the sliding begins. Lately the push is to get the work done earlier and earlier-age thirty if you’re an actress-before the slippage sets in. I could see the strong family resemblance between Tannie’s brother and their father, Jake, whom I’d met the night before. Steve had the same height and body type, lean and muscular. His face was broader than his dad’s, but his complexion was the same sun-stained brown.