Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

He took down the framed certificate and spent twenty minutes or so perfecting Loden’s signature. Then he signed the letter, folded it, placed it in the envelope, and added a stamp. All in a day’s work. He’d drop it in the mail on his way to the bank. This was truly a gift from the gods, an answer to his prayers. He felt incredibly light and free.

He hadn’t realized how anxious he’d been until the crisis had passed. Now he didn’t have to worry about Cora’s penury. No more wheedling, no more maneuvering. In one stroke, all his problems had been solved. As icing on the cake, his lunch with Chet Cramer the day before had gone very well. He knew Chet had agreed to listen to his pitch only because he and Livia coveted membership in the country club to which the Padgetts belonged, but he thought his presentation had been effective. Chet had not only seemed interested, but he’d asked Tom to work up a business plan to pass on to his accountant. Tom intended to work on that shortly after lunch.

He drove to the bank and made a deposit, tucking the forged dividend check in with some miscellaneous checks of his own. With the $65,490.66 that would soon be his, he no longer needed the measly $356.45, but he’d already forged Cora’s signature so why not proceed? He’d learned never to waste his efforts. Once he made a plan, he carried it out-a principle that had always paid off handsomely for him.

He chatted with the teller, completed his business, and was just on his way out when he ran into the loan officer, Herbert Greer, who’d clearly made a point of intercepting him. Tom had been avoiding him because he knew the guy was going to press him for the money he owed. Now, with his newfound funds waiting in the wings, he greeted Greer like an old friend, shaking his hand with real warmth. “Herb, how are you? I’m glad I ran into you.”

Herb was clearly not prepared for Tom’s friendliness after weeks of evasions and excuses. Herb said, “I thought you were out of town. I left a couple of messages with Cora earlier this week, and when you didn’t respond I assumed you were off gallivanting around.”

“Not me. Cora’s the one who’s gone. She took off this morning to visit her sister up in Walnut Creek. Naughty girl. She didn’t mention you’d called. I had no idea.”

“It must have slipped her mind.”

“No doubt. She’s usually good about these things, but she was in a rush to get packed and on the road. Anyway, I was going to stop by your desk earlier, but I saw you were on the phone.”

Herb was cautiously pleased at the suggestion, probably imagining he’d have to tackle Tom and bring him down before any such appointment would be made or kept. “Why don’t you have a seat at my desk and we can do that right now?”

Tom looked at his watch, his expression tinged with regret. “Can’t. Daggone it. I’m having lunch at the country club with Chet Cramer and I’m late as it is.”

“I thought I saw you at the club with him yesterday.”

“True. I didn’t realize you were there. You should have stopped by the table to say hello. I think I might have mentioned we’re in discussions about a partnership. He knows the heavy-equipment business, which he says isn’t that different from a dealership.”

“I had no idea you had a deal in the works. Good for you.”

“Well, we’ve yet to hammer out the details, but you know him. There’s a guy who takes his time. No point in pushing him. He likes to have all his ducks in a row before he takes the plunge.”

“We’ve worked with Chet for years. He’s solid as they come.”

“Tell you what, if we can reach an agreement, I’ll bring him along and maybe we can talk about ways to make this thing work.”

“Always amenable. I hope you’ll give him my regards.”

“Happy to.”

“Shall we say Monday? Ten o’clock?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

And for the first time in his life, Tom left the bank feeling optimistic. As soon as Loden Galsworthy’s money came in, he’d be able to expand. Now all he needed was another big whack of cash so he could pay off his bank loan on Monday.

By the time Daisy came out of her bedroom at 8:00 Saturday morning, Tannie had left for home. From my makeshift pallet on the couch, I’d heard her come out of the guest room and creep into the bathroom, quietly closing the door. I must have dozed because the next thing I knew, she was slipping through the living room with an overnight case in hand. Out on the street, I heard her car start and then all was quiet again until Daisy got up.

Tannie had stripped her sheets and left them on the guest-room floor with her damp towel on top. Daisy shoved everything in the washing machine and then loaned me a pair of sweatpants so I could add my jeans to the mix. We took turns in the bathroom. I grabbed a quick shower while she started the coffee and then I ate a bowl of cereal while she took my place. By 8:35 we were dressed, fed, and on our way to the Tanner property to check the progress on the excavation. We took her car, leaving mine in her garage. The day was clear and sunny, the air rapidly warming as we made the drive.

The road was still blocked to through traffic, but the deputy waved us past the barrier when Daisy identified herself. I’d apparently been given dispensation to accompany her. We parked the requisite twenty-five yards from the dig and got out of the car. The sagging yellow crime-scene tape trembled in the breeze with a light snapping sound. I recognized the faces from the day before: both crime-scene techs, Detective Nichols, the young deputy, and Tim Schaefer, who’d made himself a permanent fixture, although confined to the periphery like the rest of us. Despite the restrictions, we hovered on the sidelines as though magnetized. Conversations were restrained, and I noticed no laughter at all, unusual in a situation that generated an eerie tension of its own.

Judging by the mountain of dirt, I could tell that the hole had been considerably deepened, and the operation had shifted from machinery back to shoveling by hand. From our vantage point, there was nothing visible of the vehicle, but I gathered a narrow channel had been created on each side as additional sections of the car were exposed. Tom Padgett stood as close to the excavation as he could manage without risking arrest. His bulldozer was on call, as was a flatbed truck that had been brought over from the yard, and he was behaving as though this gave him proprietary rights, which perhaps it did. When he wasn’t focused on the excavation, he was chatting with Detective Nichols like an old pal of his.

Calvin Wilcox was parked behind Daisy, about twenty feet down the road. He’d arrived shortly after we had and he was sitting in a black pickup truck with his company name emblazoned on the sides. He smoked a cigarette, his left arm resting on the open windowsill. I could hear his radio blasting country music. Like Daisy, he was permitted at the site by reason of his relation to Violet. There was no interaction between the two of them, which struck me as odd. As far as I knew, Calvin was Daisy’s only uncle, and it seemed natural to assume they’d established a relationship over the years. Not so, judging by their manifest uninterest. Neither acknowledged the presence of the other by so much as a nod or a wave.

“What’s the deal with you and your uncle Calvin?”

“Nothing. We get along fine. Just no warm, fuzzy feelings between the two of us. When I was growing up, he and my aunt made very little effort to maintain contact. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my cousins, I doubt I’d recognize them.”

“Mind if I talk to him?”

“About what?”

“Just some questions I have.”

“Be my guest.”