Sue Grafton - S is for Silence

Her mother hadn’t called her “Kathykins” since she started her menstrual periods a year and a half ago. Her mother had already bought supplies-a box of sanitary napkins and this strappy elastic-belt thing you had to wear around your waist to hold the pad in place. Demonstrating how to stick the long, gauzy part of the pad in the fastener, she’d had the same worrisome look on her face, like maybe Kathy was suddenly vulnerable in ways she couldn’t bear to explain. Her mother went on in that same loving tone. “I know you’re withholding something. Can you tell me what it is?”

“I’m not withholding anything.” She broke the remainder of the brownie in two and put half in her mouth.

“You know I’ll always love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

Kathy looked up with astonishment. “Muuther, I didn’t do anything! How can you think such a thing when I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Then what? I want you to be absolutely honest. Whatever you tell me will never leave this room.”

Kathy was silent, staring at the floor. She didn’t exactly have a secret but she did have something that seriously concerned her. She knew her mother would have good advice, but she wasn’t really sure she could trust her with this. “You’ll tell Dad.”

“No, I won’t. As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with your health or safety. Short, of that, this is just between us.”

“It’s not about me.”

“Then who? Liza? Did she say something ugly about your weight?”

“No-oo.” Two syllables. Something ugly about her weight? What ugly thing could her mother possibly have in mind? She was the one who talked about inner beauty.

“But it has to do with her?”

“Sort of.”

“Has her mother’s drinking gotten worse?”

Kathy shook her head, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Oh? And why would that be?”

Kathy had vowed to herself she’d never utter a word of it. Once she figured out how to get Liza to confess, she pictured the two of them in long, heartfelt conversations, sitting up half the night the way they’d done in the past. They’d roll their hair in bobby pins and smear Noxzema on their faces so they wouldn’t get zits. Gently, she’d help Liza see the error of her ways and guide her to safer ground.

Her mother studied her. “I don’t understand what could possibly be going on with Liza that you’re too ashamed to say.”

Kathy felt she was under a certain amount of pressure here, torn between her loyalty to her best friend and her longing to throw herself into her mother’s arms. “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

“Does this have anything to do with Liza touching herself?”

“Touching herself with what?”

She saw something shift in her mother’s face. “Oh my lord. Is she letting Ty Eddings have his way with her?”

Kathy could feel a little mustache of perspiration forming on her lip.

“Answer me.”

Kathy murmured a reply, keeping it as vague as possible to keep from lying to her mom.

“Speak up.”

“She let him touch her boobs and put his hand…” She managed to mumble that last.

“Where?”

“Down there.”

Livia looked at her, aghast. “She told you that?”

Kathy shrugged one shoulder.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Kathy said nothing, but she moved her mouth in a way that suggested she was sure. After all, she’d read about it with her very own eyes.

Her mother’s gaze was searching. “You wouldn’t lie about a thing like this to get back at her?”

“No.”

“How far have they gone?”

“Not very. Just petting.”

“Petting? Is that what you call ‘petting’-when he puts his hand on her privates? That’s disgusting. Outside of her clothing or inside?”

She hadn’t expected her mother to probe for this kind of detail. The diary hadn’t been specific and Kathy didn’t like having to commit herself. Outside, inside. Pick one. “Out.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she would have told me if he put his hand inside.”

“Well, thank heaven for small favors. You wait right here. I’m going to take care of this.”

“What are you doing?” Kathy wailed. “You can’t tell anyone. You promised.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Ty Eddings was sent here to shape up after the unfortunate situation he created in Bakersfield. If Dahlia York ever found out I knew about this and didn’t go straight to her, she’d never speak to me again, and rightly so. I’ve entertained her in my own home and I owe her that much.”

“But what if Liza finds out?”

“She’s not going to find out. Trust me. Your name won’t come into it.”

Kathy listened with something close to horror as her mother went downstairs to the phone in the lower hall. Kathy hadn’t meant to tell on Liza, but her mother just seemed to jump to the right conclusion before Kathy even said a word. She heard Livia give the operator Dahlia York’s number and then there was a silence while she waited to be connected.

Kathy’s stomach felt queasy, like she might have to go to the bathroom and do number two. The situation had gotten out of hand, but it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t lie to her very own mother, could she? What kind of person would that make her? Besides which, if Liza’d been honest to begin with, she never would have breathed a word of it because that’s what best friends do. Petting was wrong. The pastor said it created temptation, that kids might lose their self-control and go all the way. So maybe it was just as well she’d spoken up when she did. She couldn’t stand by and let something that horrible happen to her friend. It was like her mother said to Dahlia, her voice drifting up the stairwell: “That boy is sure to take advantage if the situation isn’t nipped in the butt.” Her mother’s voice went on and on until Kathy tuned her out.

Anyway, how would Liza ever know where Ty’s aunt got the information?

My conversation with Ty Eddings was polite and to the point. I gave him a brief synopsis of the situation-the discovery of Violet’s body buried in the Bel Air, the speculation about the hole and how long it would have taken to dig. I also repeated what Liza’d told me about the man she and Ty had seen at the Tanner property on Friday night. “Do you remember anything about the make or model of the car? Liza thought it was dark-colored, but that’s the extent of it. She says she was so scared she didn’t really look.”

“It wasn’t a car. It was a late-model black Chevrolet pickup truck.”

“It was? I’m amazed. How do you remember things like that?”

“Because my dad had one like it, only his was a ‘48. This one was newer.”

“What about the guy? What did he look like?”

“I don’t remember him. Old. ”

“Like what? You were seventeen.”

“Thirties, forties, something like that. In other words, he wasn’t a kid.”

“No one you recognized?”

“I’d been in town for all of three months. I didn’t know anyone to speak of except my high school classmates.”

“Good point.” I asked a couple of other questions, but he wasn’t any help.

I was moving into my wrap-up tone of voice, not wanting to waste his valuable lawyerly time, when he said, “How’s Liza doing?”

“Great. I’m so glad you asked. She’s divorced. She bakes cakes for a living. She’s just become a grandmother for the first time, but you’d never guess by looking at her because she’s gorgeous. Too bad you didn’t keep in touch.”

“Don’t blame me. That was her decision. I wrote six or seven times, but I never heard back. I assumed she wasn’t interested.”