"S" is for Silence (32 page)

“On Saturday, the Fourth?”

He nodded again.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Sergeant Schaefer left the station the same time I did and he offered me a ride home. Tom Padgett would verify that as well because we picked him up along the way. His truck battery was dead and he was on his way home to pick up some jumper cables.”

“You told me you had ‘a job of work' as you put it, early Saturday afternoon. Do you remember what it was?”

“Yes ma'am. Sergeant Schaefer asked if I'd help him put together a workbench he was building in his shed. I'm good at carpentry—maybe not finish work, but the kind of thing he needed. He already had the lumber and we knocked together a workbench for his power tools.”

“When's your birthday?”

“August 4.”

“Well, here's a belated birthday present. You're off the hook for Violet's murder. Somebody dug that hole between Thursday night and Saturday afternoon, but it couldn't have been you. Thursday night you were home with Violet, tearing up the house. Later, the two of you went over to the Moon and got drunk. Somebody saw a guy operating a bulldozer out at the Tanner property Friday night, but you were in jail by then. So between your jail time and your work for Sergeant Schaefer Saturday afternoon, your whereabouts are accounted for.”

He stared at me. “Well, I'll be damned.”

“I wouldn't celebrate quite yet. You'd be smart to go ahead and hire an attorney to protect your backside. In the meantime, I'll be happy to tell Daisy about this.”

 

On the way back through Santa Maria, I stopped in at Steve Ottweiler's auto-repair shop. The whole business about Hairl Tanner's will was bugging me and I didn't want to ask Jake. Steve showed me into his office, assuming I was there on automotive business. I waited until the chitchat subsided. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Tannie told me Hairl Tanner died a month after your mom.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Meaning what?”

“He shot himself.”

“Suicide?”

“That's right. He was a bitter and disillusioned old man. My grandmother was gone. My mom had just died and he had nothing to live for, in his mind at any rate.”

“He left a note?”

“Yes. I still have it, if you doubt my word.”

“Did he give any explanation about the disposition of his estate?”

“What's this about?”

“I'm wondering why Hairl Tanner was so angry with your dad.”

He snorted as though amused, but his eyes went dead. “What makes you think he was mad?”

“I saw the will.”

“Oh? And how'd you manage that?”

“I went down to the courthouse and looked it up. I checked a couple of other wills at the same time so don't get the idea that I was picking on your dad. Your grandfather set it up so Jake couldn't touch a nickel, not even for the two of you.”

“I don't see the relevance.”

“This is my last day on the job. I leave it to the cops to figure out who killed Violet, but I hate to sign off without knowing why she died.”

“Aren't those two questions the same thing?”

“I'm not sure.”

“It's obvious you have a theory or you wouldn't be here.”

“I think she was killed for the stash she'd put together so she could run away.”

“What's that have to do with my father?”

“I've been wondering where he got the money to buy the Blue Moon.”

“You're implying, what—that he killed her for the cash?”

“All I'm asking is how he financed the purchase of the bar.”

“If you want an answer to that question, you better go over to the Moon and ask him. In the meantime, I'm not going to sit here and put up with your half-assed interrogation on a subject you know nothing about.”

“Why don't you answer the question and save me the trip?”

“To make your life easy?”

“To avoid a subject he might find embarrassing. I think you know more than you've told me so far.”

I knew he was angry, but I could see him wrestling with himself. “If it's any of your fucking business, my mother had a life insurance policy. Dad collected sixty thousand dollars, put half in savings accounts for Tannie and me, and used the rest to buy the Moon. The subject is now closed and I want you out of here before I call the police.” He got up from his desk and with his hand on my elbow, escorted me unceremoniously from the premises.

 

By the time I got back to Daisy's it was 4:00 and I was ready to pack it in. Clearly I'd reached the stage in the investigation where people were not only getting pissed off, but resorting to rudeness, sarcasm, and manhandling. Steve Ottweiler had to be as aware as I was that there was no way to verify his claim about his mother's life insurance. Jake was never going to tell me which insurance company it was, and after thirty-four years, I couldn't think how to get the information independently of him. I probably should have gone straight over to Jake's and pressed him on the point, but in truth I was ever so faintly intimidated by the man. After I left Steve's office, he had plenty of time to call his dad and tell him what was going on. All Jake had to do was repeat the story Steve had told me and I'd be none the wiser.

I sat down and typed the additional three conversations into my report. Mrs. York, Foley, and Steve Ottweiler. This was strictly make-work. By now it was not so much about being conscientious as it was about giving myself time to think. While my fingers traveled across the keys, my brain was busy with something else. I simply didn't know what it was. The phone rang just as I was finishing up, and I answered with my attention still riveted to the page. “Hello?”

“Miss Millhone?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ty Eddings. You left a message for me.”

KATHY

Friday, July 3, 1953

Kathy stood behind the dining room door, forking cold Chef Boyardee ravioli from a can. The little pillows of dough were soft and the tomato sauce clung to the surfaces like cream. Dinner wasn't coming up for half an hour, and Kathy was treating herself to a little snack beforehand. Kathy's mother had decided it was important to experience food from foreign countries, so the first Friday of every month she'd try a new recipe. This she called “educating their pallets.” Last month she'd cooked this Chinese dish called Subgum Chicken Chow Mein that she served over English muffins with lots of soy sauce and crunchy brown noodle-things on top. In May she'd cooked Italian spaghetti, and in April she'd made a French dish called Beef Boigheenyawn, which to Kathy's way of thinking was just like beef stew. Tonight they were having a Welch dish that Kathy herself had prepared under her mother's watchful eye. First she'd opened a package of Kraft Old England American cheese slices that she melted in a double boiler with a can of evaporated milk. Then she'd stirred in Worcestershire sauce and half a teaspoon of dry mustard, and that was that. Oh, yum. She could hardly wait. The ravioli was just in case there wasn't enough to go around.

The problem was that ever since the gym teacher, Miss Carrico, made that remark about Kathy's losing thirty-five pounds, her mother had been keeping a close eye on her, serving her portions so small she left the table with a stomachache. The first time it happened Kathy thought she'd done it by mistake, but when she'd asked for a second helping, her parents had exchanged a look that made her cheeks burn. It was like they'd been discussing her behind her back and secretly agreed with the teacher, which didn't seem fair.

When Kathy first told her mother what Miss Carrico had said about how fat she was, her mother had been livid. She'd gone straight to the school principal to complain about the teacher's lack of tact and her sticking her nose into other people's business where it didn't belong. The principal must have turned around and given Miss Carrico a serious talking-to because now she made a point of ignoring Kathy, avoiding the sight of her altogether as though she didn't exist. Not that Kathy cared. If Miss Carrico tried to make trouble over her PE grade, she intended to tell her mother about the way she acted around Miss Powell, the home economics teacher. When Miss Carrico thought no one was looking, she got all weird and intense. It was almost like she had a crush on the other woman, which Kathy didn't think was right. She'd talked to her minister about it after one of the Moral Rearmament meetings, and he'd told her he'd look into it, but in the meantime to keep the information “under her hat.” Kathy wasn't sure how long she was supposed to wait before she took matters into her own hands.

Actually, she thought it was possible Miss Carrico resented the Cramer family for their position in the community. On the second of June, for instance, for Queen Elizabeth's coronation, the principal had especially asked if Kathy's dad would bring in their tabletop Ardmore television set, so Kathy's class could watch the pageant all the way from England. He'd carried the TV into school and set it up right there in her seventh-grade homeroom. All the kids had gathered around to watch the ceremony and afterward, the principal made a point of personally thanking her in front of everyone. Miss Carrico had been standing in the back of the room with a smirk on her face, obviously not realizing Kathy could see straight through to that jealous heart of hers.

By the same token, Kathy hoped the principal's praise and recognition hadn't made Liza feel bad. Liza might be prettier and get better grades, but that didn't make up for the fact that Kathy came from a better family. Her father was a well-known businessman and her mother was often mentioned in the society section of the local paper. Kathy and her parents went to church together every Sunday, Kathy wearing her short white gloves and carrying the white leather Bible she'd been given at Easter. So what if she had to buy her clothes in the chubby department? Her mother said it was all baby fat and she'd turn into a swan. Poor Liza's mother was divorced and she drank all day long. Kathy didn't know how Liza could hold her head up, but Livia had explained that girls from broken homes deserved sympathy, not blame. She said Liza was doing the best she could under the circumstances. The important thing was not to lord it over her.

Kathy could see her point. Not only did Kathy have nice clothes, but her mother had a new two-door GE refrigerator with a separate freezer compartment. Also, the refrigerator came with a magic ice tray you twisted and the cubes popped right out. For Christmas, her father had given her mother a brand-new Waring blender that Kathy used to make real milkshakes after school every day until her mother stopped buying ice cream. Livia said Kathy should count her blessings, which she most certainly did. She knew how lucky she was to have a real job working at her father's dealership while Liza could only earn money babysitting and ironing Violet's clothes, which made her practically a servant.

Kathy's mother wanted her to see the value of helping those who couldn't help themselves—an important lesson in life that Kathy'd taken to heart. She was the one who'd come up with the sewing project. Her plan was that she and Liza could make their entire school wardrobes, using her mother's Singer sewing machine. Liza hadn't seemed that interested. She'd twice postponed their shopping trip to buy the pattern and fabric. She'd had a good excuse each time, but Kathy was still hurt. When she'd complained to her mother, Livia suggested Liza might be too embarrassed to admit she didn't have enough money to pay her share. Kathy understood completely. She'd even set aside ten dollars from her own weekly allowance to share with her friend. She'd appeared at Liza's door that morning, ready (finally!) to make the trip into town, thinking how excited Liza would be when she realized Kathy was going to make her dreams come true. Kathy could just picture them in their matching outfits, not the same fabric or color, of course, because each of them needed to express her individuality, like it said in
Seventeen
magazine. But at school, come fall, seeing the similar style of their skirts and weskits, everyone would know they were the very best of friends. She'd been furious when she found out Liza was gone, but she'd decided to turn the other cheek. The principle of Absolute Love had taught her she could rise above petty disappointments. She'd even left a lovely birthday gift in Liza's room as a surprise for her friend.

At the five-and-dime, she was so caught up in the notion of her own largess, she bought two patterns, one for each of them. In part, this was to show that all was forgiven and in part because she needed a much larger size. She bought three yards of pink wool for herself and a nice big remnant of gray corduroy for Liza. She was eager to share the news, but when Liza called to thank her for the bath powder, Kathy forgot her resolve. Disappointment had welled up and she'd nearly burst into tears until Liza finally explained. Poor, poor thing. She couldn't help it if her mother was weak.

When Kathy heard her father's car pulling into the drive, she quickly hid the half-empty ravioli can behind the silverware canteen, then scampered into the living room and flung herself in a chair, her legs over one arm of it.
The Howdy Doody Show
was on, and for all he knew she'd been sitting in the same casual posture for half the afternoon. “Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes.”

One word and she could tell he was in a bad mood. She wasn't in such a hot mood herself after her fight with Liza on the phone. It was true what she'd said to her. She'd sooo been looking forward to their shopping trip. They used to go shopping or see a movie every Saturday afternoon until Violet came along. Livia would drive them into Santa Maria and treat them to lunch at the soda fountain, after which she'd give them each a dollar and let them buy anything they wanted. Kathy could still picture the tuna melt and the BLT. Kathy had imagined the two of them walking arm-in-arm into adulthood, best friends, loyal and true, still thrilled to be together the same as they'd always been.

It had taken her half the school year to realize something was wrong. At first, Liza was just busy. Kathy could understand that because when they finally got together, it felt like it always had. They'd giggle and eat popcorn, pour Dr Pepper over ice and have burping contests. Gradually she realized how distant Liza had become. She seemed cool, evasive, and Kathy couldn't think why. Her mother was the one who pointed it out: first, there'd been Violet, then Ty. Liza had her hands full, so it should come as no surprise she had little left to give. And now that she babysat all the time, what was Kathy supposed to do?

After she'd delivered the birthday present to Liza's room, she'd spent a few minutes wandering around, touching Liza's things. Her hairbrush smelled exactly like her and the teddy bear Kathy'd given her was still propped up against the pillows, which she thought was a good sign. She hadn't meant to snoop, but when she spotted the diary wedged in that dark, cobwebby space behind the bookcase, she'd sat on the bed and leafed through the pages in hopes of feeling connected. She knew it was a form of make-believe, but she loved the illusion of Liza sharing secrets, even though she hadn't actually confided anything for quite some time. She was also a tiny bit worried Liza was saying unkind things about her behind her back. It was possible Liza had an objection or complaint she was too scared to tell her to her face. Kathy thought perhaps if she could see herself from Liza's point of view, she could correct whatever it was that was making Liza pull away.

On she read, somewhat discomfited to realize she wasn't mentioned at all. The entries about Ty created a sharp pang. She suddenly understood that while she, Kathy, was focused on normal teen concerns, Liza was moving into womanhood. The details of Liza's relationship with Ty created a weird sensation of heat between Kathy's legs. At times she'd felt something similar when reading
True Confessions
and she'd known it was wrong. She'd done her best to steer Liza away from tawdriness and back to the safety of movie stars and movie magazines. She assumed she'd succeeded so it was doubly shocking to realize that Liza was caught up in the same conflicts that filled trashy publications. How degrading for her. No wonder she couldn't bring herself to confide. Kathy could just imagine the stories: “Too Ashamed to Tell My Best Friend!” “His Love Is Leading Me Down the Wrong Path but I Can't Stop Myself!” “If Only I Had Someone to Turn To: One Young Woman's Struggle to Stay Pure.”

Instantly, Kathy knew she could be of help. As desperate as Liza was, she'd never be able to confess her plight. And, quite naturally, Kathy couldn't admit that she'd read the diary behind Liza's back. No wonder Liza was withdrawn. Given Kathy's high standards, Liza probably thought she'd be repulsive to her. How could she aspire to Absolute Purity when she was already compromised? Tampax had been the first step. The insertion of a tampon might even have unleashed slumbering impulses of the lowest sort. She had to find a way to let Liza know there was hope, that she hadn't strayed so far that there was no turning back. She was fully prepared to offer her friend whatever help she needed. It was just a matter of eliciting the information she wasn't supposed to have.

While she'd waited for Liza's call, she rehearsed various ways of broaching the subject. It wasn't Liza's fault. Liza's father didn't even live in the same state. Liza scarcely saw him, and when she did, it was only, like, every six months, and Liza said they didn't really talk. In effect, she had no moral guidance whatever, so what could you expect? In most of these scenarios, Liza would weep with gratitude, and Kathy would comfort her at length.

Hours passed and Kathy was seriously alarmed by the time her mother finally hollered up the stairs. “Kathy? Liza's on the phone.”

Kathy's stomach was knotted with dread. What if Liza had spent the whole day with Ty? What if he'd kissed her and she'd found herself melting at his touch. Kathy had meant to convey her utter trustworthiness, but she'd forgotten about the bath powder and Liza's thanking her for the gift had thrown her off. Next thing she knew, all her pain had poured out. She sensed how pathetic she was, but she longed for the familiar Liza, instead of this alien person who'd been locked in the arms of a “Boy from the Wrong Side of the Tracks!” Liza hadn't even seemed contrite. She said she was sorry, but it didn't sound that way. Kathy had been so
relieved
when she realized the problem was Liza's mother. Sick and contagious? Well, no wonder. What did the woman expect at the rate she smoked cigarettes and drank? Kathy comforted her friend as best she could, but there wasn't any way to steer the subject around to you-know-what. Even so, by the time they hung up, everything seemed fine. She'd still have to find a way to worm the truth out of Liza, but at least things were back to normal. The problem was, she didn't feel happy and she couldn't figure out why.

That's what had driven her to the can of Chef Boyardee, not hunger so much as confusion and despair. Her mother called her for supper and she was finally able to sit down at the table. She ignored her parents' little spat and focused on her plate. She'd been looking forward to the Welch Rabbit, which was every bit as good as she'd hoped. Soft, warm cheese oozing across the golden brown raft of Wonder Bread. She'd put oleo on the toast and the taste of melted margarine under the puddle of rich cheese was enough to make her weep. Her pain was receding and she was almost feeling safe when her father made an offhand remark about Liza. Kathy could hardly pay attention. She was starving. She hadn't finished the can of ravioli and she knew if her parents noticed how eagerly she was plowing through her food, they'd snatch it away from her and leave her desolate. She'd suffered losses enough.