"S" is for Silence (18 page)

“It's been a good deal for both of you?”

“The best.”

“Sorry to keep harping on this point, but do you have any idea who Violet might have been involved with? I'm really at a loss.”

“I probably already said more than I should. Business I'm in, I don't look, I don't ask, and I don't want to know. Anything I do know, I don't repeat.”

“Even thirty-four years later?”

“Especially thirty-four years later. What purpose would it serve?”

“None, I suppose.”

“Mind if I offer you a word of advice?”

“Why not? I may not take it, but I'm always willing to listen.”

“Something to keep in mind: This is a small community. We look after each other. Somebody like you comes scratching around, nosing in our business, that doesn't sit well.”

“No one's objected so far.”

“Not to your face. We're too polite for that, but I've heard grumbles.”

“Of what sort?”

“Understand, this is not coming from me. I'm repeating what I heard.”

“I won't hold you accountable. What's the rest of it?”

“If Violet hasn't been found so far, what makes you think you're going to get anywhere? Seems nervy to some.”

“It takes a certain amount of nerve to do anything in life,” I said. “This is a fishing expedition. I may not get a bite and in that case, I'm gone.”

“You think if one of us knew where she was, we'd tell you after all these years?”

“I guess that would depend on why she left and how protective you felt. Liza Mellincamp believes she's out there somewhere. She claims she doesn't know where, but she sure doesn't want to be responsible for Violet being exposed.”

“Suppose it's true,” he said. “Suppose she left town like a lot of people think. Suppose she's made herself a whole new life? Why track her down? Believe me, she's suffered enough. If she managed to escape, then more power to her.”

“Daisy hired me to do this. If people have a problem, tell 'em they should take it up with her. My personal opinion? She's entitled to any information I can find.”

“Assuming you come up with anything.”

“Right, but you know what? The years work on all of us. Secrets are a burden. If someone's teetering on the brink, all it takes is a nudge, which is one of my jobs.”

He pushed his plate back and took out a pack of cigarettes. I watched him light up, extinguishing the match with a puff of smoke. He kept his cigarette in one corner of his mouth, squinting against the smoke as he leaned to his left and extracted a money clip from his pants pocket. He peeled off a ten and put it by his plate. “Well, I wish you luck. Meantime, I got business to take care of.”

“One more quick question: You think she's dead or alive?”

“I really wouldn't care to say. Happy travels.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as he was out the door, I took out my index cards and scribbled down as much of the conversation as I could capture off the top of my head. I glanced at my watch. 7:45. With luck, I could get a call through to Daisy and catch her before she went to work. I grabbed my shoulder bag and moved through the dwindling crowd.

I walked back to my room, intending to do a final quick walk-through before I checked out. I slowed as I approached. My door was ajar. I stopped in my tracks. Maybe the motel maid was in there cleaning the room. I moved forward with caution and used the tip of my finger to push the door open to the full. I did a slow visual survey and then stepped inside. Everything was just as I'd left it, at least to all appearances. I had no luggage, so if someone had broken in, there was nothing to search. The bed was still rumpled, covers thrown aside. In the bathroom, my damp towel was where I'd placed it earlier, over the rim of the tub.

I paused in the doorway between the two rooms and let my eyes do the traveling. Object to object, surface to surface. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Still, I knew I'd locked the door securely because I'd tested the knob right after I'd pulled it shut. I walked to the front office, my room key in hand. The parking lot was now only half as full, but I didn't spy anyone who seemed to take an interest in me.

Mrs. Bonnet was at the desk. I told her I was checking out, and while I waited for my credit card receipt, I said, “Did anyone come in this morning asking for me?”

“No ma'am. We don't give out information about the paying guests. Were you expecting someone?”

“No. When I got back from breakfast, my door was standing open and I was curious.”

She shook her head, shrugging, unable to enlighten me.

I signed the slip. She handed me the carbon and I put it in my bag. I walked back to my car, which was parked in the slot outside my room. I unlocked the door and slid under the wheel, tossing my shoulder bag on the passenger seat. I turned the key in the ignition, wondering for one fleeting paranoid moment if I was about to be blown sky-high. Happily, I was not. I backed out and then shifted from reverse into first. The car seemed to waddle when I accelerated. Even with my limited knowledge of mechanical problems, this was not a good sign. I drove forward another couple of yards, thinking I'd run over an object and I was inadvertently dragging it behind. The waddle was still there. Puzzled, I put my foot on the brake and opened the door, leaning to my left. I shut the engine down and got out.

All four of my tires had been slashed.

CHET

Friday, July 3, 1953

Chet Cramer sat in his four-door Bel Air sedan, smoking a cigarette, a pleasure he relegated to the end of his day. The windows were cranked open, including the two wing windows, which he'd angled in hopes of capturing fresh air. He loved this car. The Bel Air series was top of the line, with four models: the two-door sport coupe, the two-door convertible, and the two-door and four-door sedans. All had automatic transmission, radio, and heater as standard equipment. His was two-toned; the top Woodland Green, the lower portion Sun Gold, a combination he'd personally selected for himself. The colors reminded him of the green and gold of the old Lucky Strike cigarette pack. When World War II came along, the government had needed the titanium used in the green ink and the bronze used in its gold, so Lucky Strike had abandoned the color scheme in favor of a white pack with a red bull's-eye. When he first started smoking, he'd been attracted to Lucky Strike because of the slogan—Be Happy, Go Lucky—which seemed ironic in retrospect. He hadn't been happy-go-lucky since the death of his father in 1925. Recently he'd switched brands, thinking to disassociate himself altogether from the notions of happiness and luck. The new Kent cigarette, with its Micronite filter, was billed as “the greatest health protection in cigarette history.” He wasn't sure why he was concerned about protecting his health, but he didn't think it hurt to cut down on tar and nicotine.

He popped open the glove compartment and took out the sterling silver flask he'd inherited from his dad. He kept it filled with vodka from his office supply, and he used it to fortify himself before he went home each day. He preferred rye whiskey but couldn't afford to greet Livia smelling like a loaf of delicatessen bread. He unscrewed the lid and took a slug. He felt the heat of the liquor going down, but it didn't dissolve the ache in his chest. He checked the clock on the dashboard. 5:22. By 6:15 he'd be having dinner with his wife and daughter, after which he thought he might as well go back to work. He'd taken advantage of the July 4th weekend to advertise a “Firecracker of a Sale.” During special promotions of this sort he devoted long hours to the dealership as a matter of course, and now that he'd fired Winston, he'd have to shoulder the kid's load, such as it was. He saw work as a blessing, a way of immersing himself in the here and now. At the moment, he was only going through the motions, knowing it was easier to stick to his routines than to try to make sense out of what had happened to him.

He'd parked facing south on New Cut Road, halfway between Highway 166 and the point at which the road construction ended. The Tanner house was dead-center in his line of vision. To his immediate left was a gravel road leading back to the old Aldrich packing plant. The swing-arm gate across the entrance was padlocked and had been for years, so the spot was the perfect place to unwind. The midsummer air was humid. In his rearview mirror, he could see a breeze undulating across the fields, ruffling the dark green leaves of the sugar beets. A tractor trundled by hauling a bulldozer on a low-boy flatbed, the only traffic he'd seen for the past hour. While he watched, the driver did a clumsy K-turn and positioned his rig in preparation for unloading. Chet took another slug of vodka, dwelling on the trivial while he tried to assimilate the grand.

Wednesday seemed like a lifetime ago, though it was only two days. He hadn't known how depressed he was until Violet cracked through his life like a lightning bolt. She'd been dazzling, and for the first time in his life he'd been engulfed by desire. He felt like she'd doused him with gasoline and set him afire. The minute she'd proposed a drink, he'd seen where she was headed. Dazed, he'd followed her out to his car, tossing an explanation to Kathy as he left. He couldn't remember now what he'd said to her, some lame excuse she'd accepted with a shrug. For once, he'd been grateful his daughter was such a dunce. Despite her moony crushes on movie stars, she was sexually backward, too naive to recognize the chemistry that had flashed so suddenly between Violet and him.

After leaving the dealership, Violet abandoned all talk of his buying her a drink. They got in his car and she directed him to the Sandman Motel, which was two blocks away. He hadn't noticed it before, but Violet was clearly well acquainted with the place. She'd instructed him to check in as a single, under an assumed name. She waited outside while he registered as William Durant, which was actually the name of the man who founded General Motors back in 1908. He was afraid the desk clerk would catch the joke, but she didn't bat an eye. Having deceived her to that extent, he invented a fictitious home address and a detailed explanation of why he needed a room. He was more imaginative than he'd thought. He went on lying through his teeth, flirting with the girl until she blushed a becoming pink. He paid for the room, took the key, and returned to his car.

Violet was gone, but he spotted her at the far end of the parking lot, leaning against the wire fence that surrounded the swimming pool. She waited until he'd parked outside the room, and then she stepped on her cigarette and ambled in his direction, taking her sweet time. She must have known what a picture she made—sunlight shining on her red hair, her figure fully defined by the tight purple sundress. He was trembling at the prospect of having her.

When she reached him, she held out her hand. He dropped the key in her palm and watched as she unlocked the door. He followed her in, marveling at his calm. He had no idea what she expected of him. She set the key on the bed table and turned to him. “I bought you a bottle of vodka, but then forgot the damn thing and left it at home. Sorry 'bout that. I thought you might need a couple of belts to soothe your nerves.”

“You planned this?”

“Sweetie, do I look like an idiot? I've seen you watching me. You think I don't know what's been going through your head?”

“Our paths hardly cross.”

“No fault of mine. If you weren't so straightlaced, I'd have done this ages ago. I got tired of waiting for you to make a move. So here we are—surprise, surprise.”

“But why?”

She laughed. “Don't underestimate yourself. You're a good-looking guy and you're sexy as hell. I'll tell you something else. You've been working too hard. I can see it in your face. When's the last time you cut loose and had
fun,
for god's sake?”

“I'm…I don't know what to say.”

“Who asked you to talk? Did I say anything about chatting, Chet?” She was making a little joke of his name, but he found he didn't mind. She sat down on the bed, patting the place beside her. “Look at you. All tense. Come over here and I'll help you relax.”

He crossed to the bed, moving as though drugged. When he reached her, she rubbed the palm of one hand against the front of his pants. “My, oh my. This is going to be good.”

She'd been gentle and sweet, guiding him through a process so highly charged and novel he felt his heart would stop. Nothing with Livia had ever prepared him for such heat. Violet thought his shyness was a riot after all the bullshit he'd laid on her earlier. She'd said, “Big tough guy” in a way that made him laugh. How could she mock him and make him feel good at the same time?

Later, under her patient tutelage, she'd murmured. “Right there, Sweetie. Oh, that's nice. Keep doing that.”

She seemed to enjoy bossing him around, inflicting occasional tiny jolts of pain that sent his pleasure soaring into the stratosphere. She liked being in charge, liked making him groan at certain little tricks she had. They made love for an hour, and at the end of it she pulled away from him, laughing and out of breath. “That's it for you, Stud.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I gotta scoot, that's all. Daisy's parked with a neighbor and I can't be late picking her up. Foley's a psycho when it comes to how I spend my days. Plus, my neighbor's a bitch and I wouldn't put it past her to mention it to him. How're you doing?”

He laughed. “Fine. I can't move.”

“Good. I'm glad. Shows I treated you right.”

He remained stretched out naked on the bed as she pulled on her underwear and slipped her dress over her head. She crossed to him and sat down on the edge, holding her hair off her neck so he could run the zipper up the back of her dress. Once her dress was zipped, she continued to sit with her back turned to him. “I know people think I'm cheap, but this is not about that. What happened this afternoon is just between us, something both of us want. I know I could have gone about it some other way, but you wouldn't have agreed. You'd have been worried about Livia, worried about Foley, worried we'd get caught. I don't want you to think badly of me. I knew if I didn't push, we'd never get here.”

She turned to look at him and he could have sworn she was on the verge of tears. He reached up and touched her face. She laughed self-consciously, dashing moisture from her cheeks. She pulled the sheet over him. “Gotta cover you up or next thing you know you'll get me going again.”

He started to rise, but she put a hand on his chest. “No, no. You stay there. I like your hair all tussled and standing up on end. It looks cute. You ought to wear it like that all the time.”

“Don't leave.”

“I have to.”

“Give me ten minutes more. An hour. Better yet, let's just stay here together for the rest of our lives.”

She thought about it briefly. “Thirty seconds, but that's it.” She sat down again. She took out a cigarette and lit it, passing it to him. “You're full of surprises, you know that?”

He touched her bare arm, marveling at the silky feel of her skin. “You're beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful with you.”

“When can I see you again?”

“That's not such a hot idea. You know it's dangerous.”

“I like risk. I never knew that about myself until you came along.”

“That's enough out of you, Stud. I'm out of here.”

She kissed her index finger and pressed it to his lips. She put on her sandals and got up, tucking her purse under her arm. “How about tomorrow at noon? I'll have less than an hour, but that's the best I can do.”

“Don't you want me to drive you to your truck?”

“I can walk. It's not far and it's better this way.”

She left, closing the door behind her. He could hear her footsteps fading on the pavement. He wasn't sure how he'd survive the hours until he saw her again.

When he arrived home late in the day—after his usual meditation out on New Cut Road—he thought he'd be weighted with guilt, but just the opposite was true. He was happy. Something akin to affection resurfaced, and he sat at the dinner table glowing with goodwill. Livia had made jellied salmon for supper, possibly the most disgusting thing he'd ever eaten except for her chicken livers. Nonetheless, he found himself watching her with a kindness rare for him of late. Where had that gone? He thought of himself as a good man, but he realized that as far back as he could remember, he'd been angry and cheerless. Now that had been erased. Even Kathy didn't seem as tedious. He was secretly amused, knowing she'd never dream what her old dad had been up to. He could hardly believe it himself—the transformation from dead to half-dead to reborn. If she happened to mention his leaving with Violet, he'd invent something on the spot and he knew he'd get away with it. His was a whole new world. That it included lying, adultery, and certain acts that were biblically forbidden only made it all the more titillating. He asked for a second helping of canned lima beans, hoping he wouldn't laugh out loud at the images still floating through his head.

 

He endured Thursday morning with his eye on the clock. At 11:50 he left the dealership, saying he was going out to lunch. When Kathy asked where, he said he hadn't decided yet, but he'd be back in a bit. Feeling worldly, he checked into the same room at the Sandman. It was all so easy now. Violet arrived and moments later, in a flurry of discarded clothes, feverish kisses, agonizing groans, and grabbing at each other, they were both naked and lying on the bed. Her breath smelled of red wine and cigarettes, but he knew better than to ask what she'd been doing at the Moon so early in the day. What difference did it make?

The sex was even better this time, which he hadn't believed possible. Already he felt comfortable in his skin, sure of himself. This wasn't the lovemaking of strangers, but the intimacy of two adults. Violet could be rough, and she brought out the bawdiness in him. She was also outrageous, using language that sometimes shocked his staid sensibilities. She could be tender as well, in ways that made him want to weep.

Afterward, they shared a cigarette like lovers in a movie. He couldn't get over this new sense he had of himself. Violet was tucked up under his arm, her head on his shoulder, face tilted back slightly so she could look at him. He looked down at her, saying, “What?”

She laughed. “How did you know I had something on my mind?”

“You're not the only one with telepathic powers.”

“That's good. I like that.” She was quiet, smile fading.

He gave her shoulder a shake. “Come on. Out with it.”

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday. You know, spending the rest of our lives in this room. That was sweet. That made me feel I was special to you, not just a cheap piece of ass.”

“Hey! Enough. Don't say shit like that about yourself.”

“Well, it's the truth. You know my reputation. I'm a wild child. I live fast and loose, but you know what it's about? Under all the trashy talk and screwing around, I'm completely numb, like I'm already dead inside. So at least when I'm crazy drunk and out of control, I feel like I'm alive. Does that make any sense?”

“Jesus, you've just described my life. I don't show it the way you do, but it's exactly the same with me. You think I'm happy because I make a lot of money and live in a nice house? Doesn't work that way. All my life I've been busy taking care of other people. This is the first thing I've done for myself. When I said that about spending the rest of my life with you, I meant it.”