S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

I was halfway to Rosie’s, less than thrilled with the prospect, when I thought about Sneaky Pete’s. I knew Tannie would be working, and it occurred to me that we could chat about Daisy and Violet while I indulged in another spicy salami concoction on a kaiser roll. I trotted back to my car and drove into town.

Sneaky Pete’s is a neighborhood hangout, serving a loyal clientele in much the way Rosie’s does. Tannie spotted me when I walked in. I took a stool at the bar, waiting while she finished drawing two beers for a couple near the window. It was not quite six and quiet for a Wednesday night. Even the volume on the jukebox had been turned down to a tolerable level.

She returned to the bar and took out a wineglass and a bottle of Edna Valley, saying, “You drink Chardonnay, right?”

“Good memory.”

“That’s my job. Daisy says the three of us are having lunch tomorrow.”

“That’s the plan. I told her I’d call her as soon as I’m free. What time are you driving up?”

“I’m not sure yet, but early. I’ll find out where you’re going and I’ll meet you there.” She poured my wine and then picked up her cigarette and took one last drag before she stubbed it out. “One of these days I’ll quit. Working here, you have to smoke in self-defense. So how goes the battle? Daisy says you’re already hard at work.”

“Well, I’m doing what I can. She drove me around the area so I could get the lay of the land. Serena Station’s depressing.”

“Isn’t it,” she said. “You meet Foley?”

“I spoke to that retired sheriff’s department sergeant first and then to him.”

“That must have been intense.”

“Very,” I said. I took a sip of my wine. “You didn’t tell me you had a house up there. Daisy took me by yesterday afternoon so I could see. Too bad about the fire.”

“We’re lucky they caught it when they did or the house would be gone. We’ve got a deputy patrolling now to keep the riffraff out. My brother hates the place.”

“Daisy says you hope to buy him out.”

“If I can get him to agree. He’s being his usual bullheaded self, but I think he’ll knuckle under in the end. His wife’s on my team. She’s got no interest in being saddled with a house like that. I love it, but talk about a white elephant.”

“The land must be worth a fortune.”

“You ought to see our tax bill. The tricky thing is there’s a move afoot to rezone. The rumor around town is that the old packing plant has been sold and the buildings will be demolished. That property butts right up against ours, so I’ve had developers wooing me all year, trying to get the jump on it before word leaks out. I’d love to hang on, but we’d net ourselves a bundle if we sell out to them.” She reached under the bar and pulled out a roll of paper, secured with a rubber band. “You want to see what they have in mind?”

I took off the rubber band and opened the large furl of heavyweight paper. What I was looking at was a watercolor mockup, showing the grand entrance to a walled community called the Tanner Estates. There were two big stone pillars leading into the development, with lush lawns on both sides of a winding drive. A few rooftops were visible in the distance, the houses widely spaced and nestled among mature trees. To the left, Tannie’s house was beautifully rendered, restored to its original state, thanks to the artist’s skill. “Geez, what I saw this afternoon didn’t look anything like this. Where are all the big nasty oil tanks and barbed-wire fences?”

“I guess if you have bucks enough, you can make it look any way you please. I can’t believe the county will approve the plans, but Steve says that’s all the more reason to sell while we can.”

“That makes no sense. If the rezoning’s approved, the value of the land would go up, which is reason to hang on.”

“Try telling that to him. He wants out from under.”

I released the edges of the paper and it rolled itself up of its own accord. “Was that where you grew up?”

Tannie shook her head. “It belonged to my grandparents, Hairl and Mary Clare. Mom and Steve and I lived there while Pop was away at war. When he joined the army in 1942, my mother moved back into the house. She didn’t have job skills to speak of and Pop couldn’t support us on his military pay.”

“Did you say your grandfather’s name was ‘Hairl’?”

She smiled. “His name should have been Harold, but my great-grandmother couldn’t spell so that’s what she wrote on his birth certificate. My mother was named for both her parents-Hairl and Mary Clare-so she became ‘Mary Hairl.’ Thank god the linking names stopped there or no telling what I would have been called.”