S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

“How’d you end up selling cars?”

“Desperation. Everything turned out fine in the end, but it didn’t look so promising at first. The only fellow who’d hire me was George Blickenstaff, owner of the local Ford dealership. He was an old family friend and I guess he took pity on me. I started selling Fords when I was nineteen years old. That was 1925. I didn’t much care for it, but at least I wasn’t working with my hands. Turns out I had a knack for sales. Four years later, the stock market crashed.”

“That must have put a dent in the business.”

“Some areas, yes, but not as much out here. We were always small potatoes and we didn’t take the same hit the bigger dealers did. By the time the Depression came along, I was doing pretty well, at least compared to what a lot of other folks endured. By then, I’d turned into Blickenstaff’s star salesman. You’d have thought it was something I was born to do. Of course, I was full of myself and thought I deserved a dealership of my own.”

“Is that when you bought this place?”

“Took me years. Problem was, every time I had money in the bank, something came along that took the wind right out of my sails. I put my brothers through college and just about had my mother’s house paid off when she got sick. The hospital bill alone was enough to wipe me out. Factor in the funeral expenses and the headstone and I was flat broke. I didn’t marry till I was thirty-two years old and that set me back again because suddenly I was saddled with a family.”

“But you did persevere,” I said.

“Oh, I did better than that. By 1939, I could see what was coming. The minute Germany invaded Poland, I talked old man Blickenstaff into stockpiling tires, car parts, and gasoline. He didn’t want to listen, but I knew it was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. U.S. involvement was a given. Any fool could see that-except him, of course. I knew when the time came, rationing would be inevitable, and we couldn’t afford to be caught short. He argued the point, but I knew I was right and I never let up. My instincts were dead on. Once the war started, there wasn’t another dealer in the area who’d had the same foresight. Guys were coming out of the woodwork, begging for gasoline, begging for tires, which was music to my ears. I told ‘em I was happy to be of help as long as sufficient cash changed hands. The point was delivering product and service to the customer, and if Chet Cramer could make a buck in the process, then what’s wrong with that? Blickenstaff didn’t have the stomach for it. He lost a son in the war and he thought it was morally reprehensible-that was the phrase he used, ‘morally reprehensible’-to profit when all those boys had sacrificed their lives. In truth, he was tired and it was time he stepped aside.”

“You bought the dealership from him?”

“No ma’am. I bought the Chevrolet franchise and drove that old geezer into the ground: 1945 he closed his doors and I picked up his dealership for pennies on the dollar. May sound cold, but it’s a simple fact of life: You can’t accomplish anything unless you’re willing to act. Make a plan. Take a risk. That’s how you get what you want.”

“What about your brothers? Did any of them come into the business with you?”

“This is mine. I don’t share. I did enough for them and now they’re on their own.” He shifted in his chair, leaning forward on his desk. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to talk about me. You want to know about Violet Sullivan.”

“I do, but I’m also curious about the car. Can we start with that?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Foley had no business buying that car. He ought to’ve been ashamed of himself. The Sullivans didn’t have a pot to piss in-I hope you’ll forgive the language.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” I said.

“Violet got it in her head she had to have that car, and Foley knew better than to stand in her way. I wasn’t about to turn away a sale, so I cut him a deal.”

“Which was what?”

“I took his truck in trade, for whatever that was worth. Purely a courtesy on my part, but I made one thing clear: The first time he missed a payment, I’d repossess. No excuses, no slow pays, and not one penny short. I didn’t care what the law said, that car was coming back.”

“Given his history, you were taking quite a chance.”

“Oh, I never thought he’d do it. I fully expected to have the car on the lot again within three months and then I’d take it for myself.”

“I thought Winston Smith made the sale.”