S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

“Sure, I’ve thought about that. She was young and in her own way she was innocent. A small-town kind of girl. She had experience with men, but she didn’t know anything about the world at large. I can’t picture her in a big town like San Francisco or LA. I can’t even picture her in the state. California’s as expensive now as it was back then, relative to income. Given the cash she had-which probably didn’t amount to much-I’m guessing she’d go someplace she could afford. Midwest, the South-someplace like that.”

“You heard about her money?”

“Half a dozen times. She’d get on a tear and threaten to pull out if Foley didn’t straighten up and fly right.”

“Like that was ever going to happen,” Tannie put in.

The subject shifted. There were only so many ideas you could bounce around with so little information. At 10:30, Padgett made his excuses and headed for the door.

Daisy, meanwhile, was feeling no pain. She’d had enough to drink that some merrier, more loquacious personality had taken over her ordinary self. She was flirting with some guy, laughing too loudly. From a distance, she appeared to be having fun. Up close, I was betting, she was out of control. It was the first indication I’d seen of the trouble she was capable of getting into. Tannie followed my gaze, and the two of us locked eyes briefly. “Once she reaches this point, it’s all over,” Tannie said. “He’ll end up in her bed and things will go downhill from there.”

“We can’t intervene?”

“This time, sure, but she’ll be in here again tomorrow night and the night after that. You want to take on that kind of responsibility? Because I sure don’t. After this round, at any rate. Tannie to the rescue. What an idiot. Wish me luck.”

She left the table and joined Daisy, who was dancing with her cowboy. She took some persuading, but she did return to the table without her new best friend. By the time we were ready to part company, it was 11:00 and I’d had one too many glasses of wine. I was fine for the short haul, but I didn’t like the idea of driving all the way home. “You know what, guys? It’s not such a hot idea my being on the road. Is there a motel around here, or maybe a B-and-B?”

17

The Sun Bonnet Motel was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, a one-story stucco building that was plain, shabby at the seams, but allegedly clean. My room was the kind you’d be wise to avoid examining with a black light after dark because the stains illuminated-bedding, carpeting, furniture, and walls-would suggest activities you wouldn’t want to know about. It was a family business, Mr. and Mrs. Bonnet having owned the place for the past forty years. Its single virtue was that Mrs. Bonnet-Maxi-owned and ran Maxi’s Coffee Shop, which was attached to one end. Oh happy day. In the morning, I could intercept BW within a hundred yards of my bed.

Daisy had been apologetic that she couldn’t put me up at her house, but that’s where Tannie was staying, and she had only the one spare room.

“Sorry ‘bout that, but I got dibs,” Tannie injected, clearly pleased with herself.

“You could sleep on my couch,” Daisy said.

“Oh no, not me. I’m too old for that stuff. Maybe some other time.”

After I checked in, I left the registration desk and returned to my car. Mrs. Bonnet had put me in 109, which was down at the end of the line, the second to last of ten rooms. All the other rooms were dark, but there was a car parked on each side of the slot for 109. I left my car in front of my door, only slightly worried by the sight of the drapery sagging off the hooks. I unlocked the door, went in, and flipped on the light. The room was small, the color scheme leaning toward cantaloupe and peach. A double bed was centered on the wall to my right. The pillows looked flat, and there was a trough down the middle of the mattress where my body would just fit, thus saving me needless tossing and turning. The bed tables and the chest of drawers were paint-grade wood with a wood-laminate veneer. The easy chair didn’t look that easy, but I didn’t plan to sit.

I went into the bathroom, floor squeaking as I walked, and pulled my toothbrush, toothpaste, and a change of underpants from my shoulder bag, where I keep them for such occasions. My only serious lament was that I hadn’t brought a book, but I’d expected to drive up and back without any opportunity to read. I checked all the drawers, but there wasn’t so much as a Gideon’s Bible or a stray paperback. I stripped off my jeans and brassiere, and slept in the very T-shirt I’d worn all day. During the night, I could hear-like the sound of a train passing- thunder in the walls as the guests in rooms on both sides of mine flushed their toilets at random intervals. My bedspread smelled musty, and I was happy I didn’t see the article about dust mites until the following week.