S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

I went into a room devoted to genealogy and local history. I checked the volumes on the left-hand wall and located the county directory for 1952. The 1953 edition was missing, but I thought the 1952 data would be more useful in any event. I set my shoulder bag on the floor and took a chair at one of the tables.

In going over my notes, I’d come across the map I’d sketched on my first trip to Serena Station. I’d met many people who’d been intimately connected to Violet, but I hadn’t talked to those on the periphery in a murder investigation, anyone with something to hide could lie, obfuscate, or point a finger at someone else. A disinterested observer was a better source of information.

Serena Station was accorded two pages in the city-county directory: roughly sixty families listed by address, name, and occupation. I counted forty-seven homemakers, eleven oil workers, a nurse, a bartender (BW McPhee), a ranch hand, four railroad workers, eight laborers, a postmaster, and a teacher. Foley was calling himself a construction worker in those days, and Violet was listed as a housewife, not a homemaker, I noted. The Blue Moon, a Laundromat, and the auto-repair shop were the only two businesses in town. The Sullivans’ neighbors to the left were Jon and Bernadette Ericksen, and on the street behind them, backing up to their rental house, was a couple named Arnold and Sarah Treadwell. One house down from the Ericksens, there was a family named Hernandez. I made notes, not knowing at this point what information would be worth pursuing. I spotted Livia and Chet Cramer’s names, but no family named Wilcox or Ottweiler. I checked the five pages devoted to the small town of Cromwell, spotting both sets of names. Businesses there were more numerous but still covered only eight additional columns. I photocopied all the pages on the off chance I’d need to look at them again. No point in being forced to make a return trip.

I put that volume back and pulled the 1956 city directory, checking for the same three names-Ericksen, Treadwell, and Hernandez. Two of the three families were gone, which indicated death, divorce, or a simple move to another town. I noticed that after 1956, the county directory had been converted to a city directory that covered only Santa Maria and Lompoc, with no mention of Serena Station at all. I pulled the 1986 telephone book and searched again, hoping to find a trace. The Hernandez family was a wash, there being so many listed I knew I’d never track down the one I wanted. I had slightly better luck with Ericksen. I didn’t find a “J” or a “B,” but there was an “A. Ericksen” in Santa Maria, possibly Jon and Bernadette’s offspring. A family named Treadwell was living in Orcutt, and though the husband’s first name wasn’t a match, I thought there might be a connection. I wrote down both sets of phone numbers and street addresses.

At the desk, while I paid for my photocopies, I spoke to one of the librarians and explained what I needed. “Where else can I get information about Serena Station in 1953? I’ve gone through the old directories.”

He said, “You might want to look at the Index to Precinct Registers for Santa Teresa County. I believe we have ‘51 and 1954.”

“Great.”

Or not great, as it happened. We returned to the shelves and he found me the requisite volume from 1951. Again I sat down and looked up the community of Serena Station. The listings included names, addresses, occupations, and party affiliation (more Republicans than Democrats, for what that’s worth), but all the addresses listed were post office boxes, which didn’t do me any good. I flipped back to the pages devoted to Santa Maria, running a finger down page after page of residents. I gave up after ten minutes because the numbers were overwhelming, and I was hoping I’d already snagged what I needed. I gathered my notes and took the elevator to the ground floor in search of a pay phone.

I tried the Treadwells’ number first and bombed out big time. The Mrs. Treadwell who answered had never lived in Serena Station, had never known the Sullivans, and couldn’t be any help at all when it came to tracking down the former Serena Station Treadwells. She suspected I was trying to sell her something and declined any further questions.

I tried A. Ericksen and got a machine, on which I left the following message: “Hi, my name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a private investigator from Santa Teresa and I’m wondering if you’re the same Ericksen who lived in Serena Station in 1953. I’d appreciate a call back when you get this message.” I recited my Santa Teresa phone number and repeated my name. Then I went out to my car and headed for the 101.

I unlocked my apartment door at 5:15. I’d been away since Thursday morning, and the living room was stuffy, smelling of old cleaning products and hot dust motes. I put my portable typewriter on the desk. I had two messages from Cheney, asking me to call him when I got home. I tried his number and got a busy signal. I didn’t have a duffel but my newly purchased clothing was folded and packed in a handsome plastic bag. I trotted up the spiral stairs and unloaded the bag.