S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

“Not unless you want to dig through my shed. I’m fairly certain I can lay hands on the litter record, but not right this minute. I’m setting down to supper and then I have my shows to watch. Call back at nine and I can tell you if I’ve had any luck.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll drive out to pick it up.”

32

Daisy and I finished supper a little after 7:00-salad and pasta with a sauce that came out of a can. Neither of us had much appetite, but the normality of eating seemed to lift her spirits. I left her to read the paper while I rinsed our few dishes and put them in the machine. I heard the phone ring. Daisy picked up and then called into the kitchen. “Hey, Kinsey? It’s Liza.”

“Tell her to hang on. I’ll be right there.”

I closed the dishwasher and dried my hands on a kitchen towel before I went into the living room. Daisy and Liza were chatting away so I waited my turn. I wanted to ask Liza why she’d lied about Foley, but I didn’t think I should raise the subject with Daisy in the room. She might have had a good reason, and there was no point in jeopardizing their relationship if what she had to say made sense. Daisy finally surrendered the phone.

“Hey, Liza. Thanks for returning my call.”

“I didn’t mean to be short with you earlier. Violet’s death has been hard. I know I should have seen it coming it, but I guess I was holding out that one small hope.”

“Understood,” I said, knowing she didn’t know the half of it. “Listen, can you spare me half an hour? There’s something we need to talk about.”

“That sounds serious. Like what?”

“Let’s don’t go into it now. I think it’s better in person.”

“When?”

“Now, if possible. It shouldn’t take long. I have an appointment at nine, but I could swing by in the next half hour.”

“That sounds okay. Kathy’s coming over in a bit, but I suppose that would work. Can you give me a hint?”

“I will when I get there. It’s really no big deal. See you shortly.”

I signed off before she had a chance to change her mind.

I leaned against the counter in Liza’s kitchen, watching her decorate a cake. She wore an oversize white apron over her jeans and white T-shirt. A scarf was tied around her head to keep her hair out of her eyes and off the cake. I could see one curve of the silver locket visible under the apron bib.

“How’s your granddaughter?”

“She’s great. I know everybody says this, but she really is gorgeous. Big eyes, little pink bow mouth, and this fine brown hair. I can’t wait to get my hands on her. Marcy let me hold her for a half a minute, but she was hovering the whole time so it was no fun at all.”

She’d smoothed on the first two coats of frosting before I arrived and she was now piping an elaborate design on the top. “This is for a kid’s birthday party. Actually, a thirteen-year-old who’s into Dungeons and Dragons, in case you’re wondering.”

She’d set up a series of parchment-paper cones, each filled with a different vividly tinted icing, each capped with a metal tip cut to produce a specific effect-leaves, shells, scrolls, flower petals, and rope bordering. With a practiced hand and steady pressure, she created a dragon with a strange dog-shaped face. Switching cones, she defined its arched body in vibrant lime green and orange frostings, and then added strong red frosting to detail the flames that twisted from the dragon’s mouth.

“I’ve seen that dragon. It was on a kimono hanging on the back of Daisy’s bathroom door.”

“That was her mother’s. I’ve got the image burned indelibly on my brain.”

I felt myself tripping backward to the notion of Violet buried alive, as though i were in the car instead. Given the size of the Bel Air, there would have been sufficient oxygen to last for a while. The suffocation would have been slow, shutting her down by degrees. Anyone with asthma or emphysema would identify with her panic and suffering. I could only guess. Still, I found myself breathing deeply for the pure pleasure and relief.

When Liza finished decorating the cake, she opened the refrigerator door and tucked it on a shelf. She untied her apron and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair. “What’s this about?”

I’d hoped to be subtle, working my way around to the subject by some delicate route, but I’d been sidetracked by the image of the dragon and came right out with it. “I think you lied about Foley.”

“ I did?” She seemed taken aback, her tone tinged with surprise, as though falsely accused. Thousands might have lied about Foley, but surely not her. “About what?”