S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

Depressed, Chet went into his office and took a seat in his leather chair, swiveling so he could look out at the side lot with its row after row of gleaming trucks. The Advance Design Series truck had hit the market in June of 1948, and he still marveled at its features-the front-opening hood; the concealed door hinges; the tall, fixed two-piece windshield. Two years later, the company had introduced the NAPCO four-wheel-drive conversion. Since the kit wasn’t factory installed, the customer first had to buy a new Chevrolet or GMC truck, but the light truck was coming into its own and profits had soared.

He knew the specs on every vehicle that came onto the lot and he knew the needs of workers in the area-farmers, plumbers, roofers, and carpenters. As a result, he moved more trucks than any other dealer in the county, and he intended to keep it that way.

“Mr. Cramer? Could I speak to you?”

Chet turned to find Winston in the doorway. The afternoon temperatures had climbed into the nineties and Winston was sweating unattractively. He’d have to find a way to instruct him in the use of antiperspirant. Chet got to his feet and moved around his desk, holding out his hand for Winston to shake. “Good, son. Glad you’re back. I saw you’d taken the coupe. I hope you’ve got a live one on the line. Let’s see if you remember what I taught you about reeling in a sale.”

He intended to go out to the showroom with Winston so he could offer the potential buyer a handshake and his personal greeting. Customers liked to meet the man who owned the place. It made them feel important. He’d answer any questions the fellow had, ask a few of his own, and generally smooth the way. Winston was inexperienced, and Chet thought he’d appreciate his boss stepping in to show him how it was done.

Winston’s forehead was beaded with perspiration, and he had to use his pocket handkerchief to mop his upper lip. His Adam’s apple dipped. “Well, that’s just it. The customer took the car out to get a feel for how she handles…”

“With one of the mechanics? Son, that’s a very bad idea. This is a sales situation. That’s your job. Any question about the nuts and bolts can wait until the deal’s in place. I’ll find a way to turn the situation to our advantage, but you can’t let this happen again.”

He could see Winston was uncomfortable at the correction, but there was a right way and a wrong way to go about these things, and he might as well conform to management guidelines straight off the bat. Chet passed Kathy’s desk on his way to the floor, with Winston hard on his heels. Kathy was suddenly very busy, fussing around her desk, but she flicked a look at Winston as the two men went by. Chet had seen her mooning around and he knew she had a crush on the young man, but her expression today held a touch of guilt. Surely Winston hadn’t made a pass at her. He couldn’t be that dumb.

He caught sight of both his mechanics in the service bay, but there was no sign of the car. He stopped in his tracks, and Winston nearly bumped into him like a cartoon character.

“Mr. Cramer? What happened was… the customer? She’s extremely interested in the car. I talked to her at length and she as good as said she’d be buying it. She even went so far as to mention an all-cash deal. So when she asked for a test drive, I explained for sure that I couldn’t leave the lot, and she said that was fine-she didn’t need my help, because all she was going to do was drive around the block and she’d be right back.”

Chet turned and stared. He felt his heart give a thump, as though someone had punched him, boom boom, in the chest-blows that pumped a thick, cold liquid through his veins. He must have misunderstood, because what he heard Winston say simply couldn’t be true. Cora Padgett was the only woman in town who had the wherewithal to walk into a dealership, take a car off the floor, and pay cash on the spot. But Tom had told him over lunch that she was out of town. Cora had gone to Napa to tour the wineries with her sister, Margaret, who lived in Walnut Creek. She wouldn’t be back until Wednesday of the following week-unless this was meant as a surprise and she’d told Tom a story so she could buy the car without his knowing in advance. “What are you talking about? What customer?”

“Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Sullivan?”

“Yes, sir. Violet Sullivan came in. She’s in the market for a car-”

“You let Violet Sullivan take that car out by herself? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry. I can see how it might look, what with company policy and everything like that. I told her to come right back, you know, that it wasn’t a good idea-”