S is for Silence (Kinsey Millhone 19)

He looked up as Tom Padgett appeared in the door. Tom was staring back over his shoulder, the light glinting off his glasses. He brought his gaze around to the scene in front of him: Jake’s shirt soaked, Winston drunk, BW behind the bar, looking rooted in place. “What the hell is going on?”

Jake tried calling Violet twice on Thursday afternoon, but the phone rang and rang, apparently to an empty house. The third time he called, Foley Sullivan picked up and Jake returned the handset to the cradle without saying a word. He spent Thursday evening at the hospital with Mary Hairl, which he hadn’t meant to do, but she seemed so pleased and grateful to see him, he nearly convinced himself that he’d done it for her. In truth, he was too anxious to stay home. A whisper of fear had settled in his gut. Violet was reckless, and he wouldn’t put it past her to bring the roof down around her head if she thought she was getting even with him. He felt safe in Mary Hairl’s company, as though in looking after her, he could look after himself. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that by staying at her side, he hoped to ward off the disaster that was heading his way.

He called Friday at lunchtime, but again there was no answer. He drove through Serena Station, looking for any sign of her. He ran an errand in Silas and then swung back through town and parked across the street from the post office so he could pick up his mail. Miraculously he spotted her, driving the brand-new Chevrolet he’d seen in Chet Cramer’s showroom. He was just crossing the street when she slowed to a stop. She leaned over and waited until he was even with the open window. “So what do you think?”

She looked radiant. Gone was the dark rage and in its place was a Violet Sullivan as tickled as a kid with a shiny new bike. He found himself smiling. “Where’d you get that? It’s pretty slick.”

“It’s mine. Foley bought it for me.”

“Bought it? I thought Foley was broke.”

“Oh, he has his little ways. He must have pulled a fast one on Chet because he went off this morning before nine, came home an hour later, and parked this little beauty at the curb.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Who needs an occasion? He’s nuts about me. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he went berserk last night and tore the house apart. My brand-new lace curtains ended up in the trash. Where’re you off to? You want a ride around the block?”

“Nah, I got things to take care of. Maybe another time,” he said. He noticed a pair of white cardboard glasses sitting on the front seat. “Those your sunglasses?”

She glanced down. “No, what these?” She picked them up and put them on. “I took Daisy and Liza Mellincamp to that 3-D movie this afternoon. Bwana Devil. Daisy’s going to have nightmares for a month.”

“Kids will do that,” he said mildly.

“Anyway, I gotta be some place so I better let you go. Tah-tah,” she said. She put her foot on the gas and took off.

He’d never seen her so cheerful or so full of goodwill. He returned to his car with an overwhelming sense of relief. Maybe everything was okay and he could breathe again.

He went back to the hospital late that afternoon, feeling lighter than he had in months. It was not quite 5:00, but the dinner carts were already in the hall. He’d sit with her through dinner and spend the evening with her until she was settled in for the night. He’d bought Mary Hairl a little houseplant to keep beside her bed. The gal at the florist’s shop had wrapped it in a high cone of green tissue paper with a bright purple bow. Jake thought she’d be pleased to have something colorful to look at. He got on the elevator and went up to the second floor. As the doors opened, he stopped in his tracks. Mary Hairl’s father was standing in the hall, his face stony. Something had happened to Mary Hairl. Maybe she’d taken a turn for the worse; maybe she was dead. Cold seeped up from the floor and climbed his frame.

Hairl held a Bible in one hand, and in the other he clutched a piece of pink notepaper, covered with a slanting scrawl of black ink. “You son of a bitch. Tell me on this Bible you never lusted in your heart. Tell me you never lain with Violet Sullivan and don’t you lie. My poor girl, my only girl, she’s in there dying as we speak. She probably doesn’t have but a week to live. So you tell me you didn’t put that pecker of yours in that vile whore’s mouth! Swear on this book! This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, Son. You think I don’t know that? Word gets around and I heard about every single one of your affairs. You thought you were being sly, but you never fooled me. I could barely stand to look you in the eye, but I kept hush for Mary Hairl’s sake. I should have said something years ago, but she worshiped you. Worshiped the ground you walked on. You’re a failure. You’re worthless. You can’t even manage to earn a decent wage. Weren’t for me, you’d be on welfare. And now there you are, off in some bar making a public display of yourself.”