S is for Silence

“Could she have stopped to let the dog out?”

“I didn’t see the dog. At the time, it didn’t occur to me there was anything creepy going on. Now, I don’t know.”

14

Winston drove us to the location on New Cut Road where he’d seen Violet’s car. I wanted to take a look at the spot but didn’t intend to press the point since he was due back at work.

He laughed when I expressed my concern. “Don’t sweat it. Chet won’t fire me. I’m the schmuck who pays his daughter’s bills.”

He took Highway 166 east out of Cromwell and after three miles, turned right onto New Cut Road, which was laid out on a diagonal that intersected Highway 1 to the south. Before September of 1953, when New Cut was finished, drivers were forced to go miles out of their way when heading from Santa Maria to Silas, Arnaud, or Serena Station. The old Ta

Winston pulled into the Ta

“Somewhere along in here,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “I remember the heavy equipment and big mounds of dirt. The road was being graded, and there was this line of big orange cones and a temporary barricade across the unpaved portion to discourage through traffic, not that there was much. Now that I’m looking at it though, it’s hard to pinpoint the spot.”

He crossed the road and I followed, watching as he pivoted. He walked backward for a few steps, trying to get his bearings. “I didn’t realize the road ran so close to the Ta

I said, “Maybe it’s like a house under construction. When all you have is the slab, the rooms seem so small. Then the walls go up and everything suddenly looks much bigger.”

He smiled. “Right. I never have figured out how that works. You’d think it’d be the other way around.”

“Any chance you passed her on the road? If she had car trouble she might have tried walking to the nearest phone.”

“Oh no. There’s no way I’d have missed her if she’d been out there. I did keep an eye out, but you can see for yourself, she’d have had to hike for miles. Fu

“Don’t do that to yourself. It’s probably not important in the overall scheme of things.”

“I suppose not. She was going to do whatever she did regardless of me. I just wish I’d been a gentleman and done the right thing.”

“On the other hand, she didn’t do you any favors.”

I opened the map and then folded it in thirds so I could check the relative distances between points. “Here’s what puzzles me. The service station near Tullis couldn’t be more than three miles away. She filled her tank at roughly six thirty so it’s hard to believe she’d run out of gas so soon.”

Winston shrugged. “She could have been waiting for someone. This is a hell of an isolated spot. I was only out here by happenstance. I’d been driving around randomly. I got this far and realized there wasn’t any place else to go. This was literally the end of the road.”

“Did you see any other cars?”

“No. I just remember the pitch-black dark. It was a clear night, and I could hear the muffled sound of the fireworks in Silas, off in that direction.”

“Which means it had to be before nine thirty when the fireworks display ended.”

“True. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Foley swears he was at the park and I gather there were people willing to vouch for him. Meanwhile, what was she doing out here? By nine thirty she should have been two hundred miles away.”

We chatted idly of other things on our way back into town. When we pulled into the dealership, Winston dropped me at my car. I got out and then leaned in the window. “Thanks for lunch,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your telling me about the car. I’m not sure it’s significant, but it’s fresh information and that’s encouraging.”

“I’m glad.”

“One more quick question and then I’ll let you get back to work. This business about you and Kathy. Is that classified?”

“You mean, is it a secret? By no means.”

“I’m asking because I’ll be talking to Daisy later, bringing her up to speed. I can certainly keep the information to myself if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t care who knows. Kathy’s always airing our problems, blabbing to her girlfriends and then sharing their opinions, as long as they coincide with hers. You can tell anyone you want. The more the merrier. Let her see how it feels.”

Once I left him, I pulled off on a side street and made notes. I’d been the happy beneficiary of Winston’s anger at his wife. His report about the car had created more questions than it answered, but at least he’d placed her on New Cut Road when the sheriff’s department assumed that she’d already left town. Or died. But if Foley killed her and buried her, how had he pulled it off? The Sullivans had only one car, and if it was parked out on New Cut Road, how did he get there and back? The park in the little town of Silas was six miles away. Granted, there was a three-hour gap between the end of the fireworks and his arriving home, but it would have taken him that long just to walk as far as New Cut Road and back. And what could he have done with the car? Winston had speculated that Violet might have been out there waiting for someone, in which case they might have hightailed it out of town as soon as he showed up. That possibility was at least compatible with the facts. What seemed worrisome was the dog. From all reports, Baby yapped incessantly, so why hadn’t Winston heard her bark?

At 4:00 I presented myself at Liza Clements’s front door. The house itself was plain, a long wood-frame box with a nondescript porch built across the front. The Santa Maria neighborhood was nicely maintained, but it had seen better days. Trees and shrubs had grown too large for the lots, but no one had had the nerve to cut them down. Consequently, the yards were dark and the windows were obscured by evergreens that towered above the rooflines. The shade created a chilliness that seemed to shroud all the houses on the block.

The woman who answered the door looked much younger than her years. She wore te

“You’re Liza?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Kinsey Millhone.”

It took another half a beat before she remembered who I was and then she put a hand to her mouth. “I’d forgotten you were coming. I’m so sorry. Please come in.”

“Is this an okay time?”

“Fine. I didn’t mean to cut you short yesterday, but I was halfway down the walk when I heard the phone ring.”

I stepped into a living room that was ten feet by twelve, furnished out of Pier 1 Imports with very little money but a good eye for design: wicker, plump Indonesian tan-and-black block-print pillows, a reed rug on the floor, and lots of houseplants that, on a second glance, turned out to be fakes.

“No problem. Thanks for seeing me today. Are you a chef?”

“Not with any formal training. I bake as a hobby, but I’ve been doing it for years. I make wedding cakes in the main, but just about anything else you’d want. Why don’t you have a seat?”