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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.
I fired up the kettle and made myself a cup of tea, which I sipped while I sat at the kitchen counter and sorted through my notes. I thought it was entirely possible that I’d already spoken to Violet’s killer. The motive might have been anything-jealousy, hatred, greed, revenge-but I knew the killing itself was cold-blooded because the hole had been dug well in advance of the burial. The killer couldn’t have been sure the necessary equipment would be on the scene unless he’d set it up that way. When Violet disappeared, her money had disappeared as well. Ostensibly, she’d taken possession of the fifty thousand dollars in her safe deposit box. She’d also borrowed two thousand from her brother and five hundred dollars from her mother, in addition to the jewelry she’d stolen. So where did all the money and the jewelry end up? It was always possible the stash would be found in the car, but if the killer knew she had it, why not help himself to the money before he bulldozed the dirt back into the hole?
He had to be someone she knew and probably a local, since he was sufficiently familiar with both the Ta
Foley Sullivan was still at the top of my list. Granted, I’d found the man sympathetic, but he’d had years of practice declaring his i
I went back to the notes I’d taken after talking to Chet Cramer. I couldn’t see what he had to gain, but I didn’t rule him out. He didn’t strike me as a fellow with much experience operating heavy equipment, but I’d jotted down an offhand remark he’d made. He’d said you could always hire somebody to do your dirty work.
I thought about Winston Smith, who’d been fired because of Violet. While Cramer had rehired him the following week, he hadn’t known about that when she vanished. I was iffy about him. He was convinced she’d ruined his life, which in some ways she had. If he’d gotten the education he’d pla
I knew little about Tom Padgett, but he was worth checking out. Steve Ottweiler? Nah. I put a tick by his name, but only in the interest of being fair. As long as I was suspicious of the other guys, I might as well include him. He’d been sixteen at the time, and from Violet’s point of view, he was probably fair game. However, if the two had engaged in a torrid affair, why kill the golden goose? I added BW’s and Jake’s names to the list.
I kept thinking I’d overlooked something obvious, but I couldn’t think what it was.
I took a break and made myself a peanut butter and pickle sandwich for my supper. I substituted a paper napkin for a plate and thus reduced the dirty dishes to a bare minimum. I was just in the process of washing my knife when the telephone rang.
The woman on the other end of the line said, “This is A
“Are you the Ericksen who once lived at 3906 Land’s End Road in Serena Station?”
There was a cautious silence. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m sorry. I should have explained myself earlier. I’m interested in contacting the family who lived next door to Foley and Violet Sullivan in 1953.”
“That was my parents’ house, where I grew up.”
“Really? Wow, that’s great. I’m lucky you didn’t get married or I’d have never tracked you down.”
“Oh, honey. I’m gay. You couldn’t pay me to get married. I got troubles enough.”
“Do you remember Violet?”
“Not directly. I was a little kid back then, but people have been talking about her for years and years. We lived next door to the Sullivans when I was growing up. I suppose you know they found her buried in her car.”
I said, “So I heard. Look, I know this is a long shot, but is there anything you can tell me about Violet?”
“No, I’m sorry to say I don’t remember her, but I do remember that Fourth of July.”
“You’re kidding. You remember that particular Fourth of July?”
“I sure do. We’d gone to the fireworks and afterwards Daisy’s friend Ta
I could feel myself blinking, wondering if the woman had made a fundamental mistake. “I was told Ta
“Oh, she did, but we ran into them at the park, and Ta
“Did he say where he was going?”
“If he did, it didn’t register with me. He might have told Mother, but she’s long dead. Why not ask Ta
“I’ll do that, thanks. I truly appreciate your help.”
“You’re entirely welcome.”
27
Saturday, July 4, 1953
Liza Mellincamp often thought about her fourteenth birthday, which fell on July 3, 1953, the day before Violet Sullivan left Serena Station. Years later, she found it hard to believe so much changed in that forty-eight-hour period. She’d spent the morning of her birthday cleaning her room. Violet was taking her out for lunch, and Liza wanted to be ready in plenty of time. She had never eaten in a real restaurant and she could hardly contain herself. She and her mother had once shared a tuna sandwich at a drugstore lunch counter, but that wasn’t the same.
At 9:30 she turned on her Philco clock radio and listened to The Romance of Helen Trent and Our Gal Sunday while she made her bed, emptied the wastebasket, and shoved her dirty clothes into the hamper. Monday, she’d take everything to the Laundromat as she did every week. She’d end up doing most of the household chores in any event because her mom was usually too drunk to do much except lie on the couch in the living room, smoking cigarettes and burning holes in the rim of the wood coffee table. She tidied and dusted her desktop, night table, and bookshelves. She shook out the scatter rugs off the porch rail and left them there to air. She wet-mopped the linoleum on her bedroom floor and then went over it with Johnson’s Jubilee, liking the glossy wet shine, though she knew it would dull as it dried. In the bathroom, she scrubbed the tub, toilet, and sink with Babbo cleanser. There were too many chips and stains to make a difference, but she felt better knowing it was done.
At 11:00 she ironed her best white Ship’n Shore blouse with the Peter Pan collar and baby doll sleeves. She took a shower and got dressed. Violet had called to say she had a big surprise, and when she and Daisy swung by the house at 11:45, she was driving a brand-new Chevrolet. She laughed at Liza’s wide-eyed response. Liza couldn’t remember ever even sitting in a new car, and here she was marveling at the white sidewall tires, the dashboard, the interior upholstery, and shiny chrome window cranks.