S Is for Silence

learned never to waste his efforts. Once he made a plan, he carried it out—a principle that had always paid off handsomely for him.
    He chatted with the teller, completed his business, and was just on his way out when he ran into the loan officer, Herbert Greer, who’d clearly made a point of intercepting him. Tom had been avoiding him because he knew the guy was going to press him for the money he owed. Now, with his newfound funds waiting in the wings, he greeted Greer like an old friend, shaking his hand with real warmth. “Herb, how are you? I’m glad I ran into you.”
    Herb was clearly not prepared for Tom’s friendliness after weeks of evasions and excuses. Herb said, “I thought you were out of town. I left a couple of messages with Cora earlier this week, and when you didn’t respond I assumed you were off gallivanting around.”
    “Not me. Cora’s the one who’s gone. She took off this morning to visit her sister up in Walnut Creek. Naughty girl. She didn’t mention you’d called. I had no idea.”
    “It must have slipped her mind.”
    “No doubt. She’s usually good about these things, but she was in a rush to get packed and on the road. Anyway, I was going to stop by your desk earlier, but I saw you were on the phone.”
    Herb was cautiously pleased at the suggestion, probably imagining he’d have to tackle Tom and bring him down before any such appointment would be made or kept. “Why don’t you have a seat at my desk and we can do that right now?”
    Tom looked at his watch, his expression tinged with regret. “Can’t. Daggone it. I’m having lunch at the country club with Chet Cramer and I’m late as it is.”
    “I thought I saw you at the club with him yesterday.”
    “True. I didn’t realize you were there. You should have stopped by the table to say hello. I think I might have mentioned we’re in discussions about a partnership. He knows the heavy-equipment business, which he says isn’t that different from a dealership.”
    “I had no idea you had a deal in the works. Good for you.”
    “Well, we’ve yet to hammer out the details, but you know him. There’s a guy who takes his time. No point in pushing him. He likes to have all his ducks in a row before he takes the plunge.”
    “We’ve worked with Chet for years. He’s solid as they come.”
    “Tell you what, if we can reach an agreement, I’ll bring him along and maybe we can talk about ways to make this thing work.”
    “Always amenable. I hope you’ll give him my regards.”
    “Happy to.”
    “Shall we say Monday? Ten o’clock?”
    “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
    And for the first time in his life, Tom left the bank feeling optimistic. As soon as Loden Galsworthy’s money came in, he’d be able to expand. Now all he needed was another big whack of cash so he could pay off his bank loan on Monday.

25
    By the time Daisy came out of her bedroom at 8:00 Saturday morning, Tannie had left for home. From my makeshift pallet on the couch, I’d heard her come out of the guest room and creep into the bathroom, quietly closing the door. I must have dozed because the next thing I knew, she was slipping through the living room with an overnight case in hand. Out on the street, I heard her car start and then all was quiet again until Daisy got up.
    Tannie had stripped her sheets and left them on the guest-room floor with her damp towel on top. Daisy shoved everything in the washing machine and then loaned me a pair of sweatpants so I could add my jeans to the mix. We took turns in the bathroom. I grabbed a quick shower while she started the coffee and then I ate a bowl of cereal while she took my place. By 8:35 we were dressed, fed, and on our way to the Tanner property to check the progress on the excavation. We took her car, leaving mine in her garage. The day was clear and sunny, the air rapidly warming as we made the drive.
    The road was still blocked to through traffic, but the deputy waved us past the barrier when Daisy identified herself. I’d apparently been given dispensation to accompany her. We parked the requisite twenty-five yards from the dig and got out of the car. The sagging yellow crime-scene tape trembled in the breeze with a light snapping sound. I recognized the faces from the day before: both crime-scene techs, Detective Nichols, the young deputy, and Tim Schaefer, who’d made himself a permanent fixture, although confined to the periphery like the rest of us. Despite the