S Is for Silence

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—”
    “How long has she been gone?” His voice sounded shrill and he knew he was losing control. He made a point of never speaking to an underling in anything other than a civil tone. But the enormity of the error, the possible consequences…
    “I didn’t check the time—”
    “Approximately, you dolt!”
    “I’d say sometime around noon. Well, I don’t know, maybe a little bit before then, but close enough.”
    Assume he minimized and what were we talking about here, four hours? Five? Chet closed his eyes and his voice dropped. “You’re fired. Get out.”
    “But sir. I can explain.”
    “Get off the lot. Right now. I want you out of my sight or I’m calling the police.”
    The boy’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and the look Winston pinned on him was bleak.
    Chet waited until he could see the boy was leaving, and then he turned and walked back to his office. He’d have to notify the sheriff’s department and the highway patrol. If she’d been involved in a wreck, or if she’d stolen the car outright, she could be anyplace by now. He had liability insurance, blanket coverage for anything on the lot, but his premiums would double the minute he made a claim. Money was already tight. He sat down in his swivel chair and reached for the phone.
    “Daddy?” Kathy was in the doorway.
    “What!”
    “Mrs. Sullivan just pulled in.”
    Through the glass he spotted the car and relief washed over him. The vehicle didn’t appear to be damaged, at least the parts he could see. He went out to the floor, knowing that in no way possible could she afford to buy the coupe. Violet turned as he approached, and he was startled by her vibrancy—the flaming hair, the creamy skin, her eyes a vivid green. He’d never seen her at close range because Livia made a point of crossing the street, tugging him by the arm, if she spotted Violet anywhere in town. She thought Violet was a tramp, wearing those sheer nylon blouses you could see right through. The sundress Violet wore today emphasized the suppleness of her arms, and the flowing skirt showed her legs to advantage. Livia was thick-waisted and narrow-minded, critical of others whose circumstances or beliefs or behaviors were an affront to her own. Chet was irritated by her scathing pronouncements, but he’d kept his mouth shut. From afar, he’d seen Violet’s flirtations with married men, and he’d wondered how it would feel to have her attentions lavished on him.
    “Hello, Chet. Sorry I was gone so long.”
    He circled the car until he was satisfied no harm had come to it. On impulse, he leaned in and checked the odometer: 257 miles. For a moment he was speechless. She’d turned this beautiful new Bel Air into a piece-of-shit used car. “Come into the office,” he snapped.
    Violet caught up with him and tucked a hand through his arm, forcing him to slow his pace. “Are you mad at me, Chet? May I call you ‘Chet’?”
    “You can call me ‘Mr. Cramer’ like everyone else. You put two hundred fifty-seven