S Is for Silence

She didn’t approve of the Sullivans. She thought they were heathens, which was none of her concern, but the woman never could leave well enough alone. She got on him about Daisy. The little girl had never been baptized and Livia thought it was disgraceful. Foley was drunk by then and told her exactly what she could go and do with herself. Livia made sure everyone in town heard what he’d said. In her mind, it was one more example of what a lowlife he was.”
    “You didn’t see Violet?”
    He shook his head. “Last time I saw Violet was the day before. She was driving around town in that new car of hers and she stopped to have a chat.”
    “You remember the subject?”
    “Mostly she was showing off. She’d come back from taking Daisy and Liza Mellincamp to lunch and a movie in Santa Maria. She had errands to run, so she’d dropped the girls at the house while she was out and about.”
    “You’ve got a good memory.”
    He smiled. “I’d like to take credit, but the subject comes up every other year—some journalist in town. I’ve told the story so often, I could do it in my sleep.”
    “I’ll bet. When you talked to Violet, she seemed okay to you?”
    “As much as she ever did. She had her ups and downs, what I believe they call bipolar these days.”
    “Really. That’s new. No one’s mentioned mood swings.”
    “That was my observation. I’m not up on these things so it’s only a guess on my part. She did a lot of crying in her beer, so to speak.”
    “Daisy remembers her parents getting into a big fight the night before. This would have been Thursday night. She says Foley tore down a panel of her mother’s curtains. Violet blew her stack, tore down the rest of them and threw ’em in the trash. Did you hear about that?”
    He shook his head slightly. “Sounds like something she’d do. Why bring that up?”
    “I’ve heard that’s why Foley ended up buying her the car, to make amends.”
    “Must not have done much good if she left anyway,” he said. “Fellow you want to talk to is my partner, BW, who tended bar back then. Unfortunately, he’s not in tonight or I’d introduce you.”
    “Daisy suggested his name, too. Could you let him know I’m trying to get in touch?”
    “How about I tell you where he’ll be at seven in the morning and you can talk to him yourself? Maxi’s Coffee Shop. It’s right on the road between Silas and Serena Station. He’s there every morning for an hour or so.”
    I could feel my eyes cross at the notion of an early morning drive. I’d have to leave S.T. at dawn. “I’d hate to pop in unannounced. He might not like being quizzed while he’s enjoying his morning coffee and eating his eggs.”
    “BW won’t care. He’s an easygoing guy and he loves to hold court.”
    “How would I recognize him?”
    “Easy. He weighs three hundred pounds and his head is shaved.”
    He glanced at the entrance behind me, and I turned to see Daisy and Tannie coming in the door. They spotted us and crossed to the table with Tannie leading the way. She was sunburned from a day spent outside battling the brush, but she’d managed in the interim to shower and change clothes. Her jeans were freshly pressed and her white blouse was crisp, her hair still damp and tucked under a baseball cap. Daisy wore a red cotton cardigan over a red-and-white-print dress. She’d pulled her blond hair back, clamping it in place with a red plastic clip.
    Jake rose as they approached. Tannie gave her dad a buss on the cheek. “Hey, Pop. I see you’ve met Kinsey,” she said, and then slipped into the chair beside mine.
    He pulled out a chair for Daisy. “How’re you doing, Daisy? You’re looking good.”
    “Thanks. I’m fine. Place smells divine.”
    “I got an eight-ounce filet with your name on it.”
    Tannie lowered her gaze, but the comment she made was directed to me. “Don’t look now, but Chet Cramer just walked in with Caroleena, the Violet Sullivan clone.”
    Of course, I looked straight up, catching Chet Cramer’s eye. His smile was friendly, but I noticed he promptly steered his wife toward another part of the bar. From the glimpse I had, she looked too old to be dying her hair such a harsh shade of red. Her pale complexion was more the result of makeup than the delicate Irish coloring she hoped to simulate. Tight dress, big boobs, getting thick in the waist.
    “Does she really look like Violet?”
    “Oh, hardly,” Daisy scoffed. “That woman’s a cow. My