Four Sue Grafton Novels

by Sue Grafton

  “Bad boys can be appealing if you have a reckless streak.”

  “Ah, I see what you mean, but there’s no chance. We spent every waking minute together, and if I wasn’t with him I was with her.”

  “Just a thought.”

  “It wasn’t him. I can guarantee you that.”

  “You really suffered a double whammy, losing Ty and Violet virtually the same day.”

  Her smile was fleeting. “Luck of the draw. You play the hand you’re dealt. There’s no point in dwelling on it afterwards.”

  15

  TOM

  Wednesday, July 1, 1953

  Tom Padgett sat in the Blue Moon, working on his second beer while he brooded about life. Thinking about it later, he could visualize that sequence of events—narrow slivers of reality lined up like the pickets in a fence. Or maybe not the pickets so much as the spaces between. Over the course of three months, his perception had shifted, and suddenly he realized the world was not as he’d imagined it—fair, equitable, or just. People were grasping and self-centered. People were busy looking out for themselves. That had actually shocked him, discovering that truth, though it was apparently obvious to everyone else. In a remarkably short period of time, he’d gone from hope and optimism to a much bleaker view of human nature until, finally, reluctantly, he’d realized he was among the disenfranchised, which was perhaps where he’d been all along.

  The first glimpse he’d had of what was coming his way occurred in a counseling session back in the spring. April Fool’s Day in point of fact, which should have been a clue. He and Cora had been married for three years, knocking heads for the better part of two. They were like two dogs tugging on opposing ends of a towel, going round and round, yanking and jerking, but neither one giving ground. Basically the struggle was about power, and the measure of power was related to control of the funds, of which she had the bulk. He couldn’t remember who’d suggested the meeting with the minister at the church where he and Cora attended services. He wasn’t a religious man himself, but Cora felt church was important and that was good enough for him. She was, of course, fifty-six years old, closer to her demise than he was at the age of forty-one, so that might have had its effect. Where he’d sworn up and down the age difference between them didn’t mean a thing to him, he could see that it was going to be tougher as the years went by. Cora looked every bit of her fifty-six years. Her face, not beautiful to begin with, had suffered a collapse in the course of one year, right after she turned fifty-five. He had no idea why, but it was as if somebody yanked a chain and a curtain of wrinkles descended with a thud. Her neck looked like something that had sat unattended in the dryer for days. Her hair had thinned. She started going to the beauty parlor twice a week to have it fluffed and back-combed into an appearance of volume. The problem was he could see right through the ratting to the scalp beneath. She needed constant reassurances, anything to soothe her insecurities. The one thing that gave her confidence was all the money she had. Tom was coming into his prime, but he hadn’t made quite the success of himself that he’d hoped. Part of that was Cora’s fault because she had the wherewithal to help, but she refused to lift a finger. Which is what had brought them to the pastor’s study. Tom had made a cursory study of the Old and New Testaments, and he was pleased with the many admonitions about a wife’s duty to her spouse. She was meant to be his helpmeet, submissive in everything. It said so right there in 1st Peter 3, verses 1 through 12.

  That’s what he was hoping to get down to.

  Here’s how it went instead.

  The pastor, in a mild and caring tone, had asked him what he saw as the problem.

  Tom had his answer all set. “In a nutshell, I see marriage as a partnership of equals, like a team, but that’s not what I’m dealing with here. She has no faith in me, and that undercuts any faith I might have in myself. I’m no expert on the Bible, but Scripturewise, that doesn’t seem right.”

  Cora had jumped in, giving the minister her side. “But we’re not equals. I brought a fortune into this marriage and he didn’t have a dime. I don’t understand why I have to sacrifice half of what I have so he’ll feel like a whole man.”

  The minister said, “I understand what you’re saying, Cora, but there has to be a little give here.”

  Cora blinked at the man. “Give?”

  The minister turned to him. “Tom?”

  “I’m not asking for a nickel of her money. All I want is a little help getting on my feet.”

  “Why don’t you direct your comments to her?”

  “Sure. Of course. I’d be happy to. What I can’t understand is your attitude. It’s not like you earned the money. Loden Galsworthy did that. When you met him, you were clerking in a dry goods store. He was a shrewd businessman. His funeral parlors are a big success, and I admire that about him. Who else would be ghoulish enough to make money off the dead? I’m asking for the chance to show you that I’m just as good or better.”

  “Why do you insist on seeing yourself in competition with him?”

  “I don’t. I’m not. How can I compete when the man is dead? Cora, I’m not a taker. That’s not my nature. Given half a chance, I can prove it to you. All I need is a stake.”

  “Loden didn’t have money handed to him. He earned it all himself.”

  “But he was born a man of privilege as you well know. I admit I come from humbler stock. You come from humble stock yourself and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. What I don’t see is why you’d begrudge me the opportunity.”

  “What do you call the twenty thousand dollars I loaned you last fall?”

  “That wasn’t enough to do me any good. I tried telling you at the time. You might as well have made it twenty dollars instead of twenty thousand. You can’t start a business without capital outlay, especially one like mine. But look at what I’ve accomplished. I got myself up and running and I did it on my own. What I’m talking about now is a little boost.”

  “If your business were up and running, you wouldn’t be sitting here trying to browbeat me into giving you more.”

  Tom looked at the minister. “Browbeating? Is this browbeating when I’m practically down on my hands and knees?”

  The minister said, “I think Cora can appreciate your position in this.”

  Tom said to Cora, “No, wait a minute. Who’s idea was this? Mine. I’m here trying to work things out, trying to resolve our differences with precious little help from you.”

  “You’re here because you thought you could use him to pressure me into it. I’m sorry, but I won’t give you a cent. It’s out of the question.”

  “I’m not asking you to give me the money. We’re talking about a loan. We can draw up any kind of papers you like and I’ll sign on the dotted line. I don’t want charity. I want your trust and respect. Is that too much to ask?”

  Cora stared at her hands.

  Tom thought she was formulating a reply, but then he realized this was her reply. He could feel the heat rise in his face. Her silence said everything. She had no respect for him and she had no trust. What it all boiled down to was she’d married him knowing full well that his financial situation was limited. She’d said it didn’t matter, but he could see now that what she wanted was the upper hand. Money was control and she had no intention of surrendering her advantage. When she’d been married to Loden he’d held the whip and she’d been dependent, jumping through hoops. Now she was doing the same thing to him.

  He couldn’t remember how the session ended. Certainly not with Cora making a concession of any kind.

  They’d been silent walking to the car, silent on the way home. He’d dropped her at the house and headed straight for the Moon. Violet was there that night. She’d perched on the stool next to his and he’d bought her a glass of red wine. She was half in the bag, but then again, so was he by this time. “What has you so down in the dumps?” she’d asked.

  “It’s Cora. We had a counseling session with the minister and somewhere in the middle, t
he light finally dawned. The woman doesn’t trust me and she has no respect. I don’t understand it. She married me for better or for worse. This is worse, where I am, but she won’t lend a hand to pull me out of a hole.”

  “What kind of hole?”

  “Money, what else? My business needs a boost. That’s all I’m talking about.”

  Violet had laughed. “She’s supposed to give you money? Why should she do that?”

  “I’d do it for her. What’s marriage about if not sharing fifty-fifty? Doesn’t that sound fair?”

  “Sure, but in this case, both halves belong to her. What do you have to offer?”

  “Business savvy. I’m a businessman.”

  “You’re a horse’s ass. You sound just like Foley. He’d love to get his big mitts on my money. It’s like the Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip.”

  “You don’t see yourselves as a team?”

  “Sure. We’re made for each other. He’s the boxer and I’m the punching bag.”

  “You wouldn’t give him anything? Even if it might make a difference in his life?”

  “Of course not. Why should I? He’d piss it away.”

  “You women are hard. I’ve never seen anything like it. The Bible says wives should be submissive to their husbands. Didn’t you ever hear about that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither did my wife. It’s not even her money. She got it from that old fart she was married to. Hell, I’d have married the man myself if he’d asked me nice.”

  Violet’s eyebrows went up. “Why? Are you one of them?”

  “No, I’m not one of them. I’m just making a point.”

  “You don’t know what women go through to get money.”

  Tom said, “Well, I can make it easy for you. That money you got? You give it to me and I’ll promise you a forty percent return in three months. Guaranteed.”

  “Bullshit.” She took out a cigarette and Tom leaned forward with a light. She blew out a stream of smoke and gave him a speculative look. “I got a question for you. How come you never come on to me? Don’t you find me attractive?”

  “I do. Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”

  “You’re a stud. I can tell by looking at you.”

  Tom laughed, embarrassed. “Well, I appreciate your confidence. I’m not sure Cora would agree.”

  “I’m serious. How long have we been talking like this? How many times we been in here dancing and clowning around? But you never make a move. What’s that all about?”

  “I can’t believe you’d criticize me when I’m the only guy in town who’s not trying to get in your pants. You know why that is? I’ll tell you why. I’m more interested in this,” he said, tapping his head. “Sure, we could take a tumble in the hay. And then what? You’d move on to someone else. I’d rather be your friend.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “You know what grieves me? To see a mind like yours go to waste. You’re so busy fending off that psychopath you’re married to you don’t have the time or energy to do anything else. Why don’t you use your brain for a change and get away from the guy.”

  “I don’t know. Foley’s kind of sweet in his way.”

  “That’s poppycock and you know it. You can’t let emotion rule you in these things. You gotta be hard-nosed.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “Call it practical if you like. Look at me and Cora. There’s nothing wrong with her. I admire the woman, but what good is that? The marriage is dead. She knows it as well as I do, but you want to know what happens if I ask for a divorce? I’ll be out on my ass. Same thing with you. You can walk away, but all you’ll take with you are the clothes on your back.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. If I could get free, I’d be willing to leave it all behind. Who cares about possessions? Anything I have can be replaced. I got money of my own.”

  “You just can’t get off that, can you?”

  “You’re the one brought up money.”

  “Now you sound just like Cora.”

  “Anyway, what the hell do you have to complain about? You got that big house and those cars. You know what I’d give to have a car like yours?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Violet. Four thousand for a car? That’s chump change. You’re out there with your head down, hunting for pennies on the ground. You gotta look at the bigger picture.”

  “You paid four thousand dollars for a car? You can’t be serious.”

  “See, that’s what’s wrong with you. You think small. You think if you keep a real-tight hold on your money you can keep the dollar bills from flying away. Doesn’t work like that. You gotta loosen up. Put your money to work. Okay, so you got what in the bank, twenty?”

  Violet jerked her thumb up, indicating more.

  “Thirty-five?”

  “Fifty,” she said.

  “That’s good. Great, but every day it sits, you’re losing money on your money—”

  She cut him off. “Nun-hun. I know what you’re getting at and it’s no deal.”

  “You have no idea what I’m getting at so would you listen for a change? I’m saying we pool our funds.”

  “Oh, sure, pool our funds. I bet you’d like that. You know why? Because I got more than you.”

  “I got money.”

  “How much?”

  He tilted his head, calculating. “I’ll be honest with you. I got a lot, but not as much as you. That’s what I’m working on right now.”

  “Super. I’m thrilled on your behalf. I’m still not giving you a dime.”

  “That’s what I like about you. You’re stubborn as hell. Tell you what, though, you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  16

  I arrived at the Blue Moon that night in advance of Tannie and Daisy. It was 6:45 and the whole of Serena Station was bathed in golden light. The air smelled of bay laurel, the scent underscored by the faint suggestion of wood smoke. In the absence of a visible autumn, Californians are forced to fabricate, stockpiling wood for the fireplace, hauling heavy sweaters out of the bottom drawer. Many residents live in exile; eastern-seaboard and midwestern transplants who end up on the West Coast in search of good weather. No more ice storms, no 108-degree days, no tornadoes, and no hurricanes. First comes relief at being delivered from bugs, humidity, and climatic extremes. Then the boredom sets in. Soon they’re making nostalgic trips home at considerable expense to revisit the very elements they’d sought to escape.

  The patron parking lot was full and cars were lined up along the road. I made one circuit of the lot, found a small, probably illegal spot and managed to squeeze in. As I made my way to the entrance, I glanced back, amused at how conspicuous my VW looked in the midst of all the pickups, camper shells, vans, and RVs.

  The exterior of the restaurant was rough-hewn, its weathered board-and-batten façade as squared up and staunch as a saloon on a western movie set. The interior was a continuation of the theme: wagon wheels, oil lamps, and wooden tables covered in red-and-white-checked cloths. Happy hour was under way. Where I’d anticipated the odor of cigarettes and beer, the air was rich with the scent of prime beef being grilled over oak.

  Tannie had reserved us a table on the left side of the bar area, which was jammed with people. On the right, through an arch, I could see two or three dining rooms, but my guess was the regulars preferred to eat here, where they could keep an eye out for pals. I was probably one of the few unfamiliar faces they’d seen in a while, judging by the curious looks being turned on me.

  The hostess showed me to the table and moments later a waitress approached. She handed me a menu printed on plain white paper. “You want something to drink while you wait for your friends? Wine list is on the back.”

  I glanced at the list of wines by the glass, bypassing hard liquor in favor of something more familiar. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay and then caught sight of a man, sitting at the bar, who
se gaze seemed to be fixed on me. I turned to see if he was staring at someone else, but I seemed to be it. Once the waitress went off to fetch my wine, he eased off the bar stool and headed in my direction. He was tall, with a lean, rangy body, and long arms. His face was narrow, as lined and weathered as a contour map. Broken capillaries in his cheeks made him appear flushed, and exposure to the outdoors had mottled his skin to a nutty brown. His hair, once dark, was now a salt-and-pepper mix.

  When he reached the table, he held out his hand. “Jake Ottweiler, Tannie’s father. You must be her friend.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Kinsey. How are you?”

  “Welcome to the Blue Moon, which most of us refer to as ‘The Moon.’ I saw you when you came in.”

  “So did everyone else. You must not get a lot of walk-in trade.”

  “More than you’d think. Folks from Santa Teresa drive up on a regular basis.” His eyes were a piercing blue against the sunburned darkness of his face. Tannie had told me he’d farmed the land for years, but his part-ownership in the Blue Moon had apparently introduced an element of gentility. He’d traded in his work boots and overalls for slacks and a nicely cut navy sport coat over a soft white shirt.

  When the waitress reappeared and set down my glass of white wine, he murmured, “I’ll take care of that” with scarcely a glance at her. It was clear they’d dealt with each other for so long the need for conversation was reduced to a minimum.

  I said, “Will you join me?”

  “Briefly. At least until Tannie gets here. I’m sure you girls have lots to talk about.” He pulled out a chair and ordered a drink with the lift of one hand. When the waitress had moved off again, he leaned back in his chair and studied me. “You don’t look like my idea of a private eye.”

  “These days, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “An investigation like this requires the patience of a saint.”

  “Seems like a fool’s errand, if you want to know the truth.”