Three Complete Novels: A Is for Alibi / B Is for Burglar / C Is for Corpse

by Sue Grafton

  He called Friday at lunchtime, but again there was no answer. He drove through Serena Station, looking for any sign of her. He ran an errand in Silas and then swung back through town and parked across the street from the post office so he could pick up his mail. Miraculously he spotted her, driving the brand-new Chevrolet he’d seen in Chet Cramer’s showroom. He was just crossing the street when she slowed to a stop. She leaned over and waited until he was even with the open window. “So what do you think?”

  She looked radiant. Gone was the dark rage and in its place was a Violet Sullivan as tickled as a kid with a shiny new bike. He found himself smiling. “Where’d you get that? It’s pretty slick.”

  “It’s mine. Foley bought it for me.”

  “Bought it? I thought Foley was broke.”

  “Oh, he has his little ways. He must have pulled a fast one on Chet because he went off this morning before nine, came home an hour later, and parked this little beauty at the curb.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Who needs an occasion? He’s nuts about me. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he went berserk last night and tore the house apart. My brand-new lace curtains ended up in the trash. Where’re you off to? You want a ride around the block?”

  “Nah, I got things to take care of. Maybe another time,” he said. He noticed a pair of white cardboard glasses sitting on the front seat. “Those your sunglasses?”

  She glanced down. “No, what, these?” She picked them up and put them on. “I took Daisy and Liza Mellincamp to that 3-D movie this afternoon. Bwana Devil. Daisy’s going to have nightmares for a month.”

  “Kids will do that,” he said mildly.

  “Anyway, I gotta be some place so I better let you go. Tahtah,” she said. She put her foot on the gas and took off.

  He’d never seen her so cheerful or so full of goodwill. He returned to his car with an overwhelming sense of relief. Maybe everything was okay and he could breathe again.

  He went back to the hospital late that afternoon, feeling lighter than he had in months. It was not quite 5:00, but the dinner carts were already in the hall. He’d sit with her through dinner and spend the evening with her until she was settled in for the night. He’d bought Mary Hairl a little houseplant to keep beside her bed. The gal at the florist’s shop had wrapped it in a high cone of green tissue paper with a bright purple bow. Jake thought she’d be pleased to have something colorful to look at. He got on the elevator and went up to the second floor. As the doors opened, he stopped in his tracks. Mary Hairl’s father was standing in the hall, his face stony. Something had happened to Mary Hairl. Maybe she’d taken a turn for the worse; maybe she was dead. Cold seeped up from the floor and climbed his frame.

  Hairl held a Bible in one hand, and in the other he clutched a piece of pink notepaper, covered with a slanting scrawl of black ink. “You son of a bitch. Tell me on this Bible you never lusted in your heart. Tell me you never lain with Violet Sullivan and don’t you lie. My poor girl, my only girl, she’s in there dying as we speak. She probably doesn’t have but a week to live. So you tell me you didn’t put that pecker of yours in that vile whore’s mouth! Swear on this book! This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, Son. You think I don’t know that? Word gets around and I heard about every single one of your affairs. You thought you were being sly, but you never fooled me. I could barely stand to look you in the eye, but I kept hush for Mary Hairl’s sake. I should have said something years ago, but she worshiped you. Worshiped the ground you walked on. You’re a failure. You’re worthless. You can’t even manage to earn a decent wage. Weren’t for me, you’d be on welfare. And now there you are, off in some bar making a public display of yourself.”

  Hairl lost his momentum. His voice broke and the pink notepaper shook in his trembling hand. He sobbed once and then gathered himself again. “If I had the strength, I would choke the life out of you. My beautiful girl. She’s the soul of goodness and what of you, sir? You are low-down, stinking trash. You’ve made her an object of pity in this town, and she’ll go to her grave looking like a fool, but there’s worse in store for you. I can promise you that.”

  Jake’s mind went blank. He was speechless with horror. What had she done? What in god’s name had Violet Sullivan gone and done?

  22

  The three of us drove to Daisy’s in separate cars, like a very short motorcade. Having warned them, I peeled off at Broadway and made a stop at JC Penney, where I bought a cotton nightie, two T-shirts, and cheap underwear. I made a second stop at a nearby drugstore and bought three paperback novels, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant, figuring if I was in town for any length of time I might as well smell good. Even if the Bel Air was magically unearthed and I went home the next day, the purchases would be useful. It’s not like the underpants were stamped with a sell-by date.

  I reached Daisy’s house at 8:00, when the autumn dark had fully settled and the streetlights had come on. She’d left the garage door open, so I pulled my car in, locked it, and triggered the automatic-door device as I emerged. Once in the house, I found Tannie stretched out on the living room floor, trying to get the kinks out of her back after a morning of hacking brush and an afternoon watching cops dig a car out of her lawn. Daisy was in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of tea. She’d changed out of her work clothes and into her sweats, but she looked just as stressed as she had at the site. Her face had the pinched look of someone in the throes of a migraine, though she claimed she was fine. The discovery of the car had generated tension in each of us, but our remedies were different. Daisy longed for a bath and Tannie wanted a drink. For my part, I’d have given anything to be by myself, an impossible desire as things currently stood. I couldn’t even take to my bed because Daisy’d brought her cup of tea into the living room and now sat on the couch, where I would ultimately sleep. From the floor, Tannie said, “Hey, gang. I don’t remember eating dinner, unless I missed an episode. Is anybody else hungry? I’m about to eat my own arm.”

  After a brief negotiation, Daisy picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza, which was delivered thirty minutes later. We ate with enthusiasm, though Tannie declined any portion of the pizza that butted up against the anchovies Daisy and I had voted for. Just when I assumed we were done for the day, free to read or watch mindless TV, the telephone rang. Daisy picked up. “Oh, hi, BW. What’s up?”

  As she listened I watched her expression change. The color rose in her cheeks as though controlled by a dimmer switch. “How did that happen?” She closed her eyes, shaking her head at the nature of his response. “I see. No, no. It’s not your fault. I understand. I’ll be right there.”

  She hung up.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “My father’s over at the Blue Moon and he’s drunk on his ass. BW wants me to get him out of there before a fight breaks out.”

  “Foley’s drunk?”

  “That’s what he says. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you two stay here?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll go. You can’t manage by yourself if he’s that far gone.”

  Daisy turned to Tannie. “What about you? It’s entirely optional.”

  “Count me out. I’ll go if you need me, but I’m beat. I gotta get up early and hit the road. We get over to the Moon, I’ll end up having a drink and that’ll be it. I’m tempted, but trying to behave myself.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be back as soon as we figure out what to do with him.”

  Daisy found her purse and car keys. She said she’d be warm enough in her sweats, but she found a spare jacket for me. The evening was already chilly, and neither of us was sure how long we’d be out. On the fifteen-mile drive from Santa Maria to Serena Station, she kept shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. He’s been sober for thirty-four years and here we go again.”

  “He must have heard about the car.”

  “That’s what BW said.”

  “But why would that set him off?”

  “Beat
s the hell out of me. I don’t even want to speculate.”

  The Blue Moon that Friday night was jammed. Happy hour had ended at 7:00, but the drinking sailed right on. The energy level seemed manic, bespeaking much joy that the work week was done. This time the place did smell of beer and cigarette smoke. Between the loud talk, the jukebox, and alcohol-amped laughter, the noise was overwhelming.

  Foley Sullivan sat at the bar, oblivious to everything, like a man submerged in a deprivation tank. He and his whiskey had been separated for three decades. Now, like old lovers, they’d been reunited, and he was busy reestablishing their relationship, leaving no room for anyone or anything else. He sat ramrod straight. His face was still gaunt, but his deep-set eyes were now bright with relief. His was the kind of drunkenness that had him two sips away from a blind, flailing rage.

  Daisy approached, making sure he saw who she was before she laid a hand on his back. She leaned in close in order to make herself heard. “Hey, Dad. How’re you doing? I heard you were here.”

  He didn’t bother to look at her, but he did raise his voice. “I see you whipped right over to look after me. Well, I’m fine, girl. No need. I can handle myself. Appreciate your concern, but I believe it’s misplaced.”

  “What prompted this?”

  “I guess I was born with a taste for brimstone. You ought to have one yourself. Whiskey will melt the sorrow right out of your soul.”

  The man on the stool next to Foley’s had caught their exchange. I wasn’t sure whether he knew Daisy and her father or simply understood that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to hear. He vacated his place and Daisy slid onto the stool.

  Foley had gone back to his contemplation, staring into his glass as though into the dark heart of mankind. When Daisy touched his arm, he seemed surprised that she was still there. The smile he gave her was sweet. “Hello, Sweet Pea.”

  “Hello, Dad. Could we go outside and talk? I need some fresh air, don’t you?”

  “Nothing to talk about. That car was the final tie.” He made a slicing motion with his hand. “Severed. Just like that. She knew it’d cut me to the core if it ever came to light.”

  “If what came to light?”

  “The car. She buried it before she left. I paid and I paid because I loved her and thought she’d be back. Dear god, I wanted her to know she didn’t owe me anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He focused on her face. “They found her Bel Air. I thought you knew.”

  “Of course, I knew. The sheriff ’s office called me this afternoon.”

  “Well then, fair enough. We have to accept the fact. Your mother laid it in the ground and then she went off. We have to make our peace with her abandonment.”

  “She didn’t bury it. You can’t believe that. How could she manage?”

  “Obviously, she had help. Fella she ran off with must have helped dig the hole.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. If she was running off, why wouldn’t she take the car with her? If she had no use for it, she could have sold it.”

  “It was her way of taunting me. The car was my final gift to her and she rejected it.”

  “Dad, please stop. You know what’s going on. There’s a good possibility she’s buried down there. That’s why they’re taking their time, so they won’t destroy evidence.”

  He shook his head, his mouth pulled down as though he regretted having to deliver the news. He wasn’t slurring his words, but his brain was operating at half speed and his concentration was, of necessity, intense. He thumped his chest. “She’s not dead. I’d feel it here if she were.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Can we just get out of here?”

  “Sweet Pea, you’re not responsible for the state I’m in. I’m doing this in deference to your mother with whom I drank for many years. This is my farewell. I’m giving up all claim. Violet Sullivan is free.” He gestured with his whiskey, toasting his wife before he drank it down.

  I wasn’t sure where his grandiosity was coming from and I couldn’t judge his mood. He seemed dangerous—testy and unpredictable despite the formality of his speech. Daisy shot me a look. Our unspoken pact was to sweet-talk him out of there before he blew. I put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close.

  When he realized who I was, he rared back slightly. “So she’s got you here, too.”

  “We’re both concerned. It’s late and we thought you might like to finish your drinking at home.”

  His gaze was out of focus, giving him a cross-eyed look. “I don’t have whiskey at home. Pastor would disapprove. I live in a church cell that’s fit for a monk.”

  “Why don’t we go to Daisy’s? We can take you out for breakfast and then we’ll stop by her place or we’ll drop you at home.”

  “You’ve never attended an Al-Anon meeting, have you?”

  “I haven’t. That’s correct.”

  “This is not your job. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t need to be rescued. I don’t need to be saved. I want to sit and enjoy myself so leave me be. I absolve you of any responsibility.” He waved a hand, airily, absolving me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw BW approaching, and I remember thinking, thank god. He’d had years of experience dealing with Foley drunk. Though both hands were empty, he was clearly in bouncer mode. Jake Ottweiler was two paces behind him.

  BW said, “Foley, I want you out of here right now.”

  Foley’s eyes jerked from BW to Jake and that’s all it took. Foley’s demons spilled out, though he smiled as he spewed. “There’s the man who fucked my wife.”

  “Dad. Please lower your voice.”

  Jake had stopped in his tracks. Foley eased off his stool and steadied himself. BW moved swiftly and locked his arms around Foley’s so he couldn’t move. Foley raised his voice to a shrieking pitch. “You son of a bitch. Admit it! You used my wife and then you cast her aside like she was common as dirt. You never even had the decency to own up to it.”

  “That’s it,” BW said. He lifted Foley and force-marched him through the bar. “You ever set a foot in here again and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. I’m warning you.”

  In BW’s grip, Foley’s feet scarcely touched the floor. He looked like a ballerina, up on his toes, taking light, dainty steps with remarkable speed and grace. “Warn me? Why not warn him? Why not warn every man in town has a wife as beautiful as mine. I’m telling you the truth, which he damn well knows—”

  Daisy grabbed BW’s arm and she was being dragged along at the same quick clip. “Stop it! Let go of him. He can’t help himself.”

  “Maybe I can help. Here, try this.” BW bumped the door open with his foot and flung Foley out. Foley landed on one hip, his momentum toppling him over onto his hands and knees. Before anyone could intervene, BW swung one boot back and his fast-moving kick caught Foley squarely in the face. The cartilage in his nose went flat with a sound like a watermelon hitting concrete. Blood spurted out of his nose and his mouth welled with red. A row of white teeth, false, had popped out intact, but others were damaged and his tongue seemed swollen as though he’d bitten himself. His eyes rolled back in his head until all we could see were two white slits. Then he went still. Daisy screamed.

  My heart was knocking against my chest so hard I thought I’d see bruises the next day. Daisy dropped down beside her father, who groaned and rolled over on his back. She looked up at BW with horror, both of us expecting a second kick to land. BW turned away. He grabbed the door and his tone was filled with disgust. “Fuck. I’ll call an ambulance and send out some ice for his face.”

  23

  The ambulance arrived and three paramedics alighted, like firemen on a run. By then Foley had staggered to his feet and was ready to fight the son of a bitch who’d knocked him on his buns. He was belligerent, lashing out, fending off the paramedic who was offering first aid. With the blood oozing out of his nose and welling across his upper lip, he looked like a vampire interrupted in the course of a g
ory feast. The waitress brought him a plastic bag packed with ice and wrapped in a kitchen towel. Grimacing, she passed it to him and returned to the restaurant as quickly as possible. While his upper bridge had gone flying, his lower teeth had been forced through his lip. He held the ice pack to his mouth, the towel turning a saturated red. He declined medical attention, so the paramedics had no choice but to climb back in the ambulance and drive away.

  Foley slumped onto the wooden steps and leaned his head against the rail, talking to himself.

  Daisy bent over him. “Dad, listen to me. Would you listen? You need to see a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. Leave me be.” He scanned the area around him, his eyes out of focus. “Where’d my bridge go? I can’t hardly talk without my teeth.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it. I need your keys.”

  He leaned sideways, nearly losing his balance as he dug in his pants pocket and came up with the keys.

  Daisy snatched them and passed them to me before she turned back to him. “I want you to get in the car. I’m taking you to the emergency room. Kinsey’s going to follow us in your truck. And don’t argue.”

  “I wasn’t arguing,” he said in a cranky, argumentative tone.

  We helped him to his feet. He was woozy from the whiskey and woozy from the blow to his face. The two of us guided him, staggering, to Daisy’s car, which was parked on the street and mercifully close. She unlocked the passenger’s-side door and opened it. Foley shrugged off any further help, claiming he could manage. He held on to the door frame, eased himself half the distance to the seat, and then fell the rest, groaning at the jolt.

  “It’s your own fault,” she snapped. “Move your hand.”

  He managed to remove his hand from the frame half a second before she slammed the door. She opened the trunk and snatched a terry-cloth towel from her gym bag. Disgusted, she opened the door again and tossed it to him. “Don’t bleed on the upholstery.”