by Sue Grafton
"That's what BW said."
"But why would that set him off?"
"Beats 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."
Chapter 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 gory 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."
She pointed out his truck in the parking lot and then slammed the trunk lid shut as she rounded the back of the car. I walked over to the truck and let myself in while she started her car. She waited until I was nosing out of the parking lot before she put her car in gear and pulled onto the street ahead of me.
She drove him to the ER at the hospital where she worked. By that time Foley had settled down, perhaps recognizing the enormity of his sins. Even having his nose broken wasn't going to be sufficient penance to redeem him in Daisy's eyes. She put his name on the register, and when he was called she accompanied him into the examining room. I sat in the waiting room, leafing through a magazine while Foley was being worked on. After forty minutes, she came out and sank into the chair next to mine.
I said, "How's it going?"
"He'll be fine. They've called in an ear, nose, and throat specialist to reset his nose. The doctor's also ordered a CAT scan since he suffered a brief loss of consciousness. They said they'd bring me in again when he's back from radiology."
"Will they keep him overnight?"
"Doesn't look that way," she said as she got up. "Let me see if I can find a pay phone and call the pastor. There's no way I'm taking him home with me." She took her purse and headed off down the hall. Less than five minutes later she was back. "Blessings on the man. He asked a few questions and then said he'd be waiting whenever Dad was released. The parish house is right next door to the church, and he says he's welcome as a guest as long as he needs help. I don't know where he'd be if it weren't for that man."
Friday night was apparently the equivalent of date night in the ER world, a popular occasion for accidents and mishaps, pain, suffering, and near-death experiences. A kid was brought in with a bean stuck up his nose. There was a woman hacking and feverish from a case of the flu, and a man with a sprained ankle swollen to elephantine proportions. A teen arrived holding his badly broken thumb, smashed by a car door and looking so mangled I nearly passed out.
Unfazed, Daisy pulled the clip out of her hair and gathered it in a tidy sheaf before she secured it again. Foley's accusation about Jake's affair with Violet seemed to hang in the air between us. "All I can say is thank god Tannie wasn't there."
"She's bound to hear about it," I said.
"You bet. My phone would be ringing off the hook if anybody knew she was there."
I set the magazine aside. "You have to wonder what went on. Was there really an affair, or did your dad imagine the whole thing?"
"He's not famous for his imagination. Tannie's mother was sick for a good two years. It was 'female trouble,' too, so there's every possibility their sex life sucked." She shook her head and let out a deep breath. She extended her legs and slouched down on her spine so that her head was resting on the back of the seat. "Was there anyone she didn't screw? My mother must have been crazy as a loon."
"Well, it's like the fella said. You're not responsible for what she did."
"But I'm responsible for stirring this up. I should have left well enough alone."
The big digital wall clock read 10:16.1 got up, too restless to sit another minute in the midst of all the medical chaos. "I'm going to see if I can find a cup of coffee. You want one?"
"Not me. My nerves are jangled enough."
The fluorescent lights in the public hallways shone brightly on the gleaming vinyl-tile floors. Most departments I passed were dark; hospital administration, the cardiovascular, EKG, and EEG departments. I turned a corner and followed the corridor until I reached the main lobby. A sign indicated that the cafeteria was one floor down, but when I got off the elevator in the basement, the place was dark and the door was locked. According to the sign, the coffee shop was open from 7:00 A.M. until 7:15 P.M. on weekdays. I'd missed by hours. A maintenance man appeared with a mop and an industrial-size bucket. Together we waited for the elevator, which had stopped on the first floor.
"Is there a vending machine around here?"
He shook his head. "Wish there were. I could use a candy bar about now."
The elevator doors opened and we got on. When we emerged on the first floor, I glanced to my left and spotted Liza Clements sitting in the lobby. Her complexion looked washed out and her jeans and T-shirt were wrinkled. I called out to her and moved in her direction. "What are you doing here?" I asked.
"My granddaughter was born a few minutes ago. I'm keeping out of everybody's hair until she's cleaned up. Kevin's upstairs with Marcy, and both of her parents are here. Six pounds, six ounces. She's absolutely beautiful."
"That's great. Congratulations."
"Thanks. It's been pretty intense. What about you? I didn't expect to see a familiar face."
I gave her a quick rendition of Foley's nose-busting adventure, neatly omitting the remarks that had gotten him tossed out of the Moon.
"Is there any way to get a cup of coffee at this hour?" she asked.
"Nope. I tried. I guess we could find a water fountain but that's about it."
We ended up sitting together in the main lobby for lack of any place better. It was a small cheerless area clearly not intended as a waiting room. At least the ER had offered a television set and a few live green plants. I said, "You heard about the car?"
"That's all anybody's talking about. I guess there's no doubt it's hers."
"Not in my mind. I mean, what are the chances another car would be buried out where hers was last seen?"
She shifted in her chair. "I'm going to 'fess up to something, but I don't want to hear you scream. You promise?"
"Scout's honor."
"As it so happens, I saw Foley at the Tanner property that Friday night."
"Doing what?"
"Tinkering with a bulldozer that was parked near the road. I heard him start it up."
"You're positive it was Foley?"
"I couldn't swear it was him, but who else could it be?"
"Just about anyone," I said. "In the as-it-so-happens department, what were you doing there?"
"Ty and I had gone out to the house. We weren't supposed to be dating, and it was the only place we could think of where we wouldn't be seen. We were in that second-floor bedroom in front when we heard him drive up."
&nb
sp; "And you were... what — smoking dope? Making out?"
She rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of blond hair behind one ear. "Oh, please. None of us smoked dope in those days. We're talking about the '50s. We were square as they come."
"So you were doing what?"
"Okay, we were necking if you must know the truth. When the car pulled up, we thought it was a security guard coming to check on the house, so we hightailed it out the back and waited until we heard the 'dozer start up. Ty figured that would cover the sound of the truck."
"So you didn't actually see Foley face on?"
"I just told you that. The point is, if it was him, he had plenty of time to dig a hole."
"What kind of car? I'm assuming you'd have recognized the Bel Air."
"Of course. Most of the time I can't tell one kind of car from another, but I know it wasn't Violet's. Her car was pale and it would have stood out. There was enough of a moon that it would have been obvious."
"What do you remember about the car? Two-door? Four-door? Light? Dark?"
She made a face, shaking her head in the negative. "I saw it, but I didn't really look. I was scared we'd get caught and that's all I cared about. And before you even ask, no, I didn't tell the guys from the sheriffs department."
"Because you didn't want to admit you were trespassing?"
"Because at the time, it didn't mean anything. Violet wasn't even missing. When we saw the guy — Foley, or whoever — it wouldn't have occurred to me he'd be doing anything like that. Digging a grave. God, it gives me goose bumps. I'm only telling you now because we know the car is buried there."
"You remember anything else?"
"No. Well, yes. The guy was smoking. I remember that because we could smell it through the open window all the way upstairs."
"Height? Weight? Anything like that?"
"Nope. It was dark and I only caught a glimpse. You think I should talk to the detective?"
"Absolutely," I said.
"Even if it gets Foley in more trouble?"
"You can't even claim it was him. All you can say is there was a guy out there working on a bulldozer. "The detective's name is Nichols. He needs to know."