“Forget it. He’s not going to do that. So what else? I’m sure you didn’t tail us to inquire about his health.”
“I feel I owe you an explanation.”
Daisy nearly offered him a smart remark, but apparently decided against it. Better to let him fumble through the conversation on his own.
Jake kept his gaze pinned on the middle distance, but his manner was otherwise straightforward. “It isn’t true, what he accused me of, but I believe I know how he came by that impression, even if he’s mistaken. I hope you’ll bear with me.”
“Have at it. I’m all ears.”
“There was an incident at the Moon… this must have been a month and a half before your mother disappeared. I’d been up at the hospital, visiting Mary Hairl, and I stopped off for a nightcap. Both your parents were at the bar and had been for some time. I think it’s safe to say neither one of them was feeling any pain. By the time I arrived, your dad was in a sulk. Violet started flirting with me-I think to aggravate him as much as anything else. My wife was sick. I was lonely and maybe I gave your mother the wrong impression. We started dancing, which seemed harmless to me, but after a while she was behaving in a way that was an embarrassment. Community’s small. You know how it is. Everybody knows everybody’s business. I couldn’t have her rubbing up against me, or putting her hands on my butt. Anyway, I’ll skip the details out of respect for her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I knew I had to set her straight.
“Problem was, Violet was accustomed to getting her way and she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. She got mad and said I’d insulted her. About then she walked off the floor and I followed her. I hadn’t meant anything of the sort. I tried telling her it wasn’t my intent. I liked your mother… don’t get me wrong… but I was taken aback. Long and short of it, she ended up throwing a glass of wine in my face.”
“That was you? I’d heard the story, but I had no idea. Your name was never mentioned.”
“That was me all right. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. She started screaming and cussing. She was hot-tempered to begin with and sensitive to slights. She threatened to tell Foley we’d had sex, that I’d come on to her, and when she turned me down, I’d forced myself on her. Nothing could have been farther from the truth, but what could I do? BW could see something was going on and he got Foley out of there on some pretext.
“Once he was gone, I tried to reason with her. I hadn’t meant to offend her and I apologized for any misunderstanding. She seemed to calm down. I hoped that would be the end of it, but I couldn’t be sure. I was in a sticky position. I couldn’t go to Foley and tell him what she’d said. If she never mentioned it herself, I’d only be opening up a can of worms. He’d either take issue with me for rejecting her, or else he’d accuse her of screwing around and she’d deny everything, claiming I’d raped her. In that case, I’d end up looking like my only interest was in covering my tracks. At any rate, I thought it best to keep quiet and that’s the last I heard of it until tonight. Clearly, she did what she’d threatened. She must have told him I’d pushed her into something against her will and that’s what he believed.”
Daisy was quiet. I could see her testing his story in the same way I was. “I don’t know what to say. Dad and I haven’t talked about any of this. He’s a mess right now and I’m sure he’s ashamed of himself for getting drunk. I do understand your wanting to set the record straight. If you like, I’ll tell him what you said.”
“I leave that to your judgment. At least now you know my side of it. You can believe it or not. And your dad, when he sobers up, can do with it what he wants. I don’t mean any disrespect to Violet, but he knows how capable she was of turning things around. If he’d stop and think about it, he might be willing to concede the point. As for me, I’m sorry for any part I played. I never meant to cause him any grief.”
“I appreciate that, Jake. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I’ve had my say. I know it’s late and I won’t keep you.”
The two of them went through a bit of conversational back-and-forth before Jake finally said his good-nights and returned to his car. Once he’d left, I waited half a minute and said, “What do you think?”
“I’ve got no proof, but offhand I’d say the man is a lying sack of shit.”
24
Thursday, July 2, 1953
The morning after Cora left for Walnut Creek, Tom slept in, sprawled across the bed in a luxury of sheets. Among the many things they disagreed about was the temperature in the bedroom at night; he liked it cold, windows open to the wide, while Cora liked the windows shut and the heat cranked up. They also disagreed about blankets, the firmness of the mattress, and the nature of bed pillows. Alone, he could do it all exactly as he liked. With Cora out of the way, he was an entirely different man. It was like having a separate personality, one he called forth and wore like a smoking jacket while she was gone. He had two such personalities, as a matter of fact. When he drank, especially at the Blue Moon, he relaxed into the blue-collar type from which he sprang. He was a good old boy at heart. He liked his boots and jeans, adding a western-cut sport coat when he felt like dressing up. Here in Cora’s fancy house, sober and unobserved, he activated another side of his nature, playing Lord of the Manor. He was jaunty and dapper. He used a cigarette holder when he smoked and affected a snooty accent when he talked to himself.
He got up at 10:00, showered, dressed, and popped over to Maxi’s Coffee Shop for breakfast. He checked on a couple of pieces of equipment that he had out, and when he reached the house again, he saw the mail truck just pulling away. He angled the car in close to the mailbox and retrieved the stack of envelopes and two of Cora’s magazines. He left the car in the driveway and entered the house, calling, “Yoo hoo, I’m home!” purely for the pleasure of knowing he was on his own.
He carried the mail into Cora’s office and laid it on the corner of her desk, intending to peruse later at his leisure. He sat down in her office chair and began a systematic search. She was secretive about her personal papers, keeping everything locked up-desk drawers, file cabinets, even the closet where she kept her jewelry and furs. The good news was he’d long ago figured out where she hid the keys. It amused him to let her go on believing herself secure while he kept an eye on her every move. He knew better than to try to siphon money from her bank accounts-she could be such a bitch about those things-but he did occasionally fudge an endorsement on a dividend check. One had arrived the day before, and he’d culled it out of the batch before he gave the mail to her. In his bathroom, with the door locked, he opened the envelope to see what his deception had netted him. Ah. $356.45 from some shares of stock she owned. He liked walking-around money, just the odd few bucks. She never seemed to notice. Dividend checks came periodically and the face amount varied, so it wasn’t something she counted on as a regular event. He wasn’t proud of himself, but he did enjoy his little forays into her private affairs. Really, she brought it on herself.
He opened her desk drawer and found the folder in which she kept her canceled checks. He extracted one, pleased with the sample of her signature. Cora A. Padgett with a little loop on the last t. He had a nice supply of tracing paper and he could whip out a decent approximation in no time at all. He endorsed the check-well, “Cora A. Padgett” endorsed the check-and then he put his tools away and picked up the stack of mail. He sorted through rapidly, disregarding bills except for the ones he didn’t want her to see. The last envelope in the pile was a letter addressed to Loden Galsworthy from an out-of-state bank. He reached for the letter opener, slit the envelope, and read the correspondence signed by a “Lawrence Freiberg,” one of two vice presidents. Mr. Freiberg, or “Larry,” as Tom was already fond of calling him, was writing to inquire about the above-referenced account on which there’d been no activity for the better part of five years. Interest had been accruing and was, of course, properly credited, but the bank was wondering if perhaps there was something more they might do for him. They’d recently established an investment arm for valued customers. Since Loden Galsworthy was numbered among their very best, Mr. Freiberg suggested that perhaps the bank might put him in touch with one of their financial experts for an analysis of his portfolio. Tom read the letter twice. This had to be an account of Loden’s that Cora had either overlooked or knew nothing about. Mr. Freiberg had probably never met his valued customer and clearly had no idea he was writing to the deceased-the late Loden Galsworthy. When he turned to the next page and his eye settled on the account balance, he barked out a laugh. $65,490.66.