“Ohhh,” he said, drawing the word out. “Well, maybe that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“What she was doing all dressed up with Violet Sullivan. The two had their heads bent together over shrimp cocktails.”

Kathy put her fork down and stared. “They did not.”

“Yes, they did. Uh-hum. Yes, indeedy.”

“Where?”

“The Savoy Hotel. The tea room’s on the ground floor. I saw ‘em through the window.”

Livia said, “Chet.”

“Very funny. Ha ha. And where’s Daisy all this time? Did you forget about her?”

“She was sitting right there with a big bowl of buttered noodles she was slurping through her lips.”

“You’re just saying that to bug me because you’re in a bad mood. Liza might have gone out, but it had nothing to do with Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Why don’t you ask her and see what she says?”

“Chet, that’s enough.”

“I can’t call her again. I just talked to her. She’s taking care of her mother, who’s extremely ill.”

“Okay. Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it. I’d feel bad if things went sour between the two of you. That’s my only concern.”

Kathy retreated into silence. Meanwhile, Livia sent him dark, meaningful looks that suggested a serious dressing-down to come. Chet didn’t intend to stick around for that. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and tossed it on his plate. He got up, working to control the urge to run. He could feel the spite rising in his chest. What the hell was wrong with him? He was never going to get back at Violet by making trouble somewhere else. Why put his daughter at odds with her best friend? The pettiness of what he’d done only fueled his rage. He thought he was close to madness, irrational, erratic, out of control.

He took his sport coat from the hook and shrugged himself into it. Livia had followed him into the hall. “Are you going out?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m expecting company. This is my canasta night. The girls are going to be here at eight. You said you’d take Kathy and go somewhere.”

He walked out the front door and slammed it behind him, so choked with fury he couldn’t utter a word.

19

I went back to the motel office and borrowed Mrs. Bonnet’s phone. I contacted the sheriff’s office to report the incident and was told they’d send someone out. I then called Southern California Automobile Club and requested assistance. While I waited, I called Daisy’s house and Tannie answered the phone. She said Daisy had already left for work. When I told her about my tires being slashed, she was properly outraged. “You poor thing! I can’t believe someone would do that to you.”