I fired up the kettle and made myself a cup of tea, which I sipped while I sat at the kitchen counter and sorted through my notes. I thought it was entirely possible that I’d already spoken to Violet’s killer. The motive might have been anything-jealousy, hatred, greed, revenge-but I knew the killing itself was cold-blooded because the hole had been dug well in advance of the burial. The killer couldn’t have been sure the necessary equipment would be on the scene unless he’d set it up that way. When Violet disappeared, her money had disappeared as well. Ostensibly, she’d taken possession of the fifty thousand dollars in her safe deposit box. She’d also borrowed two thousand from her brother and five hundred dollars from her mother, in addition to the jewelry she’d stolen. So where did all the money and the jewelry end up? It was always possible the stash would be found in the car, but if the killer knew she had it, why not help himself to the money before he bulldozed the dirt back into the hole?

He had to be someone she knew and probably a local, since he was sufficiently familiar with both the Tanner property and the building of New Cut Road to feel assured he’d have privacy. He must have had a cover story to account for the time he’d spent digging the hole. That meant he was either his own boss, in which case he could take all the time he needed, or if he was a nine-to-five kind of guy, he was off on vacation or he’d called in sick. With the holiday weekend, he might have had the time off.

Foley Sullivan was still at the top of my list. Granted, I’d found the man sympathetic, but he’d had years of practice declaring his innocence. I believed him when he spoke of his love for Violet, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed her.

I went back to the notes I’d taken after talking to Chet Cramer. I couldn’t see what he had to gain, but I didn’t rule him out. He didn’t strike me as a fellow with much experience operating heavy equipment, but I’d jotted down an offhand remark he’d made. He’d said you could always hire somebody to do your dirty work.

I thought about Winston Smith, who’d been fired because of Violet. While Cramer had rehired him the following week, he hadn’t known about that when she vanished. I was iffy about him. He was convinced she’d ruined his life, which in some ways she had. If he’d gotten the education he’d planned, he wouldn’t be selling cars and he might not be married to the woman who now proposed booting his butt out the door.

I knew little about Tom Padgett, but he was worth checking out. Steve Ottweiler? Nah. I put a tick by his name, but only in the interest of being fair. As long as I was suspicious of the other guys, I might as well include him. He’d been sixteen at the time, and from Violet’s point of view, he was probably fair game. However, if the two had engaged in a torrid affair, why kill the golden goose? I added BW’s and Jake’s names to the list.

I kept thinking I’d overlooked something obvious, but I couldn’t think what it was.

I took a break and made myself a peanut butter and pickle sandwich for my supper. I substituted a paper napkin for a plate and thus reduced the dirty dishes to a bare minimum. I was just in the process of washing my knife when the telephone rang.

The woman on the other end of the line said, “This is Anna Ericksen. I believe you left a message on my machine.”

“Are you the Ericksen who once lived at 3906 Land’s End Road in Serena Station?”

There was a cautious silence. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m sorry. I should have explained myself earlier. I’m interested in contacting the family who lived next door to Foley and Violet Sullivan in 1953.”

“That was my parents’ house, where I grew up.”

“Really? Wow, that’s great. I’m lucky you didn’t get married or I’d have never tracked you down.”

“Oh, honey. I’m gay. You couldn’t pay me to get married. I got troubles enough.”

“Do you remember Violet?”

“Not directly. I was a little kid back then, but people have been talking about her for years and years. We lived next door to the Sullivans when I was growing up. I suppose you know they found her buried in her car.”

I said, “So I heard. Look, I know this is a long shot, but is there anything you can tell me about Violet?”

“No, I’m sorry to say I don’t remember her, but I do remember that Fourth of July.”

“You’re kidding. You remember that particular Fourth of July?”

“I sure do. We’d gone to the fireworks and afterwards Daisy’s friend Tannie spent the night with me. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was. I was five years old and she was nine, and I just admired everything about her. She talked me into jumping on the bed in my room, which I wasn’t allowed to do. So there we were bouncing away, having the time of our lives. She bumped me and I toppled off and broke my arm. The bone didn’t heal right and I got a hump in it to this day. It’s one of my first concrete memories.”