“I’m sorry. You must be so confused, you poor thing. I wish Tasha’d done this. She should have canceled her plane. I knew I’d probably botch it, but there just wasn’t any other choice. You do know about Rita Cynthia’s elopement. They must have told you that part.” She made a statement of it, equating the story with the news that the world was round.

I shook my head again, beginning to feel like a bauble-head in somebody’s rear car window. “I was five when my parents died in the accident. After that, Aunt Gin raised me, but she gave me no family history whatsoever. You can safely operate on the assumption that I’m dead ignorant.”

“Oh, boy. I hope I can remember it all myself. I’ll just launch in, and anything you don’t get, please feel free to interrupt. First of all, our grandfather Kinsey had beaucoup bucks. His family ran a diatomite mining and processing operation. Diatomite is basically what they use to make diatomaceous earth. Do you know what that is?”

“Some kind of filtering medium, isn’t it?”

“Right. The diatomite deposits up in Lompoc are among the biggest and purest in the world. The Kinseys have owned that company for years. Grandmother must have come from money, too, though she doesn’t talk much about it so I don’t really know the story on that. Her maiden name was LaGrand. She’s always been called Grand, ever since I can remember. I already told you that. Anyway, she and Granddaddy had six kids—the boy who died and then the five girls. Rita Cynthia was the oldest. She was Grand’s favorite, probably because they were so much alike. I guess she was spoiled …or so the story goes, a real hell-raiser. She totally refused to conform to Grand’s expectations. Because of that, Aunt Rita’s become like this family legend. The patron saint of liberation. The rest of us—all the nieces and nephews—took her as a symbol of independence and spirit, someone sassy and defiant, the emancipated person our mothers wished they’d been. Rita Cynthia thumbed her nose at Grand, who was a piece of work in those days. Rigid and snobbish, judgmental, controlling. She raised all the girls to be little robots of gentility. Don’t get me wrong. She could be very generous, but there were usually strings attached. Like she’d give you the money for college, but you had to keep it local or go where she said. Same with a house. She’d give you the down payment and even cosign the loan, as long as you found a place within six blocks of her. It really broke her heart when Aunt Rita left.”

“I don’t understand what happened.”

“Oh, boy. Right. Okay, let me get to the point. First of all, Rita made her debut in 1935. July fifth—”

“My mother was a debutante? She actually made a debut and you can recite the date? You must have quite a memory.”

“No, no, no. It’s all part of the story. Everybody knows that in our family. It’s like Goldilocks and the Three Bears or Rumpelstiltskin. What happened was Grand had a set of twelve sterling silver napkin rings engraved with Rita Cynthia’s name and the date of her debut. She was going to make it a tradition for each of the girls in turn, but it didn’t really work out. She threw this big coming-out party and set it up so Rita could meet all these incredibly eligible bachelors. Real lah-de-dah social register types.”

“In Lompoc?”

“Oh, golly, no. They came from everywhere. Marin County, Walnut Creek, San Francisco, Atherton, Los Angeles, you name it. Grand had her heart set on Rita’s ‘marrying well,’ as they used to say in those days. Instead, Rita fell in love with your father, who was serving at the party.”

“As a waiter?”

“Exactly. Some friend of his worked for the caterer and asked him to help out. Aunt Rita started seeing Randy Millhone on the sly. This was right in the middle of the Depression, and his real job was working for the post office here in Santa Teresa. It’s not like he was really a waiter,” she said.

“Oh, thank God,” I said dryly, but the irony was lost on her. “What’d he do for the post office?”

“He was a mail carrier. ‘An uncivil servant,’ Grand used to say with her nose all turned up. As far as she was concerned, he was poor white trash …too old for Rita and way too low class. She found out they were dating and threw a pluperfect fit, but there was nothing she could do. Rita was eighteen and headstrong as they come. The more Grand protested, the more she dug her heels in. By November, she was gone. Just ran off and married him without telling a soul.”

“She told Virginia.”

“She did?”