In Plain Sight (19 page)

“S
o?” George said and dropped the clothes I'd asked him to get from my house on the foot of my bed. It was eleven o'clock the next morning and the attending physician had decided I could be released—evidently the X rays had shown I wasn't bleeding into my brain—which was fine with me because I was in the middle of a nicotine fit.

“So what?” I asked.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You were there when I talked to the cops. You heard what I said.”

“I repeat, are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You don't believe my story?”

George snorted. “A ten-year-old child would have come up with a better story than you did.”

“I did as well as I could under the circumstances.” Which was true. It's hard to come up with a convincing lie when your head feels as if someone is playing the drums on it. But better a bad lie than telling the cops the truth and having them pay a visit to Fast Eddie.

“Let's see if I have this straight.” George clasped his hands in front of him and stared down at me. “You were going to your car when someone you didn't see came over and hit you over the head?”

“That's right,” I said.

“But he didn't take your wallet.”

“He probably didn't have time.”

“Really?” My heart sank as George walked over to the chair and lifted the dress Fast Eddie's mother had given me off the seat and held it in the air. “But your assailant had time to put this on you?”

“Maybe he's seriously kinked,” I suggested. “Maybe he has a fetish about women in muu-muus.”

George shook his head. “Try again.”

“I found the dress at a rummage sale?”

“Teresa wouldn't be happy to hear you say that.”

I sighed.

“I told you I used to work that area. It's not as if you could miss the lady.” George came over and dropped the dress in my lap. “Teresa never struck me as the generous sort.”

“It was her mother's idea.”

“Yes, Mrs. Marino is a truly delightful woman.”

“Yeah, I don't think she's going to get the unsung heroine of the year award, that's for sure.”

George leaned over me. I hate it when he looms. “So exactly why did Fast Eddie have you picked up?”

Since George knew half the story, I decided I might as well tell him the rest. I mean it really didn't matter. He wasn't on the force—even if he did tend to forget that once in a while. I also decided to make him wait. On principle. I don't like being crowded. Or rushed. “After I'm dressed and out of here.”

“I'm disappointed. That hospital gown definitely does things for you.”

I glared.

George straightened up. “Fine. I'll bring the car around.”

“And get me a pack of cigarettes,” I called as he walked out the door. “Camels.”

He turned. “Can't you wait?”

“No. You want the story, I want my smokes.”

 

 

Last night's storm had washed the gray away. The sun was shining. The branches of the two flowering crab trees in front of the hospital looked as if they were covered with tufts of pink cotton candy. I was watching a robin hopping on the grass when George pulled up. I got out of the wheelchair the nurse was holding and into the Taurus. Zsa Zsa licked my chin and ears. Her tail was wagging so fast her whole body was going from side to side.

“How'd she do?” I asked George. He'd taken her home with him after he'd left me at the hospital.

“Aside from sleeping in my bed and waking me up at five in the morning—not badly.”

“I always knew she was your type. Long hair. Long legs. Too bad she's not blond.”

“Funny lady. Here.” George threw the Camels I'd asked him to get me in my lap. “Go kill yourself. Not that you need any more help in that department.”

I opened the pack as we turned onto South Crouse and held it up to my nose. “Ah,” I said, inhaling the aroma.

George snorted. I ignored him and lit a cigarette. Then I sat back and luxuriated in the sensation and the sunlight. God it was good to be out of the hospital. Every time I'm in one I remember how much I hate it.

George glanced over. “Okay,” he said. “You're dressed, you're out of the hospital, you've got a cigarette. Now give.”

So I did.

“Richie and Tony always were scumbags,” he muttered when I was through.

“Tell me about it.” I took a puff of my cigarette and conjured up darkly detailed visions about what I'd like to do to them if the opportunity ever arose.

“Although,” George continued, “to be fair, if you hadn't run away, you probably would have been all right.”

“Are you saying what happened was my fault?” I asked indignantly.

“No. I'm just pointing out that you made things worse by pissing them off.”

“And what would you have done if someone dragged you in a car and jabbed a gun in your ribs? Sat there?”

“I wouldn't be in that position in the first place.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Then before I could reply George changed the subject. “So what do you think? Did Tony and Richie kill Marsha for the thirty thousand?”

We stopped at a light.

“No.” I opened the window and flicked the ash from my cigarette out into the street. “And Fast Eddie doesn't think so either. Because if he did, those two wouldn't be walking around right now. They'd be buried somewhere in Utica.”

“True,” George replied. “One thing about thirty thousand dollars. It certainly provides an incentive for homicide. I've known people who would slit your throat for two bucks let alone thirty grand.”

Zsa Zsa jumped up on my lap. I scratched underneath her chin. “What I want to know is where would someone like Marsha Pennington get that much money in the first place? When I saw her I got the impression she was broke.”

“Interesting question.” George put his foot on the gas and zoomed through a yellow light just as it was turning red. “Possibly the most interesting question. Maybe she got an inheritance.”

“You mean from some distant relative? I guess she could have, although it doesn't seem likely. At least, she didn't say anything to me when we talked.” I wound my hair around my finger. It felt oily. It definitely needed to be washed. “Maybe I should give her mother a call.”

“Maybe you should.” George chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Of course, she could have always gone down to Atlantic City.”

“She was thirty thousand in the hole. Where would she get a stake?”

George shrugged. “She could have conned someone into lending her a couple of thousand.”

I took another puff of my Camel. “I'd imagine that if you're a compulsive gambler, your sources would dry up after a while.”

“I don't know. In my experience there's always a loan shark out there willing to give someone enough rope to hang themselves with.” George loosened his tie. “Or maybe,” he continued, “she's got someone in her family who's a soft touch.”

I pushed a strand of hair off my forehead. “She did go down to see her mother just before she died,” I allowed. I decided I was definitely going to have to speak to the lady—if I could get the nurse to put her on the line.

George zoomed around a car and shot up Beech Street. “How about this? She embezzled the money.”

“From where? Office petty cash? She taught ESL in high school for God's sake.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of her husband's business.”

“That makes a little more sense,” I admitted.

“Or she could have been blackmailing someone.”

“Who?”

George shrugged. “How the hell would I know?”

We both fell silent.

“Carpe diem
, “I said suddenly.

George shot me a questioning glance.

“It's Latin,” I explained. “It means seize the day.”

“I know what it means,” he growled. “I'm not a total idiot. I just don't see the relevance.”

“I was just thinking that that thirty grand gave Marsha an opportunity to wipe the slate clean and start over again. She was going to pay off her debts, get a divorce, and start a new life with Brandon Funk. She was going to seize the day.”

“And everyone would live happily ever after,” George observed as he drove up Beech.

“Except in this case there was no ‘ever after.' “ We hung a right on Westcott and went down Euclid. I tightened my grip on the door handle as we sped through the intersection.

We turned up Meadowbrook. “There probably wouldn't have been a ‘happy' either,” George said.

“Why's that?”

“Because your friend didn't pick the greatest guy in the world to start over with.”

“You checked on Funk?”

“I said I would. Funk does have a record. He was arrested twice for assault and three times for domestic violence. All the complainants were women. One of them, a Shirley Hinkel....”

“That's the name of Merlin's girlfriend!” I cried.

“If you say so. She's got an order of protection out on him.”

“Why?”

“Assault. He slugged her. Pleaded guilty to a misdee and got a year probation. I talked to the other two women, too.”

“And what did they say?”

George turned up Crawford. “They both said he was very nice, very kind, but then something would happen that would set him off and he'd go nuts. He was always sorry afterward. They always are,” George added.

I thought about Brandon sitting there and repeating, “it's my fault” over and over. He'd definitely been referring to Marsha. What was he feeling so guilty about? “Do you think he killed Marsha in a fit of rage?” I asked.

“He could have. He's got the temperament.” George pulled up in front of my house. “The only problem is there weren't any marks on your friend's body. None at all. I pulled the ME's report,” he explained in answer to my glance. “I just wanted to make sure the paper had gotten the facts straight.”

“He could have half suffocated her and thrown her in.”

George shook his head. “There still would have been some bruises around the facial area, and anyway that sounds too complicated for him. I see Funk as the kind of guy that beats someone to death, realizes what he's done, and runs out the door.”

“That's my impression, too.” I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Something else occurred to me. “I wonder if Eddison would know anything about the money Marsha came into?”

“Who's Eddison?”

“He was Marsha's therapist.”

“Even if he does know, why should he tell you?”

“Why shouldn't he?”

“Breach of confidentiality.”

I put my cigarettes in my pocket. “Maybe I can come up with something that will make him change his mind.”

“Well, whatever you do be careful.” George lifted up my chin with the tip of his finger. It hurt like hell. “Because I don't want to have to call an ambulance for you again.”

“That makes two of us.”

A
fter George drove off I stood outside for a moment and admired the crocuses and grape hyacinths blooming in my neighbor's front yard and decided that next year I'd plant some of my own. I used to do things like that in my other life; in fact I'd even read garden catalogs, but then my other life hadn't included people like Fast Eddie and his mother or Brandon Funk. I turned and walked into my house. I still felt weak and I needed to sit down.

Zsa Zsa ran in front of me. I followed her into the kitchen, got two Snickers bars out of the fridge, poured myself a shot of Scotch, went into the backyard, uncovered one of the lounge chairs, sat down, and tried to forget about the events of the past day. Two seconds later James padded through the grass, jumped up on the deck and into my lap.

I petted him while Zsa Zsa licked his ears. He must have missed her because outside of an occasional shake he didn't do anything. For a while I just sat there eating my candy and drinking my Black Label and watching the new leaves on my neighbor's birch tree fluttering in the breeze. But little by little my mind started drifting back to the problem of Marsha's death and the thirty thousand and how she got it and who had it and whether or not that person was the one that had killed Marsha. I was willing to bet it was. Find the thirty thousand and I'd find Marsha's murderer, something that was easier said than done.

Then I started thinking about Estrella again and wondering how she fit into the equation.

If she did.

Her death could have been happenstance.

But the more I thought about it, the less I believed it.

Someone, an English playwright I think, had written about “the long arm of coincidence.”

If you asked me, this arm was a little too long.

Because things weren't so coincidental after all.

Marsha and Estrella had several connections.

They both went to the same school—one as a student, the other as a teacher.

They both went to the same therapist.

Which meant what? Maybe nothing, maybe a lot.

I got up and went inside to pour myself another Scotch.

I was coming outside when I remembered something George had told me. He'd said that a lot of kids from Wellington hung out at the LeMoyne Reservoir. They went there to party and smoke and cut class. Was it possible that Estrella had been there when Marsha was killed? Could she have seen the murder? Is that why she'd been so anxious to leave Syracuse?

I sat down and finished off the last half of the second Snickers bar.

And of course she couldn't go to the police. She couldn't take the chance of having them turn her and her family in to the INS.

I wondered if she'd said anything to her boyfriend Ray. Or to her friend, Pam Tower. I was deciding I should really speak to her when I drifted off to sleep. I awoke a couple of hours later with a crick in my neck. I was massaging it when the phone rang. I went inside to get it. Tim was on the line.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but the ball python we just got has really bad mouth rot. Do you want me to take him to the vet for a shot of antibiotics or do the iodine number?”

“Take him.” Reptiles Inc. was definitely going to hear about this.

“When?”

“I'll be in in an hour. Make the appointment for any time after that.”

“I thought you were supposed to stay in bed for three days.”

“I was,” I said and hung up. I would have gotten bored anyway. Then since my car was still at the store I called Ace Taxi for a pickup. They came thirty minutes later.

Tim left with the snake as soon as I walked through the door. I settled in and fed the fish. I was fixing the filter in one of the tanks when Manuel walked in.

“What do you want?” I said as I reconnected the tubing. My headache was coming back which put me in an irritable mood.

“Why do you always think I want something?” Manuel demanded.

“Because you usually do.” I put the lid on the tank and dried my hands off on the back of my jeans.

Manuel placed his hands on his hips. “Well, maybe I got something you want. Maybe I came to do you a favor.”

“Really? What might that be?”

“Look.” He beckoned me over to the counter. “I got something for you.”

I walked over reluctantly. Whatever it was that Manuel had, I was pretty sure I didn't want to see it. When he took a Glock nine millimeter out of his pocket I knew I'd been right.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“I figured that the next time someone tried to grab you you could pop 'em with this.”

I rubbed my temples. My headache was getting worse. “Manuel, just put it away.”

“I can let you have it for one twenty-five.”

“Forget it.”

“Okay.” He put the gun back in his pocket. “I was just trying to help you.”

The sad part was that in his mind he was. “Manuel,” I told him, “why don't you go back to school before you get yourself into some real trouble.”

“I'm planning to,” he said, doing sincere.

Yeah. Right. I don't know why I bothered. Manuel would do what Manuel wanted to do.

He hitched his pants up. “I thought I'd give you first crack, but if you don't want it, I know someone else who will.”

“At least get a job,” I continued, even though I knew what I was saying was a study in wasted effort. We'd had this conversation too many times before.

“Hey, I make more money doing this than working at someplace like Pizza Hut.” Then he snapped his fingers. “I knew there was something I forgot to tell you.”

“What's that?”

“You was asking about Estrella's girlfriend.”

“Pam Tower?”

“Yeah. I saw her the other day. She was working at Eats Galore over on Westcott Street.” And with that he left.

Tim came back a short time later without the ball python. I asked him what happened.

He bent down to pet Zsa Zsa. “The vet and I decided to put him down. His mouth was so deformed, even if we had cured the rot, he wouldn't have been able to open his mouth enough to eat. We would have had to force feed him for the rest of his life.”

“How much did Curey charge?”

“Thirty.”

“Thirty? We could have put him in the freezer for nothing.”

“I know.” Tim straightened up and handed me the bill. “He charged us for an office visit.”

I threw it on the counter. “I'm sending this straight to Reptiles Inc. with a nasty note.”

“You think they're going to refund the money for the snake plus the vet bill?” Tim said dubiously.

“They'd better.” I went in and wrote my letter. Then while I was at it I sent Garriques a bill for the money he owed me. I spent the rest of the day cleaning cages, phoning in orders, and taking Advil to keep the pain in my head down to a tolerable level. I would have loved to have gone home, but considering the amount of time I'd been away from the store recently, I thought that probably wasn't a good idea.

At nine o'clock I locked up the shop, and Zsa Zsa and I drove over to Eats Galore on Westcott. It was on the way home and I figured maybe I'd get lucky and catch up with Pam Tower. But she wasn't there. According to the manager she worked three days a week and this wasn't one of them. I gave the manager my card and asked him to pass it on to her, but I didn't have much faith that he would. If I wanted to speak to her, I'd have to come back later.

I stopped at Nice N' Easy on the way home and got the evening paper, a package of cigarettes and a pint of coffee ice cream. The street was quiet when I parked the car in the driveway and stepped out. My neighbors were in for the evening. The only sound was coming from the Fonte house. Their kid, a pimply twelve-year-old who thought he was eighteen, was practicing his sax. It sounded as if someone was strangling a goose. It made my head hurt even more and I went inside and went to bed. I guess the day had taken more out of me than I'd thought.

I woke up at four. At four-thirty I gave up trying to get back to sleep, went downstairs to the kitchen, got the pint of coffee ice cream out of the freezer, and lay on the sofa and ate it while I watched
The Creatures From Planet Nog.
After a few minutes I found myself thinking about the LeMoyne Reservoir. What had Marsha been doing there? She must have been meeting someone. But who? Not a social acquaintance, that was for sure. Maybe it was the person she was blackmailing.

Maybe she'd arranged for the payoff to take place at the reservoir.

And maybe the person she was blackmailing decided he didn't want to pay, killed her, and took back the money.

Or maybe not.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought that arranging for a payoff to take place in a deserted area was just plain stupid.

But then Marsha never had been exactly smart.

I was stifling a yawn when I remembered something I'd forgotten, something I should have remembered earlier—Merlin's papers, the ones Marsha had never gotten around to giving me. What had Marsha said about them? That she thought he was doing something dirty and she wanted me to look at them and find out what it was. Maybe she'd found out what he'd been doing. And maybe she'd demanded thirty thousand dollars' worth of hush money and he'd killed her.

Except why had she come to me if she already knew?

The answer was obvious: when she'd come to me she hadn't known. Something had happened after we'd met to change the equation.

But what?

It seemed as if it was time to have another chat with Merlin. But before I did that I decided to call Marsha's mother. Marsha might have told her something that would help me make sense of everything. I ate another spoonful of ice cream and watched the first streaks of light on the horizon and thought about how some daughters actually talked to their mothers and about how I no longer talked to mine.