In Plain Sight (21 page)

“Nothing. The other lady turned around and walked away.”

“What did she look like?”

“Cheap clothes, frizzy hair, big belly.”

There was no doubt about it. The woman the waitress was describing sounded liked Shirley, Merlin's girlfriend.

It would be interesting to find out what they'd been arguing about.

I decided it was time Shirley and I had another talk.

I
passed five kids and their parents, coffee cups in hand, waiting for the school bus as I pulled into the apartment complex where Shirley lived. Despite the early hour the children were giggling and wrestling while their parents chatted away. It looked like a pleasant scene, something I might have enjoyed doing, and suddenly a visceral ache for the children I was never going to have washed over me. God, I'd really blown it in the baby department. I'd gotten pregnant a year after Murphy and I started sleeping together. Murphy had been happy when I'd told him. He'd offered to marry me, but I'd said no and gone to Puerto Rico and gotten an abortion instead.

The world was just opening up and I hadn't wanted to be tied down. I wasn't ready for motherhood. I don't know if Murphy was ready for fatherhood, but I do know he never forgave me for what I'd done because later when I told him I wanted to have a kid he'd looked at me and said, “You should have taken your chance when you had it.” I figured he'd change his mind, but he never did. It was amazing really that our sense of timing was always so bad. Whenever he wanted something I didn't and vice versa. Lately for some reason I can't help thinking a lot about how different my life would have been if I'd had the kid. Jesus, how could I have been so wrong about so many things? I sighed and tried to concentrate on what I'd come to do instead. It was less depressing. By the time I'd parked the car, walked to Shirley's apartment, and rung the bell, I'd gotten myself under control.

I hadn't called Shirley to tell her I was coming when I'd dropped George off. I wanted to surprise her instead. From the look on her face when she opened the door I'd say I'd succeeded.

“Here.” I handed her the morning paper I'd picked up off her stoop and stepped inside before she could stop me.

She hugged the
Herald
to her as I closed the door behind me. Her movements were slow. Her eyes were swollen with sleep. She must have just gotten up.

“What are you doing?” she said in a voice thick with early morning phlegm. “You can't come in here like this.”

“I just did.”

She plucked at the edge of her robe. It was ripped along the left side seam. “I have to go to work.”

“So do I.”

“I'm going to be late.”

“Not if you answer my question.” I sat down on the sofa and crossed my legs.

“I want you out of here now,” Shirley cried.

“This will just take a couple of minutes.”

She moved toward the phone. Her movements were a little sharper. She was waking up. “If you don't leave, I'm going to call the police.”

I shrugged. “Go ahead. But if you do, I'll tell them you were seen arguing with Marsha Pennington near where she was killed.”

Shirley glared at me. “Says who?”

“Says the waitress at The Pancake Palace.” I played a hunch. “I'm sure they'd be interested. Especially since it happened the morning Marsha was killed.”

Shirley put the newspaper down on the coffee table. “That's not true. We met on Friday. And we weren't arguing.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Talking.”

I leaned forward. “That's not what the waitress said.”

“Well, she's wrong.” The daylight wasn't kind to Shirley, I thought as I watched her. It highlighted every line and wrinkle in her face. “What do you care anyway?” she asked in a aggrieved tone. “Why can't you just leave this alone? Marsha's dead.”

“Exactly.”

“Even when she's gone she makes trouble for me,” Shirley said bitterly.

“But I thought you were friends.”

“I thought so, too,” Shirley snapped. “But we weren't. I don't think we ever were. I was just too dumb to see what was going on.” The corners of Shirley's mouth twitched. “All I wanted her to do was leave Merlin alone,” she told me. “She didn't love him. She didn't care about him. She never cared about anybody but herself. Ever.”

“That's not an opinion other people share.”

“That's because they never knew her like I did,” Shirley said. “All those years we lived next to each other and all she ever did was lord it over me. She thought she was so much better. I got a new coat, the next week she got a more expensive one. I got a new sofa, she got one, too—only hers was better. The only reason she wanted Brandon was because I had him.”

“From what I understand she did you a favor. You were well rid of him.”

Shirley shook her head. “You don't understand, do you? Women like you don't.”

“Women like me?” I asked.

“Yes.” She pulled at a thread on the sleeve of her robe. “Attractive women. Women men like.”

I looked down at myself. “I don't think so.”

“No.” Shirley pointed an accusatory finger. “You wanna look the way you do. I used to see you all dressed up to go to work when you lived here. Those tight skirts you used to wear. All that makeup. The men used to watch you walking out of your car. You can look like that again any time you want. But nobody has ever looked at me that way. Even when I was younger they didn't. Brandon was all I had. Marsha knew that and she took him away anyway.”

“He hit you,” I reminded her. “You had an order of protection taken out on him.”

Shirley looked down at the floor. “I only did that because I was angry at him. I didn't mean it. I was gonna go to the court and get it lifted. But then Marsha comes along and takes him.”

“So you go after her husband?”

“She didn't want him, but she wouldn't let him go,” she said softly. “Marsha didn't want me to have anything.”

“He could have just walked away,” I told Shirley. “He is a big boy.”

“He wanted to, but she was threatening to go—” Suddenly Shirley stopped talking.

“To go to who?”

“To nobody,” Shirley said and changed the subject. “She always thought she was so smart just because she was a teacher. But who was she teaching? You answer me that.”

“Who was she threatening to go to?” I asked again.

“Nobody. She wasn't going to go to nobody.” Shirley's voice rose a notch.

“Is that what you were arguing about?”

“I want you to leave now. I want you to go.”

“Are you sure you don't want to tell me?”

“Get out!” she screamed.

I rose. There was no reason to stay. I'd learned as much as I was going to for the time being.

“I don't want you coming back here. I've got nothing more to say to you.” Shirley's voice had gone up again. She sounded as if she was on the verge of hysteria.

Suddenly I heard Brandon's voice in my head. “Ask her what she did to the cat who peed on her doorstep.” So I did. She threw an ashtray at me by way of an answer. Fortunately her aim was bad. I left before it got better.

One thing was for sure, I thought as I walked toward the cab. Shirley had gained by Marsha's death. Now she had Merlin all to herself. I guess there really is no accounting for taste.

I lit a cigarette. But then where did the blackmail come in?

Maybe it didn't. Maybe I'd been wrong. After all, it had been known to happen.

On a frequent basis.

I got in the cab and drove home. I took Zsa Zsa out for a walk and checked my answering machine for messages. There weren't any, which was probably just as well. These days the only messages I was getting were dunning ones from credit card companies. Then I went to work. A flock of geese was passing overhead as Zsa Zsa and I were walking up to the store. They were flying low and their honking bounced off the houses and echoed in the air. Zsa Zsa wagged her tail in excitement and went after them before I could stop her. I cursed and ran after her. Half a block later I caught up with her and carried her back to the store.

“She looks embarrassed,” Tim said when I set her down on the floor.

“She should be.” I made a pot of coffee and got down to work.

I couldn't get Shirley off my mind, though. I kept seeing her, hearing her voice. Could she actually have murdered Marsha in a fit of jealousy? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had been known to happen. And what exactly had Marsha been threatening Merlin with? Going to the IRS? Going to the police? I was turning the possibilities over in my mind when Angie, one of Fast Eddie's lowlife scum, walked through the door.

I reached under the counter to where Merlin's twenty-two was and patted the gun. Maybe it wasn't much, maybe it couldn't make a very big hole in someone, but knowing it was there made me feel better anyway. I didn't know what Angie wanted. I just knew I didn't want to go on any more rides with him.

He looked around as he strode over to where I was. The short-sleeved teal shirt he was wearing showed off his tan. “Nice place you got here,” he said.

“Thanks.” I made a big show of lighting a cigarette.

“So how things going?” He rested an elbow on the counter with the easy familiarity of one who is used to being in charge.

“Fine. Listen, I already told Fast Eddie I'd call him if I found anything out. He doesn't have to send you around to check on me.”

“He didn't send me. His mother did.”

I groaned.

Angie smiled. “She's really something, ain't she?”

“Yes,” I replied with feeling. “She certainly is.”

“She just wanted to make sure you understood not to keep the money if you happened to find it.”

“I'm not a moron,” I told him.

“That's what I said to her. But she worries a lot. Especially with Eddie being sick and all.”

I spun my lighter around with my index finger. “Is that it?”

“So what should I tell her?”

“Tell her I'm no closer to finding her son's money than I was before.”

“You talked to everyone?”

“I talked to everyone.”

“Because I thought that therapist guy . . .”

“Eddison?”

Angie nodded. “I thought he was holding out on me. Maybe you should go speak to him again.”

“Maybe you should,” I snapped, losing patience.

Angie raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want me to tell Fast Eddie's ma? I will if you want me to.”

I sighed. Even though I would have dearly loved to tell her to fuck herself, it wouldn't be worth the price. “No. I'll go talk to him,” I told Angie.

“Good.” He straightened up. “See. I told her you was sensible.”

I wasn't. I was just tired, but I didn't say that.

A
ngie's visit bothered me. I thought about why it did while I opened up a can of cat food for Pickles and gave Zsa Zsa a bath.

The whole thing was just too pat. I was being steered in a specific direction and I didn't know why. Of course, I could always choose not to take that road. But if I didn't, I'd never find out what was going on. On the other hand that might be a healthier alternative.

“What do you think I should do?” I asked Zsa Zsa as I dried her off with a towel.

She licked my finger by way of an answer.

I decided that meant I should call Eddison. At the very least I'd get Fast Eddie's mother off my back, and at the most I might find out something else about Marsha. I dropped the towel in the hamper and spent the next twenty minutes combing the tangles out of Zsa Zsa's coat. Then I put the comb down and called Eddison, but he wasn't in. According to the message on his answering machine he was gone for the day. I looked up his home address in the phone book. Surprisingly he was listed. A lot of times therapists aren't. I decided to drive by his house on my way home. He wasn't that far away.

His house turned out to be a neatly kept, unremarkable green and white Cape Cod in the outer university area. It was one of those houses you'd pass by without a second glance. There was nothing wrong with it—but there wasn't anything terribly right with it either. I was feeling irritable by the time I arrived there because none of the houses on Overbridge Street seemed to have visible numbers and I had to keep on stopping the cab, getting out and looking, getting back in, and driving on. Since it was drizzling I was damp by the time I rang Eddison's bell. I got even damper standing on his front stoop because Eddison didn't invite me in.

“What do you want?” he asked, carefully closing the door behind him. The gesture made me wonder if he had someone in there that he didn't want me to see.

“There's something we have to discuss,” I told him while I let my glance linger on the nearby picture window. But I couldn't see in. The blinds were too tightly drawn.

“Make an appointment,” he snapped. “I'm busy.” He turned to go.

“I don't think Angie would like your attitude.”

Eddison halted. He turned back around slowly. His face, haloed under the streetlight, seemed to have collapsed in on itself. I'd hit a nerve.

“I already told him I don't know anything about the money.” He wrung his hands while he talked. I was fascinated. I'd never actually seen anyone do that before.

“That's not what he thinks,” I replied. “And,” I added, “that's not what I think either.”

“I don't understand.” He looked at me blankly. “I don't understand how you come into this.”

I nodded to the door. “Why don't you let me in and I'll explain.”

“No,” he stammered. “I'm sorry. The place is a mess. It's better if we talk out here.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The man was obviously lying, but I wasn't going to tell him that—at least not yet. “It's like this,” I said, quickly coming up with a story. “Fast Eddie is giving me a ten percent finder's fee for locating Marsha's money.”

“Why's he doing that?” Eddison's face was twisted with incomprehension.

“Because I told him I could get the job done faster and easier than he could. Now, if I can't, he'll send some of his associates back to talk to you again.” I leaned forward slightly to emphasize my next point. “You've met one of them already—wouldn' t you rather speak to me instead?”

“But I don't have Marsha's money,” Eddison wailed. His voice was shrill with fear. “I swear it.”

“I never said you did. I just think you know something about it.”

“But I don't.”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, but I can't buy that. You're acting like someone with a guilty conscience.”

Eddison bit his lip.

“You know, one way or another the truth is going to come out,” I told him. “The way it does is up to you.” Then I waited to see what he'd say next.

“She was blackmailing me,” he finally mumbled. “I was giving her money.”

“Come again?” This was not the answer I'd expected.

“Marsha said she needed it.” He started wringing his hands again. “She said this was her last chance and she was going to take it.”

“Her last chance for what?”

“Happiness.”

The folly of the middle-aged female, I thought, rubbing my arms. The temperature was falling and the drizzle had penetrated my shirt. It felt cold against my skin. “What did she have on you?”

Eddison turned his head away, but not before I had a chance to see his eyes brimming with tears. I felt ashamed for him and for me. “I didn't mean to do it,” he whispered. “I didn't know what I was doing.”

“Exactly what didn't you mean to do?” I asked.

Eddison swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “Estrella and I ... we had sex,” he said in a barely audible voice.

“How did Marsha find out?”

“Estrella told her.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Because she thought it would be funny.”

“I bet Marsha didn't think so.”

“Marsha was going to report me. I was going to lose my clients. Maybe even go to jail. It's taken me so long to build up my business ... I just couldn't bear the thought of its disappearing.” His voice rose. “It wasn't like Estrella wasn't willing either because she was. She was the one who came on to me. She said she liked older men.” From the little I'd seen of Estrella, I thought Eddison was probably telling the truth. He looked up, his eyes pleading for absolution. “Everyone is entitled to a mistake once in a while, aren't they?”

“I guess it depends on what it is,” was the best I could do. “How much did Marsha want?”

“Five thousand.” I couldn't help thinking that was a lot of money for a couple of fucks. I hoped Eddison had enjoyed them. “She wanted five thousand dollars,” he repeated.

“Or?”

“She was going to go to the authorities and complain.”

“What else?” I said. From the look on his face I knew there was more.

“She wanted to look at my files.”

“And you let her?” Screwing Estrella had been bad, but somehow this was worse.

Eddison's shoulders slumped under the accusation in my voice. “What else could I do?” It was the kind of question weak men have asked down through the ages.

“What did she want with them?”

Eddison shook his head. “I don't know.”

“Whose files did she look at?”

“I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I showed her where they were; then she told me to leave, so I did. When I came back about three hours later she was gone.” Eddison started rubbing his hands together. “What I did wasn't so bad, was it?” A glint of hope blossomed on his face. I killed it with my next words.

“As compared to what?”

Eddison pulled back as if I'd struck him. Then he wordlessly turned and hurried into his house, closing the front door behind him as though it could be trusted to keep the world at bay. I knocked on it, proving him wrong.

“Go away,” Eddison cried.

But I didn't. I asked for his client list instead.

“I can't do that,” he replied.

“Oh, yes you can.” After all, he'd done it once, he could do it again. “I'll pick the list up tomorrow afternoon.”

“And if I don't give it to you?”

“Does the phrase talking to Fast Eddie mean anything to you?”

“Oh, God.” I heard a muffled sob coming from the other side of the door. Then I heard another voice and Eddison shushing it.

“Who else is in there?” I asked.

“No one,” Eddison answered.

I didn't believe him, but I wasn't going to press the issue. There was no point in doing that when I could just repark the cab and wait and see who came out of his house, so I said good night and walked back toward my cab. My encounter with Eddison had left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I didn't like him, and more importantly I didn't like myself too much either—but I guessed that would pass. It usually did.

I hurried to the cab as much to get out of the rain as to get away from him. By now the fine mist had turned into thicker rain drops, and I watched them reflect under the streetlight while I dried my hair off with a paper towel that was lying on the passenger seat. Then I started the cab, drove around the block, parked out of eyeshot of Eddison's house, and settled down to wait.

It didn't take long.

Ray Diamond emerged thirty minutes later.

Like Ichabod Crane, Estrella's boyfriend seemed to belong to the night. When I'd seen him during the daytime he'd been a skinny, awkward-looking, twenty-five-year-old man with a bad case of acne, but now as he loped toward the car, his gracelessness was gone, discarded like the husk of an insect.

As he pulled out I wondered if he'd been talking to Eddison about Estrella and if so what he'd said. It was with an eye to answering that question that I decided to follow him. I was hoping to catch Diamond as he went in his house, but he didn't go home. Instead he took a right on Comstock and headed toward East Genesee Street. I followed him anyway because I was curious to see what he was up to.

Diamond drove like a man in a hurry. The speed limit on East Genesee in the city is thirty miles an hour, and he was exceeding it by a good twenty; but then so was everyone else on the road. The unmarked police car that patrolled this particular stretch was only there in the mornings. The rain was still falling, and it gave the shuttered buildings on either side a forlorn quality. As we passed by Wegman's Supermarket I noticed a shopping cart slowly drifting down the margin of the road on the other side of the street. Maybe it had just decided to see the world.

I almost lost Diamond when he turned at Fayetteville Mall. Because I assumed that he'd keep on going straight I wasn't paying strict attention, so it wasn't until the last minute that I realized he'd veered off to the left. A car honked at me as I switched lanes. A couple of miles later Diamond took a right onto a country road. I tried to stay far enough back so he wouldn't become suspicious and close enough so I wouldn't lose him; but it was difficult to do, and I found myself either riding the brake or pumping the gas.

Occasionally I'd spot another car in my rearview mirror, and for a few seconds I entertained the fantasy that he was doing to me what I was doing to Ray; but then I decided I was just being paranoid and forgot about it. Instead, as I sped along I thought about Marsha's request to Eddison. The five thousand I could understand, but the request for his client list was a little odder. Was she on a fishing expedition, looking for new information? Or was she looking to confirm something she already knew? Too bad I couldn't ask her.

A few minutes later the road broadened out and we hit a clutch of stores. Diamond slowed down and pulled into a gas station on the right side of the road. I didn't want to follow him in and call attention to myself, so I parked about one hundred feet down and checked out what Ray was doing from my rearview mirror. First he pumped some gas; then he went inside, paid, came out and made a phone call. Whoever he was speaking to must have angered him because when he got back in his car he roared out of the lot, missing an incoming car by a matter of inches. In another minute or so we were back on the open road.

I was wondering if Diamond was taking a back road to Cazenovia, one of those quaint towns where everyone has a fit if you plant the wrong color petunias, when he made another turn. It's a good thing I was paying attention because otherwise I never would have seen the turnoff. It was narrow and obscured with trees. In the daytime it would have been difficult to see, but on a moonless night such as this one it was impossible. I pulled in and killed the engine and the lights. There was no way I could drive in and not have Ray be aware that he was being followed. I could hear his car up ahead, and then I didn't hear anything at all.

I whispered for Zsa Zsa to stay in the car. Then I got out. I took care to close the door as quietly as possible, but the silence magnified the sound, making it louder than it would have otherwise been. The same was true of my footsteps. Every twig I stepped on crackled in the dark. To make matters worse, the path I was on was extremely rutted and I kept tripping over rocks and branches. Water from the trees dripped on my head and shoulders as I walked. I was cold and wet and uncomfortable. After about ten steps or so I decided it made more sense to come back in the daylight when I could see something.

And anyway I had something I wanted to do besides trip over rocks in the dark and fall and fracture my wrist. I wanted to break into Eddison's office.