In Plain Sight

by Barbara Block

  I shook my head. “She wasn’t at the restaurant when I dropped by.”

  “Estrella might have told her something.”

  “The thought had occurred to me.” I turned and began walking along the reservoir’s outer perimeter. Estrella had to have left some evidence she’d been here somewhere. I’d gone halfway around when I saw an opening in the woods. “Where does that go?” I asked George.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t even know it was there.”

  “Well, let’s find out.” I started down. George joined me a moment later.

  The path gave evidence of being well traveled. It was littered with broken beer bottles and more torn cups. Graffiti stained the rock where it forked. We followed both branches. One led to LeMoyne College while the other let out farther down onto Thompson Road. From there it was just a two-minute walk down to Erie Boulevard.

  Suddenly I had an idea. “The Pancake Palace is right near where the path comes out,” I told George.

  “So?”

  “So maybe Marsha and her murderer met in the restaurant’s parking lot. Remember you said a lot of teachers from Wellington eat breakfast there.”

  “It’s possible,” he agreed. “The place does open early. People come and go there all the time. A car in the lot wouldn’t excite much notice.”

  George and I exchanged glances and headed back to the car. It looked as if we were going to pay a visit to The Pancake Palace on our way home. The parking lot was almost empty when I pulled in. Sea gulls strutted back and forth looking for scraps. It was odd seeing them so far from the ocean, but they’d been on Erie Boulevard for years. Maybe they’d gotten stranded up here the same way I had and couldn’t find their way home.

  “Let me do the talking,” I said to George as I turned off the engine.

  He shrugged. “It’s your show.”

  To emphasize the point, once we got in the restaurant he headed over to the counter and ordered two cinnamon rolls and a couple of coffees to go while I asked the two waitresses on duty if anyone remembered seeing Marsha.

  Both of them had. It turned out Marsha Pennington was a regular.

  “She came in two to three times a week and got an English muffin, orange juice, and coffee,” the waitress with a strawberry birthmark across the lower part of her left cheek informed me. I noticed that she kept that side of her face slightly tilted away from me. “She used to sit over there.” She pointed to an empty table over by the far window. “It’s too bad about what happened.”

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed.

  Unfortunately neither of the waitresses could remember if Marsha Pennington had been in the day she died.

  “The days all kind of run into one another,” the waitress I was talking to explained. “I mean, I can’t even recall what I had for dinner last night let alone whether or not someone was in a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Did she have any specific days she came in on?”

  The waitress shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  I cast around for another way to help her remember. “Did she usually come in with somebody?”

  “Once in awhile, but mostly she came in alone.” The waitress looked around the room checking to see if anyone needed her. “She’d order her breakfast and read her paper. Then she’d leave. She didn’t tip real well. None of these teachers do.”

  “Anything else?” I asked, grasping at straws.

  “Well, there was something.” The waitress tapped her nails on the edge of the chair she was standing next to. “It wasn’t a big thing. I just remember it because I had never seen the other lady before. She didn’t wait to be seated or anything. She just walked over to Mrs. Pennington’s table and stood there. The next thing I know they was arguing.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear.”

  “Then how do you know they were fighting?”

  “I could tell from their faces and the way they were waving their arms.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “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.

  Chapter 29

  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.”

&
nbsp; “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.

  Chapter 30

  Angie’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.”