In Plain Sight

by Barbara Block

  I shook my head.

  “Thousands. See, that’s what Marsha and I were going to do.”

  “Maybe you can do it with someone else?” I suggested.

  “It wouldn’t be the same.” His face grew hard. I took another sip of my beer to be polite and put the can down on the table.

  “Did Merlin know about you two?”

  “I don’t care if he did.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  Brandon scratched the side of his cheek. “He didn’t say anything to me at the funeral.”

  “Would he have cared if he had known?”

  “Why should he?” Brandon drained his beer can and squeezed it till it collapsed.

  “Some men might object,” I observed dryly.

  “He has Shirley,” he added, giving the name an ugly twist. “You ask me, she was the one that put him up to the stuff with the dogs. If you ask me, she probably killed them herself.”

  “I don’t know.” I thought back to what Shirley had told me. “She seemed pretty upset to me.”

  “Yeah, right.” Brandon got up, walked over to the refrigerator and took another beer. “She likes killing things. Don’t let her tell you no different. Ask her what she did to the cat that was peeing on her front door.”

  “I will,” I said. “You seem to know a lot about her.”

  “I should. We lived together for a while. Mom said I shouldn’t, but I wouldn’t pay her no mind. Well, she was right. Let me tell you the only reason Shirley took up with Merlin was to get back at me.” He opened his second beer and downed it. “You ask me those two make a good pair. She says it and he does it. You know, Merlin didn’t even preserve them right. Porter woulda whopped him one with a strap for doin’ that kind of job. The first rainy day those dogs would have started stinkin’.” Brandon balled up his hands into fists again. “It’s a good thing I didn’t see Po and Pooh till after you left. Otherwise I would have done something real bad to Merlin. Real bad,” he repeated.

  For a moment I almost felt sorry for Merlin. Almost, but not quite. I put the taxidermy pamphlet down on the table.

  “But I don’t do stuff like that no more,” Brandon told me.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  He looked down at his hands. “I used to have a bad temper.” He began chewing on the inside of his lip.

  Somehow I had the feeling that he still did—but I didn’t say that. “Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked instead.

  “Can’t. Too many chemicals in here. That’s another reason my mother don’t like this place. She smokes like a chimney.”

  Brandon ran his tongue over his lips. They were so chapped they were almost bright red. “You know, Marsha and me were going to get married after she got divorced. We were gonna open a store together, too,” Brandon murmured.

  “I know. You already told me.”

  “Did I tell you I was gonna paint it red and white. And then we were gonna rent a house. We had it all picked out. It was on Fellows Avenue.”

  “All of that would cost a lot,” I observed, thinking of the money Marsha owed.

  “Yeah. Well.” Brandon picked at his fingernail. “Marsha said not to worry about it. She said she’d get the money when she got divorced. She was gonna make Merlin sell the business. She said she could do it because she owned most of it.” Interesting, I thought as I watched Brandon grin. “Boy, Shirley got mad when she heard about it. She went over to Marsha’s and she was yelling and screaming and carrying on.”

  I took a deep breath. “I was told Marsha owed a great deal of money to bookies.”

  Funk flushed. “Who told you that?”

  “I forget.” The last thing I was going to do was give him Connie’s name.

  Funk’s face turned redder. “I bet it was Shirley, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? She was always saying bad things like that.”

  “Why would she want to do something like that?”

  “I told you. Because she hated Marsha and me. She was jealous. She wanted me back. She told me so.”

  “Then why was she going out with Merlin?”

  “To get back at me. And because he has money. Shirley likes money.” Brandon jutted his chin out, balled his hands into fists, and slammed them down on the coffee table. Everything on it bounced up and down. Then he started to cry. “It’s all my fault,” he got out between sobs. “My fault. Everything is my fault.” A low, keening moan escaped from his lips. He began plucking at his clothes.

  “Brandon,” I said.

  He didn’t pay any attention.

  “Brandon,” I repeated. He didn’t respond. His eyes seemed to be focused on something far away. He’d gone into his own world. I reached over and shook him. He moaned louder and began pulling at the buttons on his shirt. I heard the fabric rip as they flew off. Then Brandon moved his hands up to his face and began scratching at himself. A small drop of blood ran down his cheek.

  “Stop it,” I yelled, and then when that didn’t work I did the only other thing I could think of: I slapped him across the face.

  He paused for a second, then went back to what he’d been doing before. By now there were large welts across his nose and cheeks.

  I ran to get his mother.

  Chapter 21

  Brandon. Funk’s mother turned out to be a small, weak-chinned woman tucked up in a salmon-colored chenille bathrobe.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  “I think your son needs your help.” I told her what was happening.

  She crossed herself and hurried over to his house. I followed behind.

  Brandon’s wailing marked our path.

  When we reached the doorway his mother gave me a furious glance and stepped inside. “I’ll take it from here,” she spat out. “You’ve done enough damage.” She slammed the door in my face.

  I stayed outside for a minute listening to Brandon’s moans and his mother’s urgent voice rising and falling, strands intertwined in some symphony I couldn’t understand or participate in. Finally when the sounds abated somewhat I left.

  Zsa Zsa was scratching on the window with her front paws as I walked up to the cab. I let her out and we went for a walk. For the next two blocks I did nothing but think about Brandon. I wondered what sort of bad things he had done in the past, and then I wondered how mad he’d gotten at Marsha when he found out she owed all that money, because no matter what he said I couldn’t believe that he didn’t know. It seemed to me he’d be very mad indeed. The question was, what would he do? I thought about it some more as Zsa Zsa raced ahead of me, dodging in and out of the laurel hedges as she chased the shadows the nearby trees were casting.

  Brandon had kept on insisting everything was his fault. What was everything? The affair? The murder? After a few more minutes of turning the problem over in my mind I decided that like Zsa Zsa I was chasing shadows. I didn’t know Brandon well enough to be able to answer the question. Then I wondered what Shirley would say and whether or not Brandon was right about her feelings toward Marsha. Brandon and Shirley. Marsha and Merlin. Two swinging couples. No reason everyone shouldn’t be happy. Only they didn’t swing and they weren’t happy. I whistled for Zsa Zsa and turned around and started back toward the car. On the way a few rain drops fell on my cheek.

  By the time I got back to the car the rain was falling in earnest. I was just getting in the car when the door to Brandon’s house opened. His mother stood there framed in the light. Then she closed the door and headed back to her house. As she walked I suddenly knew who she had reminded me of—Enid. And then I remembered what Ana Torres had said about not liking to clean house for Enid’s crazy brother, the one with all the dead animals in his house. Oh, my God. I put my hand to my mouth. Enid and Brandon were brother and sister. Amazing. For a moment I just stood there thinking about how I hadn’t realized that they were and wondering about what else I didn’t know. Then Zsa Zsa barked and I became aware that we were both standing out in the rain. I opened the cab door. Zsa Zsa jumped in and I fol
lowed. As I drove away I couldn’t help contemplating what a small town Syracuse really is and how everyone is always related to everyone else in unexpected ways.

  Zsa Zsa rested her head in my lap as I drove us home. She didn’t like this weather and neither did I. It was raining so hard I was having difficulty making out the turns in the road. Then to make matters worse as I turned onto Comstock a car began tailgating me. He was so close his headlights were reflecting in my rearview mirror, making it even more difficult to see. I cursed and sped up and he did the same. Finally I pulled over to the side of the road to let him go. He waved as he went by. I gave him the finger and pulled out after him. For the next block I took a great deal of pleasure in making him as uncomfortable as he had made me. Then I turned onto Colvin and drove home.

  It was a little after eleven when I walked into my house. James was waiting for me. The fur on his back was slick with rainwater, and his tail twitched impatiently as I opened the door. I let everyone in, fed the cat, dried off Zsa Zsa, and made myself a hot milk and Scotch and honey. Then I settled down in front of the TV. Of course, there was nothing I wanted to see. I ended up surfing the channels with the remote and thinking about Brandon. I couldn’t keep myself from wondering how bad the things he used to do really were and whether or not he’d ever been arrested, when the phone rang. For a moment I thought about letting the answering machine get it, but curiosity won out and I got up and answered it. George was on the other end.

  “I was just wondering if you were okay,” he said.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You left Pete’s kind of quickly.”

  “I had things to do.”

  “I see.” George paused for a minute. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. Why should I be?” I mean, what was I going to say: I was upset because he’d been talking to another woman?

  “Because you sound that way.”

  “I’m just preoccupied.”

  “With what?”

  Grateful for a chance to change the subject, I told him about where I’d been and what I’d found out.

  “This guy Brandon Funk sounds a little off center,” George observed when I was through.

  “I know.” I reached over for the chocolate bar sitting on the kitchen counter and broke off a piece. “I was wondering if you could find out how off center?”

  “And how would I do that?”

  I put the piece in my mouth and let it dissolve on my tongue. “See if he has a record.”

  “In case you forgot I’m not on the force anymore,” he reminded me. “I don’t have access to that kind of information.”

  “I know, but you have friends that do.” I ate another piece of chocolate. “All I’m asking is for someone to get on the computer and see if this guy has any priors. It’ll take all of two seconds.”

  “I know how long it will take,” George told me.

  “So will you?”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll help you with your paper.”

  George snorted. “Jesus, you just don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it.” I hung up before George could change his mind. Then I had another Scotch and milk and went to bed. Maybe it was the combination, but I had a bad night. I kept waking up thinking I was hearing things, then drifting back off to sleep to dream of invisible bats twisting themselves up in my hair. Every time I got them out they came right back. No matter how I tried I couldn’t get rid of them. Finally at five o’clock I went downstairs, stretched out on the sofa and read yesterday’s paper. It wasn’t very interesting.

  Zsa Zsa woke me up at eight o’clock to let me know she needed to go out. I got to the store at nine to find a Mrs. Sullivan anxiously waiting for me by the front door. Her hair was barely combed and she didn’t have any makeup on. She started telling me her story while I still had the key in the lock. It seemed that this morning she’d gone down to the basement to do a load of laundry, and as she was leaning over the washing machine a bat popped out.

  “I tell you I almost fainted on the spot.” She crossed her hands and placed them on her chest to show how upset she’d been.

  When I asked her why she was telling me this she uncrossed her hands, dug a flier out of her jacket pocket and waved it in my face. It was from M & M Exterminators.

  “I called them and they said I had a colony living in my house.”

  “That’s very possible,” I replied cautiously.

  “They said they’d get rid of all of them for two thousand dollars.” It looked as if Merlin had raised his price. “I don’t have two thousand dollars,” Mrs. Sullivan wailed. She began cracking her knuckles. “I didn’t know what to do. Then I called one of my neighbors and she said to call you.” She peered at me through thick-lensed glasses. “Do you think you could help?”

  I suppressed a sigh, took her phone number and address and told her either Tim or I would be there before twelve. When I went inside, I called the Better Business Bureau to lodge a complaint against Merlin, after which I called George. He informed me his friend was on the one o’clock shift and he’d get back to me later in the day.

  “When do you want to start on your paper?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” George replied and hung up.

  “Asshole,” I said to the telephone.

  “Who’s an asshole?” Tim asked as he opened a container of yogurt and started eating his breakfast.

  “George.”

  “What else is new?”

  Pickles jumped up on the counter, and Tim spooned some of his yogurt onto the container’s lid and pushed it toward the cat. She sat down and began lapping it up.

  “So what’s on the agenda for today?” Tim asked when he was done eating.

  I told him about Mrs. Sullivan.

  “Who goes?” Tim asked. “I have a lot of stuff to do.”

  “So do I.”

  We flipped for it. I lost. Cursing under my breath I picked up my gloves, my net, and a bath towel and headed out to the cab. It took me five minutes to get to the house. Since I’d last seen her, Mrs. Sullivan had put on some lipstick, blusher, and eyeliner. She said hello, then hustled me through a spotless kitchen to a gleaming back hall.

  “It’s down there,” she said, pointing to the door that led to the basement.

  It took me a while to find the bat. He’d gone to sleep in a crevice in the wall behind the dryer. He’d probably come out for a drink of water. Bats tend to get thirsty this time of year. They get dehydrated when they hibernate.

  “You know,” I told Mrs. Sullivan as I released him outside, “M & M Exterminators were right about one thing. Most bats live in colonies. This one might have brothers and sisters hibernating between the inner and outer walls.”

  Mrs. Sullivan clicked her tongue. “I don’t see how. My brother-in-law insulated last year. He caulked everything up good and tight. Then he put on aluminum siding.”

  “Let’s check the attic anyway,” I suggested. As long as I was here it seemed silly not to finish the job.

  Amazingly the only thing up there were four cartons of clothes.

  “I try to get rid of things as I go,” Mrs. Sullivan explained. “I don’t like to leave messes sitting around.”

  I checked the cardboard boxes just to make sure. Nothing. “The bat had to come from somewhere,” I said as we went down the stairs.

  “But where?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.

  I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. As a last resort I suggested we walk around the house and see if we could spot anything. Sometimes you can see where bats have come and gone by their collection of droppings. We didn’t see any of those, but we did find something else—a broken basement window in the rear of the house.

  I knelt down to study it, then straightened up. “I bet that’s how the bat got in.”

  Mrs. Sullivan looked perplexed. “Now, how did that happen? That wasn’t there yesterday.”

  “Probably some
kid with a baseball,” I suggested, even though I could come up with another explanation with no trouble at all.

  “Maybe.”

  I left her standing in her backyard wondering who the guilty party had been. Actually I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t prove it.

  I spent the rest of the day waiting on customers, housing a shipment of hissing cockroaches that I picked up out at the airport, and negotiating with the telephone company about partial payment of my current bill. I was not in a good mood when Tim left the store at eight-thirty. I locked the door at nine and settled in to do my bookkeeping—a depressing operation these days—but around nine-fifteen my stomach started hurting, and I decided I’d better put something in it.

  I told Zsa Zsa to guard the store and ran out to get a hamburger at McDonald’s. The street was quiet when I stepped out. A cat meowed from somewhere nearby. It had started to drizzle again—but I didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy thinking about other things, such as whether I should get two orders of fries or one order of fries and an apple pie, when someone grabbed me from behind and began dragging me to the curb.

  Chapter 22

  It all happened so fast I didn’t have time to react, let alone to think. Before I knew it a man had thrown me in the back of a car and climbed in after me.

  “That’s for giving me a hard time the other night,” he informed me as he clipped me in the jaw.

  “Lay off,” the guy in front told him.

  “I just wanna teach her a little respect,” the man who’d hit me whined. “She shouldn’t have rode on my ass like that.”

  “Do what I say,” the driver snapped.

  “Who appointed you God?” the other man snarled.

  I made for the door, but before I even got my hand on the handle the guy beside me grabbed my hair and yanked me back. He smelled of sweat and licorice. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Nowhere now.”

  “You’re goddamned right you’re not.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what’s going on?” I said as the car pulled away from the curb. I moved my jaw from side to side. Nothing seemed broken.