In Plain Sight

by Barbara Block

  I said a silent prayer, raised the window, and pulled myself in. When my heartbeat slowed to normal I glanced around. Everything looked the way it should. The kitchen was neat. Nothing was spilled or broken. I went over and listened to the messages on the answering machine. Most of them were from me. It was odd listening to my voice rolling out into the silence. I glanced at the message pad next to the phone. “Call Robin” was underlined. I thumbed through the rest of the pages, but there was nothing else written on them. I picked up his engagement calendar. It was an expensive one. The leather was a dark, rich brown, the pages edged with gold. I usually use the giveaways you get in the gas station myself.

  I sat down and went through the book. According to what George had written he should have met with his adviser yesterday afternoon and gone out with a guy named Ron last night. I looked up their numbers in George’s phone book and called. George hadn’t made either appointment and he hadn’t called to cancel. The knot that had taken root in my stomach grew. I got up and went into the living room.

  It was tastefully furnished in Mission Oak. The only jarring notes were the treadmill, the stationary bike, and the free weights sitting in front of the large screen television. I went over and glanced at the videos on the shelves that branched off from the fireplace. There must have been at least three hundred, maybe more, all carefully alphabetized and arranged by category. The titles ranged from science fiction to the old classics. I took out the Caine Mutiny and stared at the box. I hadn’t even known George liked movies all that much. The thought depressed me and I reshelved the film and turned to the desk.

  It was an old rolltop. The top was littered with note cards and textbooks and papers filled with George’s neat writing. I sat down and went through them. If there was anything here that would shed light on George’s disappearance, I couldn’t see it. I checked the cubbyholes next, but all I found were stamps and rubber bands and paper clips and White-out. Fighting a growing sense of disappointment I opened the top drawer. Two black pen cases lay nestled next to a bottle of black ink and a blotter. I took the cases out and opened them up. Both of the pens were black. Both of them had gold tips. I stared at them for a minute, not daring to believe what I was seeing.

  I got up, retrieved my backpack from the kitchen and pulled out the pen I’d found in the barn. It could have been the brother of the two I’d found in the desk. I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. Of course, the pen could have been somebody else’s. It could have been, but it probably wasn’t. What the hell had George been doing in the barn? What had he been looking for?

  I’d bet anything it had something to do with Estrella.

  But what?

  I leaned back in George’s chair and stared at a blank spot on the wall. Somehow it reminded me of my mind at the present moment I shook my head to clear it.

  Maybe Pam Tower would know.

  She’d been the last person George had spoken to, at least the last person I knew of.

  It was time she and I had a little chat.

  There was only one problem.

  I had to find her.

  I stood up and took one last look around George’s house. Then I opened the front door and left. It was easier and a good deal less conspicuous than climbing back out through the window. It had started to drizzle. I turned on the wipers and headed over to the house on Deal. When I got there I rang the bell and waited. I heard footsteps. A moment later the door opened. A girl I hadn’t seen before was standing there stifling a yawn. I must have woken her up.

  “I’m looking for Pam Tower.”

  “Sorry. You’re too late. She’s gone.”

  “Can you tell me where?”

  The girl shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

  “When did she leave?”

  The girl scratched her neck while she thought. “A couple of days ago. Right after this big black guy talked to her.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked, wondering if she was describing George.

  “He was wearing a pink button-down shirt. Actually he was kind of scary-looking.”

  It was George all right. “Did Pam say anything at all before she left?”

  The girl rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Just that she was going to say goodbye to her parents, and then she was catching a bus out of town.”

  “I don’t suppose you have their number?”

  “Her parents?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe.” The girl turned and I followed her into the kitchen. She rifled through an old stack of newspapers sitting on the kitchen table while I watched impatiently. Finally she tore off an edge from the sports section. “I knew it was here somewhere,” she said as she handed it to me.

  I could barely read the scrawled numbers. As it turned out, I could have saved myself the trouble of deciphering them because Pam’s mother didn’t know anything either. When I got her on the phone she told me her daughter hadn’t told her where she was going or when she’d be back. As I listened to the pain in her voice I began to think that maybe I was lucky not to have children after all.

  I let myself out. Two men looked up at me as I stepped out the door and onto the street. They were standing huddled together a little ways away from the cab. I skirted them and kept my gaze averted so they’d know I had no interest in the business they were in the middle of transacting.

  “Want something?” one of them asked as I passed by.

  Nothing you can help me with, I thought as I shook my head and got in the cab. As I drove away I decided I had two choices: I could either go home and do nothing or I could go back to the farm and take another look around. There was no contest. I opted for the farm. Before I left, though, I swung by the store and picked up Marsha’s twenty-two. I didn’t know what I was going to find, and I didn’t want to take any chances.

  As I looked at its ridiculous pink mother-of-pearl handle, I decided that Tim was right. It wasn’t much of a gun. On the other hand it was better than nothing at all. I said goodbye to Pickles, told the cat to wish me luck, then got back in the cab and took off.

  The road out to the farm was almost empty and I drove it fast. My heartbeat seemed to be keeping pace with the swish swish of the windshield wipers. I tried to use the time to think. Something was at the farm. Something important. Something relating to Estrella. Otherwise George wouldn’t have gone out there. But what? I had a feeling I already knew. All the pieces of the puzzle were spread out on the table. All I had to do was put them together.

  I lit a cigarette and reviewed my conversations with Brandon Funk, Merlin, and Shirley. I thought about what Eddison and Ray had said. By the time I got to the farm I almost had the answer, but it kept slipping away, dissolving back into the recesses of my mind whenever I tried to put it in words. I was so frustrated I wanted to spit. Instead I put out my cigarette and made myself think of other things. The answer I was looking for would come once I stopped searching for it. At least that’s what I told myself.

  By the time I reached the turnoff the drizzle had changed into a downpour and I had to slow down because of poor visibility. As I drew closer I began to make out the farmhouse. It was dark. No lights were on. No cars were parked in the farmhouse’s driveway. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  I slowed down as I passed, but then I changed my mind and sped back up. I’d start my search in the barn. After all, that’s where I’d found George’s pen. Then after I was done I’d go through the house.

  I parked close by the barn, turned off the engine, smoked a cigarette and watched the rain streaking down the windshield. When it was done I stubbed it out and took Marsha’s gun out of my backpack. As I studied it Ray’s comment about the place being haunted popped into my mind. I shook my head to clear it and told myself that whatever had happened here hadn’t been caused by ghosts. I slipped the twenty-two into the band of my jeans, grabbed a flashlight from under the front seat, got out, and ran to the barn.

  I was soaked by the time I stepped inside. The air smelled
of damp hay and mildew. I wiped the water off my face with my sleeve. Then I turned on my flashlight and called to George as I played my light over the walls and the floors. A cat, caught in the beam, meowed and ran out the door. Other than that, the creaking boards and the sound of the rain, the place was silent. I walked around the bales of rotting hay and looked behind the pieces of sheet rock lying against the walls. Then I climbed up on the first rung of the ladder and shone my light around the hayloft. The only thing I saw were cobwebs. I sighed as I stepped back down. George wasn’t here, but then again I hadn’t actually expected he would be. The truth was I was doing this because I didn’t know what else to do. I turned and left.

  The wind had picked up and the For Sale swung back and forth while the branches of the oak tree tossed and turned, weaving themselves into a canopy of leering faces. Raindrops stung my face and dripped down the back of my neck onto my T-shirt as I went up the path. I had to blink my eyes to keep the water out as I climbed the three steps to the porch. I didn’t bother to knock. Instead I turned the handle. The door swung open. I took out my gun and went inside.

  I felt for the light switch and clicked it on. Nothing happened. The power must be shut off. It had probably been off the first time I’d been here. I just hadn’t realized it because I had been here during the day. As I took a couple of steps in, I heard scratching and scurrying. The noise seemed to come from the walls. Probably just a few squirrels living between the support beams, I told myself as I played the light inside the entrance hall. The strips of hanging wallpaper seemed to beckon me forward. I shuddered as I got too close and one of them brushed against my face. It felt as dry and powdery as the hand of death. I walked quickly through the living room and the kitchen. They looked the same as the last time I was here. I went up the stairs. They groaned under my weight, and I had to fight the irrational sensation that they were going to give way under me and pitch me to the ground.

  George wasn’t in the first bedroom. He wasn’t in the second, third, or fourth ones either. Nor was there any sign that he ever had been.

  I went back out into the hall.

  “Where are you?” I screamed.

  The rooms mocked me with their silence.

  The house smiled when I left.

  I slammed the door on the way out.

  I’d done the best I could and it wasn’t good enough.

  I dropped to my knees and began to sob.

  When I was finally done I got back in the cab, rested my head on the seat, and closed my eyes. I was too tired to drive home. I was too tired to do anything. I just sat there listening to myself breathing and feeling the water dripping off my hair and onto my shoulder and looking at the For Sale sign swinging back and forth in the wind.

  And that’s when the revelation I’d been waiting for hit.

  My God. I sat up and put my hand over my mouth.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.

  Suddenly everything began to come together.

  I started up the car.

  There was something I had to check out.

  Chapter 35

  I knelt down and traced the outline of the letters on the tombstone with the tip of my finger. MARINO. Marino. Now that I knew what I was looking at, the letters were easy to read. I rocked back on my heels and considered the implications of what I’d just found. This place was the Marino homestead. This was the place Garriques was trying to sell. I shut my eyes and thought about the photograph I’d seen in Garriques’s study of the two girls standing together in front of a house. The house had been the farmhouse, but then it had been a bright, cheery place, not the rundown ruin of today. No wonder I hadn’t recognized it. You would have had to have looked very carefully to see the similarities.

  Then I thought of the two girls. They’d both looked lively and bright in the picture. Like the house, they gave no hint of what they would become. I shook my head as I thought about Enid’s and Fast Eddie’s mothers and the unhappy women they’d changed into. Over time deep lines of discontent had etched themselves into their foreheads and mouths. The only things that had remained from their youth were the deep-set eyes and the slightly receding chins. No wonder Enid hadn’t wanted to meet her mother and aunt for lunch that day. Who would?

  As I wiped the rain out of my eyes my thoughts went back to Garriques and the real estate agent he was always meeting with. I bet it was Fast Eddie’s brother-in-law. What had Fast Eddie said when he’d given me his card? Something like, “You want to buy a VCR or sell a house come to me.” That must have been why Garriques was always so concerned with being prompt. I wondered what it must be like to marry into a family like that. Maybe that’s why he was always so nice to Enid. Maybe he was afraid not to be. My legs were starting to ache and I got up. As I did I caught a glimpse of the barn out of the corner of my eye and I remembered the picture on Funk’s mantel of Funk and his friend Porter in front of the barn.

  Of course. This was the barn where he and his friend Porter had caught the bats he’d preserved and hung on his walls. What had Funk said? I tried to remember the conversation. It had been something like, “Porter came and he went and then one day he just went.” And I’d said, “Where’d he go?” And Funk had replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  At the time I’d thought he didn’t want to talk about it because the memory was too painful. Now I wondered. I chewed on my fingernail. Ray had said this place was haunted. Usually people say that because something violent has happened there. Had Porter been murdered and buried here? It was unlikely, but as I turned my gaze back to the four tombstones I wasn’t so sure. Then I noticed the tangle of sawed-off tree limbs a couple of feet away. Had they been there the first time I was here? I didn’t think so. I put my flashlight down and dragged the branches away. The earth underneath was freshly dug. I kicked a clod of dirt with my sneaker. Well, there went that thought. If Porter was buried here, he’d been buried a long time ago. Unless of course someone was digging him up. And then I had another thought. George.

  “Dear God,” I whispered as I got down on my knees and began frantically scooping the dirt out with my hands. The pebbles in the earth scratched at my fingers. In a matter of minutes they were numb with cold. I kept going. The pile of dirt in front of me was growing, but it wasn’t growing fast enough. I remember thinking I was going to have to go faster when I heard a noise.

  I stopped digging and listened.

  I heard it again. It sounded like a moan. I jumped up and headed toward the sound. It seemed to be coming from behind the harvester. I raced around to the back of the machine.

  “George?” I yelled.

  My yell was answered with a thump. It was George. I knew it. He was alive. But where was he? My heart was racing as I glanced around, but I couldn’t see anything in the dark. I took a deep breath and concentrated. After what seemed like minutes but was probably just seconds I spotted a rectangular shape over to the left. As I moved nearer I realized the reason the shape I was seeing lacked definition was because it was covered up with a tarp. In no time at all I was standing in front of it. I said a silent prayer and jerked the canvas back. George’s Taurus was underneath.

  By now the thumpings had increased. The sounds were coming from the car’s trunk. I remembered what I’d felt like when I’d been locked in Teresa’s car.

  “Hold on,” I yelled as I ran over and tried to lift the trunk lid. “I’ll have you out in a second.”

  It was locked.

  I picked up a rock and smashed it down as hard as I could on the lock. Nothing happened. I tried again. This time the lock gave and the lid popped up.

  George was lying in a fetal position. His knees were almost up to his chin. “You certainly took your time,” he whispered. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

  “Don’t be silly. You know what they always say?”

  “No. What?”

  “Bet on red.”

  He started to laugh and ended up coughing.

  I felt
his cheek. His skin was cold and clammy. “Where are you hurt?”

  “My shoulder. The bastard shot me in the shoulder.” He closed his eyes and groaned.

  I thought about what to do as I stroked his hair. I had to get George to a hospital, but the nearest phone was a ten-minute drive. Ten minutes there and ten minutes back. Twenty minutes in all. I didn’t want to leave him alone for that length of time. It was too dangerous. Who knew what could happen?

  “Listen,” I said. “If I help you, do you think you can climb out of here?”

  “I’m not sure. My legs have gone numb.”

  “Well, let’s see what happens.” I was reaching in to straighten out one of his legs when I heard the sound of a car approaching. Somehow I didn’t think it was the real estate agent.

  George bit his lip. “You’d better get out of here,” he told me.

  “It’ll be all right,” I reassured him. “I’ll just close the trunk and duck down in back. Maybe whoever’s coming won’t see us.” Then I remembered that my car was parked out on the side of the road and realized that was an unlikely possibility. “Hang on,” I told George as I brought the lid down. I squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t close it all the way.” Then I took out my twenty-two, crouched behind the Taurus, and waited.

  “Robin.” George’s voice was a ghost in the darkness.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be ajerk,” I told him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

  The car was very close now. I could hear the gravel crunching under its tires. Its headlights illuminated the slanting lines of rain. Then the car stopped and the lights went off.

  “Who is it?” George whispered.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see.” I leaned over and peeked. For a moment everything was dark; then the interior of the car lit up as the driver opened the door.