In Plain Sight (25 page)

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.

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.

“It's Brandon Funk,” I hissed as he stepped out.

But George didn't answer. I put my hand through the space I'd left open and gently shook him. There was no response. He must have passed out. I had to get him to a hospital soon. While I was wondering how I was going to do that Brandon Funk cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled my name. When I didn't answer he came around the car and walked onto the grass. He'd taken another couple of steps when I heard gravel crunching again. Another set of lights broke the darkness. Funk turned to look. I could see his body growing rigid. He reminded me of a deer caught in the glare of the headlights. A moment later the new car pulled up behind Funk's. As the driver killed the engine Funk spun around and started running toward the farmhouse. I heard a pop and saw a pinpoint of light. A moment later Garriques got out of his car. He was still holding in his right hand the gun he'd used to shoot Funk.

“Robin,” he cried, looking into the dark for me. “Are you all right?”

My throat felt dry. The word “yes” came out in a croak. I should have been relieved. But I wasn't. I was confused. What I'd just seen didn't make any sense. Something told me it would be better not to mention George.

“Funk was going to kill you,” Garriques explained, even though I hadn't asked. I suppressed a shudder.

At first I'd thought so to. But now I wasn't so sure. I hadn't seen a gun. Funk hadn't drawn one. But if he hadn't come to kill me, why else was he here?

“Come on,” Garriques said. His voice had taken on a cajoling quality. “Let's get out of the rain. I'll explain everything in the car.”

I took another look at Funk. There was no gun in his hand and none lying on the muddy ground nearby. Then I heard him moaning. He was still alive, but I had a feeling that like George, he wouldn't be unless he got to a hospital pretty soon. He moaned again. Garriques didn't seem to notice. Maybe he hadn't heard.

I swallowed before I spoke. “We'd better call an ambulance,” I said.

“Of course,” Garriques replied, hesitating a second too long before speaking. This did not give me confidence. I wanted desperately to believe he was telling the truth, but I didn't think he was.

The bad feeling I was getting grew. Things weren't fitting together. The way Garriques had acted didn't make sense. Unless ... unless he'd shot Funk to keep him from talking.

“I'm waiting,” Garriques said. He sounded impatient. I realized he hadn't lowered his gun.

I could hear my heart pounding. It was keeping time with the falling rain. “You make the call,” I suggested. “I'll stay here and take care of Funk till you get back.” I was surprised at how confident I sounded.

“I don't think so.” I watched Garriques take a step in my direction. He had an ugly expression on his face. The more I thought about the way things were going, the less I liked them.

I raised the twenty-two and considered firing. There were only three problems: I was a lousy shot, I had three bullets left, and unless I hit Garriques in exactly the right spot the odds were the wound wouldn't stop him.

“Robin, you're being ridiculous,” Garriques said. The rain had plastered his shirt to his chest.

“Am I?” I crept away from the Taurus to the harvester. I wanted to put as much distance between George and myself as possible.

“Yes, you are.” Garriques's voice had turned querulous. “Now stop this nonsense and get in the car.”

“Go call for an ambulance,” I repeated. “I'm going to stay here.” I moved my hands and feet to try and restore circulation. The rain had numbed them. I realized I was shivering from the cold.

This time Garriques didn't reply. Instead he raised his gun slightly and took another step onto the grass. I moved around the harvester. Maybe if I could get him to come close enough I could get a good shot.

“You know Enid's not going to like what you did to her brother,” I told him in the ensuing silence.

Garriques didn't say anything.

And then my stomach clenched as the knowledge I'd been trying to deny rose up and hit me. “She's not going to know, is she?”

“No, she's not,” Garriques agreed.

“Because I'm going to be dead, too, aren't I?” I said, hoping against hope that Garriques would say no. But he didn't. I guess the time for charades was over. “You've got a lot of bodies you're going to have to get rid of.”

“Oh, I'll figure something out.” Garriques's voice was flat. “I was kind of thinking that maybe I'll work it out so it looks like you killed Funk. Then I killed you when you tried to get away.”

“Very inventive.”

“I think so. And then, of course, I've got the woods to bury Samson in.”

I looked at the twenty-two I was holding and wished I had something like a .357 Magnum. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that Garriques didn't know I had the twenty-two. That should balance the equation a little.

“My dear brother-in-law always did have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Garriques mused as he took another step toward me. “He's been a thorn in my side ever since Enid and I married. I told Enid he'd be better off in the army, but she wouldn't hear of it. She even made me get him a job at Wellington. I had to see the moron every day.”

I crept to the other side of the harvester. I'd be less visible there. “There never were any jewels, were there?”

“None at all.” Garriques had stopped moving. He was trying to pinpoint my voice. I decided to oblige him.

“You just wanted me to find Estrella so you could kill her,” I told him.

Garriques smiled. I could tell he thought he had me. “She'd seen me kill Marsha at the reservoir. There was nothing else I could do.”

“I guess you're just a victim of circumstances.”

“You can put it that way if you want.” He took another step. This time he ended up behind a tree. The man wasn't taking any chances.

“How did Marsha find out?” I asked to keep Garriques talking. I wanted to distract him because I'd have just one opportunity to shoot him. If I missed, George and I would both be dead.

“About Porter? Simple. Funk told her. The moron. I guess she saw it as her chance out.” Garriques's voice rose. “Pennington was a gambler, no matter what she said, she wasn't going to reform. Sooner or later the itch would return and she'd come back and see me. She'd bleed me dry. I couldn't have that.”

“You could have turned yourself in.”

“For killing Porter?” The distain in Garriques's voice was palpable. “He was an animal. Sleeping in the barn. Never changing his clothes. He stole things, you know. I told him to stay away from my stuff, but he wouldn't listen.”