In Plain Sight (3 page)

B
usiness had been bad over the weekend and it wasn't doing the too much better on Monday. I was going over the accounts and thinking about whether or not I should just close up the shop and try and get my old reporting job back at the
Herald
when Gregory Garriques came into the store. As he loped toward the counter I reflected he still moved like the ex-cop and prizefighter he'd been rather than the high school principal he'd become.

“I don't think your wife is going to go for the snake,” I told him, putting my pen down.

“That's okay.” He readjusted his tie. It was an expensive silk paisley. Garriques was always well dressed. Despite the scars his two years in the ring had inflicted on his face, he was a handsome man, and it was easy to see why Enid had wanted to marry him. It was less easy to see why he had wanted to marry her. “I didn't really think she would. So what is she getting me?”

I suppressed a smile. “I'm not telling you.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You're not mad at me, are you?” he asked. “Is that why you're not talking?”

“Why should I be mad at you?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because of Marsha.”

“Marsha?”

“Marsha Pennington,” Garriques explained a little impatiently. Somehow I had the feeling he thought I should know what he was talking about. “It's just that we were chatting before the staff meeting on Thursday and your name came up,” he continued.

Understanding finally dawned. “That's right. You're both at Wellington, aren't you?”

He gave an ironic clap and I countered with an equally ironic bow. What could I say? Sometimes I'm a little scattered.

“I didn't know you knew her,” Garriques continued.

“She was my neighbor when I first came up to Syracuse.”

“That's what she said.” Garriques patted his tie. “Ordinarily I don't talk about personal matters with my staff, but she seemed so upset I asked her what the matter was.” Even though he didn't say it, the slight furrow between his eyebrows told me he was sorry he had. “Everything just spilled out. Frankly I didn't know what to say, so when she asked me what I thought about her coming to see you I was relieved. I said it sounded like a good idea to me.”

I couldn't help interrupting. “Excuse me, but aren't you the one who told me you didn't approve of amateurs mixing in police business?”

Garriques grinned. “I changed my mind. That's what makes me such a good administrator. I'm pragmatic.” He leaned over the counter. He was close enough for me to smell the peppermint he was sucking on. “In fact, Marsha's one of the reasons I'm here.”

“You're interested in her marital problems?”

He laughed. “No. I decided to follow her lead. I was hoping you could help me out with a problem of my own.”

“And what's that?” Despite what Garriques had just said, I was surprised he was asking for my help.

He straightened back up. “One of my students is missing. I was hoping you could help me find her.”

I reached for a cigarette. “Why don't you just go to the police?”

He fingered the scar on his chin. I wondered if he'd gotten it in the ring.

“Ordinarily I would,” he replied.

“But?”

“It's not that simple.” He hesitated for a minute. “She and her aunt are illegals.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“From Mexico. Times being what they are, I'm afraid if I go to the cops and they find the kid they'll end up turning her and her aunt over to INS. Then they'll be deported.” Garriques popped another mint into his mouth. “I guess you're wondering how I come into this?”

“The question crossed my mind.” Pickles jumped on the counter and rubbed his head against my hand.

“The kid's aunt cleans house for my wife. Ana Torres has worked for us for the past two years. With Enid not being well ...” His voice trailed off into some private well of sadness. Then he rallied. “Anyway, Ana is frantic and she's making Enid crazy, so I ...”

“Thought of me.”

“Yes. You seem to get along with the kids and you speak Spanish.”

“Not very well.”

“Well enough for this.”

“True,” I conceded. “What's the girl's name?”

“Estrella Torres.”

“Pretty,” I murmured. Then I lit my cigarette and took a puff. “What else makes you think I can help?”

“Her friends hang out around this side of town. I know you're on good terms with some of the kids that live around here. I was hoping you could talk to them and get a lead.”

“You haven't talked to anyone?”

“I tried, but I haven't gotten anywhere. She's tight with a girl called Pam Tower. She wasn't at school today. I called her house and she's not there either. Who knows, maybe they've taken off together.”

“How long has Estrella been gone?”

“Since Friday.”

“That's not that long. She's probably staying at a friend's house.”

Garriques sighed. “I know. But try telling Ana that. She called us at three in the morning on Friday. The poor woman's hysterical. My wife went over on Sunday to try and calm her down.”

“Do you know why Estrella ran away?”

“Ana won't say, but my guess is they had another fight.” Garriques shook his head. “Estrella is fifteen going on thirty.”

“I understand,” I said, thinking of Manuel and his friends. “What about the girl's parents?”

“What about them?”

“Are they around?”

“I don't know about the father, but I get the impression from what Ana says that the mother is a migrant laborer. My grandfather did that,” Garriques said suddenly.

“Did what?”

“Worked as a bracero. He swam the river to get here. I guess maybe that's why I feel a responsibility.” Garriques tapped his fingers on the counter. “I just thought if you could keep an eye out, maybe we could get to Estrella before she gets herself into even more trouble than she's already in.”

I told him I would. I didn't mind making a few phone calls and keeping my eyes open. Plus the man
was a
good customer.

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“I have a copy of last year's yearbook in the trunk of my car. Will that do?”

I nodded. The man had come prepared.

“Good. I'll go out and get it.”

He was back a moment later. The picture he showed me was of a round-faced, plain-looking girl staring sullenly out at the camera. Her bowl-cut hairstyle accentuated her big nose and plump cheeks. Definitely not the cute cheerleader type. I was willing to wager she wasn't having a good time in high school. Girls who look that way usually don't.

“She doesn't seem very happy,” I observed.

Garriques studied the photograph before replying. “She doesn't, does she?”

“No.” Of course, at that age I hadn't been very happy either. “Can I keep the book?”

“Of course.” He closed it and handed it to me. “Thanks again,” he said. “I really appreciate it.” He took my hand in both of his and held it a moment longer than was necessary. He was about to say something else when he glanced at the clock on the wall. His eyes widened. “God, is that right?”

I told him that it was.

“I didn't realize it was so late. I've got to go.”

“Meeting back at the school?”

“No. With a real estate agent.”

“Are you selling your house?”

He shook his head. “No. Enid has some property in the country—actually it's her mother's—but somehow I got put in charge of selling it.” With that he strode across the floor and went out the door.

Why couldn't I have married someone like Garriques instead of someone like Murphy?

Because I'd been dumb that's why. Murphy was all flash and I'd fallen for the packaging. There should be a truth in advertising law concerning men.

I sighed and put the yearbook on the counter.

Tim looked up from sweeping the floor. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” I didn't feel like explaining.

“By the way, I called the zoo about the bats,” he said. I gave him a blank stare. “You asked me to, remember?”

That's right, I had. On Friday. My mind was definitely starting to go.

“I got this guy Remington on the phone,” Tim continued as he moved behind the counter. “He said three sightings this time of year were pretty unusual.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not really. I got the feeling he really didn't know that much. He did tell me, though, that the best source of information about bats in this area is a book called
Bats Are Our Friends
by a guy called Porter. Unfortunately it's hard to find. It was one of these self-published jobs. The guy put it out ten years ago.”

“Has he written anything else?”

Tim shrugged. “I don't know. Remington said he dropped out of sight soon after the book came out. You want me to try and find out?”

“No. Don't bother. We've got too much other stuff to do to worry about this.”

I stubbed out my cigarette and glanced at my watch. It was later than I thought it was. Marsha should have been here an hour ago. Oh, well. Maybe she'd gotten held up. I went into the bird room and started cleaning cages. At six I called her house to see if she was coming. Nobody answered. I left a message on the machine and went back to work. She didn't return my call. I decided maybe she'd changed her mind about hiring me and she just didn't have the nerve to tell me.

I called the school at nine o'clock the next morning and was informed Mrs. Pennington hadn't come in. She hadn't come in on Monday either. I left a message telling her to call me and hung up. I twirled a lock of my hair around my finger while I thought. The most likely possibility was that Marsha was still down in New Jersey with her mother. She'd told me her mother wasn't well. Maybe she'd taken a turn for the worse. Maybe she was in the hospital. Nevertheless Marsha could still have called to let me know what was happening. Did she want my help or not? It would be nice to know because if she didn't, I'd have to return her money which meant I couldn't pay off the full balance of my account with Reptiles Inc. and The Pet Food Company. I didn't want to write the check if I didn't have enough money in my account. These days bouncing checks was an expensive proposition. I called her house again at four. This time a man picked up.

“Hello?” he said. I recognized the voice. It was Merlin, Marsha's husband. But I asked anyway just to make sure.

“Yes it is,” he replied. “But whatever you're selling I don't want,” he snapped.

“I'm not selling anything,” I snapped back. “I'd like to speak to Marsha.”

“Well, she's not here.”

A twinge of unease shot through me. “Do you know where she is?”

“No, I don't. Why?”

“We were supposed to meet on Monday afternoon.”

“Who is this anyway?” he demanded suspiciously.

“A colleague,” I lied. The last thing I was going to do was tell him who I was or what Marsha and I were going to talk about.

“I wish you people would stop calling,” Merlin whined. “I already told you I haven't seen her since she left for work Monday morning.” He sounded about as upset as a man talking about getting rid of a wart on his hand. Then before I could ask anything else, he hung up.

I reached for a chocolate bar. This wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. I went through the rest of the day with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I called Marsha's house again at nine o'clock before I left the store. Merlin answered. He didn't sound happy to hear from me. I asked if he'd spoken to Marsha's mother, and he said of course he had. When I asked for her number he sounded even more aggravated. What was I implying? he demanded.

“Nothing,” I told him, which was of course ridiculous because I was implying plenty.

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to give the number to me, but he did along with the information that he'd already filed a missing person's report and that he was doing everything he could and he'd appreciate my butting out, or words to that effect.

As soon as Merlin hung up I dialed Marsha's mother's number and got a nurse with a heavy Jamaican accent who informed me that Mrs. Wise was sleeping now and that if this was the police again, I'd have to wait till she woke up.

“Actually I'm a friend of her daughter's,” I told her as I lit a cigarette.

“I don't care if you're the Pope himself. I'm still not wakin' the poor dear up. After all she's been through she needs her rest.”

“Perhaps you can help me then,” I suggested, figuring I didn't have anything to lose.

“Maybe I can and maybe I can't,” the nurse replied.

I suppressed a sigh. This lady wasn't giving anything away. “All I want to know is when Marsha left.”

There was a short pause while she considered my question. “I guess there's no harm in that,” the nurse finally allowed. “Mrs. Pennington left here the same time she always does—early Sunday morning.”

This time I put the receiver down first. I was tired of getting hung up on.

I made some other calls over the next few days, but none of them panned out. Marsha had disappeared.

I was hoping she'd run away with a lover.

Or just run away.