In Plain Sight Read Online Free PDF

Reservoir.

Chapter 4
    M arsha Pennington’s death was the lead item on the eleven o’clock news. It was probably on the earlier edition, too, but I’d missed it. According to the Channel Five anchorman her body had been found by two hooky-playing high school kids. They’d been fooling around when one of them had spotted what they thought was a log floating by the shore. Then they’d realized logs don’t have hands, and they’d freaked and called the cops. Bet they won’t be cutting classes for a while, I thought as the anchorman rustled his papers and stared straight at the camera.
    â€œThe police are investigating,” he informed the audience, “and an autopsy to determine cause of death is planned.”
    No shit.
    I clicked off the TV as the anchorman began discussing a proposed rise in city taxes and stared out the window. I felt bad and I didn’t know why. Even though Marsha and I had been neighbors, we’d never been the best of friends. In fact, there had been many times when I thought that if I heard one more description of what her coworkers were wearing I’d strangle her. Slowly. I clicked the TV back on. Now the weatherman was saying something about rain. What else was new? I tried to pay attention, but I couldn’t. I kept seeing an image of Marsha rummaging through her pocketbook looking for the papers she’d left behind superimposed on the screen. I got up and started pacing around the living room.
    No matter what I told myself I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I could have done to prevent Marsha Pennington’s death. You want guilt, I thought sourly, call Robin Light. I ran on the stuff. Even though I didn’t want to, I started thinking about my mother. Our relationship was the kind therapists make lots of money off of. She’d clawed her way up from a tenement in Hell’s Kitchen to a co-op on Park Avenue. She’d wanted me to continue the climb by marrying rich, living on Fifth Avenue, and spending my afternoons at the country club with her and my stepfather. Of course I hadn’t. I’d gone off to live with Murphy instead.
    We’d had a big fight when I told her I was moving in with him. She’d called me a slut, an ungrateful loser who would never amount to anything, and I’d called her a money-grubbing social climber who’d screwed her way up to the top. She’d run out of the apartment and gotten hit by a car as she’d crossed Park Avenue. At the hospital, before she’d gone into surgery, she’d looked up at me and said, “This is your fault.” My stepfather had added, “See what you did to your mother” as they’d wheeled her into the OR. I knew what they had said wasn’t true, but a part of me felt as if it were. I guess I still do, especially when I see her limping along. She’s had seven operations since the accident and she still doesn’t walk right. I sighed and looked around. Suddenly the house seemed too quiet, too empty. I didn’t want to stay in it anymore. I wanted to go where there were people and lights and Scotch, lots of Scotch. I looked at Zsa Zsa, who was now chewing on a piece of rawhide.
    â€œWant a beer?” I asked her.
    She wagged her stump.
    â€œGood.” I slipped on my shoes and started looking for her leash. It was time to go to Pete’s.
    Pete’s is a neighborhood bar located over on Westcott Street. The place is strictly low rent in terms of decor, but it does have a good selection of beers, it’s nearby, and most importantly my friend Connie tends bar there. I liked the other place she’d worked at better, but when she changed over I’d followed. Most times Pete’s is overrun with Syracuse University students, but not tonight. Tonight no one was there except Connie and a couple down at the other end of the bar. Too bad. I could have used the distraction. I sat Zsa Zsa and myself