Lie in Plain Sight by Maggie Barbieri

suite one matched set of old but cared-for furniture. She rested her arm on the doily-covered rest. “Questions?”
    â€œI guess I should start by saying that my father passed late last year.”
    Mrs. McSweeney clutched her chest. “I’m so sorry, Maeve. He was a lovely, lovely man.”
    â€œHe was.” Maeve looked down at her shoes. Just what was she doing here anyway, going down memory lane with a woman who didn’t know her intentions? She decided to blurt it out, not wait any longer, waste any more of the old woman’s time. “I have a sister I never knew about. Her name is Evelyn.”
    Maeve studied the woman’s face and saw an almost imperceptible cloud pass across it. She had already known, Maeve guessed. But she remained silent, not giving anything away.
    â€œShe has been living in a group home in Rye for many years. She’s well taken care of. We’re still getting to know each other, but I’m just so glad to have the family, you know?” Maeve said, realizing, too late, that she was talking to someone who had no immediate family of her own. “I’m sorry.”
    Mrs. McSweeney raised a hand and waved the apology away. “It’s fine, Maeve. I’ve become rather good on my own,” she said, chuckling sadly. “A sister?”
    â€œYes. My father never told me. Didn’t want to burden me.” She pulled a loose thread on the doily on her armrest. “Do you remember her?”
    â€œNo, I don’t.” Maybe she was telling the truth.
    â€œBut you were here then?”
    â€œYes. Probably. Maybe. But I don’t remember her.”
    â€œReally?” Maeve asked. “Not even a little bit?”
    Mrs. McSweeney shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”
    Maeve pushed a little harder. “See, the reason I want to know is that my father was not her father.”
    The woman’s face went slack, but Maeve couldn’t tell if it was the shock of hearing that or the knowing; it was hard to tell.
    â€œHe adopted her, and she was his own in his heart, but he definitely wasn’t her biological father. He told me so on a video he made for me.”
    â€œWell, that’s quite a story, Maeve,” Mrs. McSweeney said. “So you’re not just stopping by for a visit, then? Revisiting the past?”
    â€œNo. I’m not,” Maeve said.
    â€œI imagine that those days would be hard for you to relive. Your mother’s death.”
    Maeve swallowed. “Yes. My mother’s death,” Maeve said, even though the truth was much worse. She was murdered, left to die in the street, the victim of profound recklessness.
    Mrs. McSweeney clucked sympathetically, in a way that let Maeve know she really didn’t understand the gravity of what had happened.
    â€œIt was Marty Haggerty. Drunk driving,” Maeve said. “He ran her down and left her there, and my life was never the same.”
    The old woman sank back in her chair and rested her head in her hand. “And you found that out how?”
    â€œThe police,” she said, leaving out that it was Poole, the one person she trusted completely and with her life.
    â€œThe police.” Mrs. McSweeney crossed one leg over the other, trying to affect a posture of nonchalance, of not caring. But she cared, and she was troubled; those two things were written on her lined face. “Maeve, I can’t help you. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, but I can’t help you.”
    â€œPlease, Mrs. McSweeney. Anything. If you know anything about my sister or who her father was, please tell me. I remember this street well. There were always secrets and more than a few lies, but someone always knew the truth.” Maeve sighed. “Maybe everyone. I think maybe everyone knew the truth. And it can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
    The old woman shook her head sadly. “But not this time, Maeve. It was a long