Nobody's There (10 page)

“She'll have a Coke,” Mrs. Merkel snapped. “And don't take forever with our order.”

As Jamie left the table, Mrs. Merkel suddenly leaned toward Abbie. Lowering her voice, she asked, “What's the matter with you? You're supposed to order something and try to be unobtrusive, not identify yourself. We don't want people to pay much notice to us while we're working.”

Abbie shot a look at Jamie, who had moved to the far end of the counter. “It was hard to even speak to that woman,” she answered. “I hate her.”

Mrs. Merkel squinted as she stared at Abbie. Finally she said, “She the one who hooked your father?”

When Abbie didn't answer, Mrs. Merkel said, “She probably doesn't like you any better'n you like her. When she brings your Coke, just shut up and drink it. We've got better things to do.”

“Like what? Why are we sitting here?”

Mrs. Merkel didn't answer because Jamie returned with their drinks. Abbie was surprised to see Jamie's hands tremble a little as she carefully set the Coke glass on the table.

“Can I get you anything else?” Jamie asked Mrs. Merkel in her professionally cheerful voice.

“Just give us some privacy,” Mrs. Merkel ordered.
“Don't come back to the table to ask if everything's fine, because I can tell you right now that it is, and we don't want to be disturbed.”

Without a word Jamie slapped their check on the table, turned, and left.

“You got any money to pay for that Coke you ordered or are you going to be a freeloader?” Mrs. Merkel asked Abbie.

Abbie met Mrs. Merkel's gaze. “I didn't order it. You did.”

Mrs. Merkel put some money on top of the check. “Never mind. I'll put it down as a business expense. But this is the only time. After this, you pay for yourself. Now, keep your eyes open.”

“For what?”

“Forget it. There she is. Confined to bed, is she?”

Abbie peered out the window, puzzled. All she saw was a late-model Lincoln pulling into a parking slot in front of the appliance store. If someone had gone into the store, she had missed seeing her.

Jamie laughed, and Abbie half turned, watching Jamie from the corners of her eyes. There were three more customers at the counter—all men. They chatted easily with Jamie, and it was obvious they liked her. Abbie had to admit that Jamie was a friendly person. She could hear Jamie asking one of the men about his children. She leaned forward on the counter, looking into his eyes, and seemed to be really interested in his answers.

Is that how it started with Dad?
Abbie wondered.
Had Jamie begun by asking about his children? Had she acted terribly interested in everything he said?

“So that's where she's going—prissing right past us to M'Lady's like she owns the place,” Mrs. Merkel said.

Mom was always interested. Didn't Dad pay attention?
Abbie thought angrily.
Mom would always ask, “Did you have a good day, dear?”

“So she got a look at me,” Mrs. Merkel said, and chuckled. “Who cares? It just might give her something to lie awake nights wondering about.”

Abbie remembered her mother often getting home from her job just minutes before Dad walked in the door. Kicking off her shoes, she'd check on dinner, or throw a load of washing in the machine, or sometimes greet Dad by saying, “Let's go to Luby's cafeteria for dinner. I'm totally beat.” And somewhere in all the confusion, she'd manage to say, “Did you have a good day, dear?”

But she hadn't looked at Dad the way Jamie was looking at her customer. Mom had asked the question, but she hadn't always really, truly listened.

“That didn't take her long,” Mrs. Merkel said. “Picking up a dress order, I guess.”

It wasn't Mom's fault. She couldn't always listen
, Abbie told herself. She felt the blood rising to her cheeks, and she touched them with the icy glass of Coke to cool them down. Sometimes Davy had been pestering Mom to listen to him. Sometimes Abbie knew she had done the same
thing.
Oh, Dad
, she thought as tears burned behind her closed eyelids,
you weren't fair to Mom. You weren't fair to any of us.

“Well, well. I guessed right. Figures. That makes sense. Close to the appliance store. Okay. We'll check things out.”

Mrs. Merkel turned toward Abbie so suddenly, she startled her. “Are you still fooling around with your Coke? Drink it up. It's time to go.”

Abbie took a long swallow.

“Were you paying attention to what I said?”

“Paying attention?” Guiltily Abbie looked at Mrs. Merkel.

“I told you,” Mrs. Merkel said in a low voice, “that this is the biggest case anyone in Buckler's Bloodhounds will ever handle.”

“What case?” Abbie asked in bewilderment.

“The one we're on now.”

“If it's so big, shouldn't you tell what you know to Officer Martin?”

“And let her get the credit?”

Abbie sighed. Mrs. Merkel was so full of herself, it was hard to know if whatever she was talking about was real or not. “I think at least you ought to tell
someone
what you know, just to protect yourself.”

“I'm telling
you.
Pay attention.”

Abbie sighed. “I'm sorry. I haven't kept my mind on what you were saying. That waitress—”

“Get your mind off that waitress. She's your father's problem, not yours—at least, not right now.”

“Look, if we could just get out of this place, I'd be happy,” Abbie said.

Mrs. Merkel closed her notebook and dropped it into her handbag. But as she did, Abbie could see that more pages had been written on.

Awkwardly Mrs. Merkel pushed her chair away from the table and got to her feet. “That's what I was telling you. It's time to go,” she said.

“Good.” Abbie stood. “I wish we hadn't come here in the first place.”

“Don't be stupid. Use your brains, girl. This has been one good place to watch from.” She chuckled. “Now I've got two places—here and out my upstairs back window.”

Abbie shook her head. “I don't ever want to come back here.”

“We might not have to,” Mrs. Merkel answered. “Not if what I suspect is true. But it's going to demand some deep investigating. How good are you with a computer?”

“I can use a computer. Why?” Abbie asked as she held the door open for Mrs. Merkel. Jamie didn't look up as they left the coffee shop, but Abbie suspected that she'd watch them through the large plate glass windows once the door was closed and they were out on the sidewalk.

“Do you know anything about hacking? Could you break into Unity National Bank's records?”

Abbie stopped and stared at Mrs. Merkel. “That's illegal. I can't do that.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Both.” Abbie caught up with Mrs. Merkel.
“Why would you want me to do a thing like that?”

“Because I can't think of any way the bank would let me see her records. I'd have to sneak in and get them.”

“Whose records?”

Mrs. Merkel gripped Abbie's arm and yanked her along as she strode down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” Abbie asked.

“Where does it look like? The bank.”

“Why? You said you did business with Gulf East Savings and Loan. This bank is Unity National, one of those big banking chains.”

“Don't ask so many fool questions. I told you to go with me to the bank. That's all you need to know.”

As they stepped inside the large bank lobby, the cold air-conditioning swept around Abbie like an arctic wave. She closed her eyes for an instant, enjoying the shivering sensation, then took a few steps in the direction of the row of tellers.

“Hssst! Over here,” Mrs. Merkel whispered loudly. “Where do you think you're going?”

Surprised, Abbie turned in the direction of Mrs. Merkel's voice and saw her standing at one of the tall desks, pen in hand, bent over her notebook. Abbie walked to her side. “Oh. You
do
have an account here,” she said.

“No, I don't,” Mrs. Merkel answered crossly. “But I have to look like I do. You don't know the first thing about the way private investigators work, do you?

“Well, I—”

“You're no help at all. In fact, today you're
worse
than no help at all.”

“Look, Mrs. Merkel, if you'd just tell me what you're doing and what you want me to do, I'd be glad to help you,” Abbie said. “But I can't help if I don't know what's going on.”

“I'm not about to tell you. This has all got to be kept secret.”

“I'm good at keeping secrets. Trust me.”

Mrs. Merkel glared at Abbie. “You're a criminal on probation, and a pretty stupid criminal at that. And you want me to trust you? Fat chance.”

Abbie turned away, gripping her hands together so tightly that her fingers hurt. She faced a whole year of putting up with Mrs. Merkel and her meanness and rudeness.
How can I?
she wondered. Mrs. Merkel and Mrs. Wilhite—two nightmares come true.

As Abbie took deep breaths, trying to calm down, she reminded herself that she had to make this Friend to Friend thing work. She had made a huge mistake and must pay for it. She desperately wanted the arrest erased from her record. That meant she'd have to get along with Mrs. Merkel. She had no choice.

Abbie glanced around the bank. It was a prosperous branch with a large, ornamental lobby and many desks—not like the much smaller Gulf East Savings and Loan.

She turned toward Mrs. Merkel. “Those bank records you want—are they with this bank?”

Mrs. Merkel suddenly ducked her head, bending
over the notebook. “Darn!” she said. “No more pages.” But Abbie could see that she was grinning.

“Never mind what I said about hacking into records,” Mrs. Merkel said. “I won't need them after all.” She dropped the notebook into her handbag.

“Why not?”

“Hsst! Keep your head down! Look this way, and don't talk so loud.”

“I'm sorry,” Abbie said. She obediently leaned toward Mrs. Merkel, who was watching someone from the corner of her eye.

Mrs. Merkel suddenly stood upright. “Okay. It's safe now. Give her a few minutes, and we can go.”

Abbie sighed. She was tired of Mrs. Merkel's games. “If you have some information the police should know about, why don't you call Officer Martin?”

Mrs. Merkel bristled. “Why don't
you
just mind your own business?”

“Please, Mrs. Merkel,” Abbie said, “I don't know what you're doing. I just don't want you to get into any trouble.”

“I can take care of myself,” Mrs. Merkel snapped. She thought a moment, then said, “Except for driving. And you're my driver. So why are we hanging around here? Let's get going.”

Again gripping Abbie's arm, Mrs. Merkel left the sidewalk to cut across the parking lot. They had begun to cross a driving lane when Abbie
suddenly realized that a gray sedan was coming down the lane much faster than it should.

“Get back,” she said, tugging at Mrs. Merkel.

Mrs. Merkel resisted, staring at the car. “Stop that! Leave me alone! I can't read the license plate,” she complained.

The car wasn't slowing. It seemed to be speeding up.

“Look out!” Abbie shouted. “He's going to hit you!”

A
bbie flung her arm around Mrs. Merkel's neck and dragged her between two parked cars. As they slammed against the trunk of one car and bounced off the side door of the other, Abbie struggled to regain her balance.

Indignantly Mrs. Merkel jerked away. She stood erect, dusting off her clothes. “What do you think you're doing?” she angrily demanded.

“Saving your life,” Abbie told her. “That car was headed right for us. Didn't you see how fast he was traveling? The driver didn't even slow down.”

“I was trying to get a good look at the license plate, and you didn't let me,” Mrs. Merkel complained.
“I'm sure that gray car belongs to the crook who was stealing cell phone numbers.”

“It couldn't be. He was arrested. That was just another parking lot speeder.”

“It was the crook,” Mrs. Merkel insisted.

“Did you see him driving the car?”

“Of course not. How could I see, with you pushing me around like that?” Furious, Mrs. Merkel gave Abbie a shove. “Take me home,” she insisted. “I'm going to call Officer Martin and find out if that stupid perp is back on the street.”

Mrs. Merkel plopped herself on the front seat of the car, breaking her angry silence on the ride home only to issue her usual driving instructions and warnings.

Abbie parked the car and followed Mrs. Merkel inside, waiting while she jabbed the buttons on her phone and demanded to speak to Officer Amanda Martin.

After a very short conversation, during which Mrs. Merkel's anger continued to grow, she slammed down the receiver and whirled toward Abbie. “Would you believe he made bail? Those roofers, too!”