Nobody's There (16 page)

“That's right. Aunt Edna doesn't have much real jewelry. Just those two rings. She never wore them. They didn't do her or anybody else any good.” He turned and leaned his back against the
chest of drawers. His lower lip slid into a pout as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But what she did have is gone.”

“Do you have any idea of the value of the rings?”

Charlie shrugged. “I can only guess—maybe ten thousand, twelve.”

“Do you know if they were insured?”

“I know they weren't. Aunt Edna came to hate those rings because Uncle Alf gave them to her. After he left her she never wore the rings again.”

Officer Martin made a note, then asked, “Do you know why she kept jewelry of that value in her house? Didn't she have a safe-deposit box at one of the local banks?”

“No,” Charlie said. “As I remember, she asked about a safe-deposit box, but when she found she had to pay a yearly rental fee on the box she said it was a rip-off and she wasn't going to be suckered into it.”

Officer Martin became businesslike again. “Will you please check her dresser drawers and closet to see if anything else might have been taken?” she asked.

Charlie bent to open drawers one at a time, then stood, shaking his head. “Nothing in them but clothes—blouses, underwear, stuff like that.”

Abbie remembered that Mrs. Merkel had said she had two good places to spy from—the front window of the coffee shop and her back bedroom window. While Officer Martin's attention was on Charlie Merkel, Abbie walked to the back window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked out.

The window overlooked the backyards of two houses on the street behind Darnell Street: the house directly behind Mrs. Merkel's house, and the house just west of that one.

Abbie realized that a young family must live in the nearest house. Behind the wooden fence that divided the properties were a sandbox and a swing set. Toys were scattered throughout the yard. In the bright moonlight she could see that the house needed painting, and some of the shingles on the roof were so old they had cracked and curled.

The house next to it was very different. Although it was of the same vintage as the other houses in the neighborhood, it had been modernized in a number of ways. The entire back of the house had been enlarged and glassed in with wide sliding doors. There were no draperies to cut off the view, and lights were still on, so Abbie could see inside. Expensive lounge furniture in white wicker with puffy, colorful cushions and glass-topped tables decorated the room. The backyard, although smaller because of the expansion of the house, was beautifully lighted. Even in this late hour Abbie could see that the trim flower beds were part of a lovely, well-cared-for garden.

Which house had Mrs. Merkel been spying on?

The first house had no lights. The inhabitants were probably asleep. While the second house was well lit, there were no people about. Abbie let the curtain fall back into place. She had no
idea what Mrs. Merkel might have been talking about.

Charlie strode to the closet and rummaged about on the shelves. Then he walked down the stairs—Officer Martin and Abbie with him—and examined the contents of the highboy in the dining room. Finally he stood in the middle of the living room. “Nothing else is missing,” he said. “Just the rings.”

“Thank you,” Officer Martin said. She tucked her notebook away. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to come with me to headquarters and sign a statement.”

“You mean about the rings being gone?”

Abbie noticed that Charlie had begun to sweat and wondered why. It wasn't that warm.

“We'll also need to know what time you arrived in Buckler, and why you were here,” Officer Martin said.

“I already told you—I came to visit Aunt Edna, and I just got into town. Came right to her house. That's when I looked in the window to see who was inside, and you scared the … you scared me by pulling that gun.”

Officer Martin went on as if she hadn't been interrupted, “We'll also need an address in Buckler where you can be reached.”

“I thought I'd stay right here. I've got a key,” Charlie said. He glanced down at the stained carpet. “Only not tonight. Can I get the place cleaned up tomorrow?”

“I think so,” Officer Martin said. “The crime lab is through, so there should be no problem.
While we're at the station I'll check with the primary detective on the case.”

Charlie's nervousness seemed to grow. “Can this trip to the station wait?” he asked. “You've given me the bad news about my aunt. I'm concerned about her. I want to see her.”

Officer Martin hesitated, then nodded agreement. “Just tell me where I can reach you.”

As Charlie named an inexpensive motel down near the waterfront, a thought struck Abbie and she gasped.

“The coffee!” she said. “I remember! Mrs. Merkel told me she hates coffee. She never drinks it. She drinks tea.”

Officer Martin stared at Abbie, her pen held in midair.

“The coffee cup in the kitchen,” Abbie said. “It wasn't hers. Someone else drank half that cup of coffee. You need to take it in for fingerprints.”

Abbie had watched Charlie Merkel carefully as she told the police officer about the coffee, but Charlie hadn't reacted. He calmly watched Officer Martin walk to the kitchen to get the cup, then looked at Abbie as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“Just who are you supposed to be? Nancy Drew?” he asked.

“Officer Martin told you. I'm a friend of your aunt's.”

One corner of Charlie's mouth turned down wryly. “My aunt doesn't have any friends.”

“I'm in a program in which high-school girls
are matched with elderly women. I drive your aunt wherever she wants to go.”

Charlie didn't comment. He slowly and carefully removed a folded handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks and wiped it across his face, his forehead, and the back of his neck. “Where is that policewoman? When is she going to let me get out of here?” he muttered. He shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket, keeping his hand in the pocket too.

Just then Officer Martin walked back into the living room. She carried a plastic bag from Buckler's supermarket. Abbie could see the empty coffee cup inside. “Thanks for the tip,” Martin said to Abbie.

“Is it okay if I go to visit my aunt at the hospital now?” Charlie asked the officer.

“Yes,” she said. “Just come by police headquarters before nine
A.M.
Ask for either Detective Kraft or Detective Doheny. You know where the station house is?”

Charlie nodded. He even smiled at Officer Martin. And he had stopped sweating, Abbie noticed.

Officer Martin watched Charlie lock the front door and walk to his van. As he drove off, she said, “Come on, Abbie. This all took a little longer than I'd thought. Sorry. It's time to take you home.”

“Will it be all right if I visit Mrs. Merkel tomorrow after school?” Abbie asked.

“Sure.” Officer Martin smiled. “I'll make it all right.”

When she arrived home, Abbie explained to her mother, “We're late because Mrs. Merkel's nephew showed up.”

“Just hurry off to bed,” Mrs. Thompson said, and gave Abbie a hug. “You need your sleep.”

As soon as her mother had closed the door of her own bedroom, Abbie tiptoed to Davy's room. He was asleep, so Abbie showered and climbed into bed. She would have liked to talk to Davy about what had happened. She desperately wanted to talk to someone.

The coffee cup puzzled her. A person or persons unknown, as the police liked to say, had been in the house with Mrs. Merkel. Only Mrs. Merkel didn't have visitors. She didn't like them. She didn't want them. Her nephew, Charlie, apparently was the only person who was free to come into her house.

But Charlie hadn't drunk that coffee. He hadn't reacted when Abbie talked about fingerprints on the cup. He'd been nervous earlier when he thought he might have to go to the police station to be questioned and sign a statement. Why? Was it because …?

Abbie sat up in bed, staring into the darkness.
Because he had the rings in his pocket
, she thought.

The jewelry hadn't been stolen earlier by whoever had attacked Mrs. Merkel. Charlie had fished the rings he'd described out of the costume
jewelry immediately after he'd entered Mrs. Merkel's bedroom. And he'd slid the rings into the pocket of his slacks.

Abbie remembered Mrs. Merkel telling her that Charlie needed a quick loan and she wouldn't give it to him. Was that why he took the rings? To get some quick cash? He'd said he didn't have enough money to pay a parking ticket. And he expected to stay with his aunt—maybe even hit her up for a loan again. Staying in a motel and eating out would cost him. It was easy to see why he'd want to sell the rings.

Everyone would think the rings had been taken by the attacker. No one would suspect Charlie. Should Abbie call Officer Martin and tell her what she thought?

She had no proof. She couldn't accuse Charlie on guesswork. Also, if Charlie actually had taken the rings, he would have hidden them somewhere by this time or found a buyer for them.

Abbie had to learn more about Charlie and about what Mrs. Merkel knew. She got out of bed, reached under the mattress, and pulled out the envelope Mrs. Merkel had given her. It didn't matter now that Mrs. Merkel had ordered her not to read the notebook. It might tell her what had happened.

As she turned the pages, Abbie saw that Mrs. Merkel's scrawl didn't make whole sentences. There were a few words here, a few there. They were hard to read, and they made no sense.

Maybe in the morning, when she wasn't so tired, the words in the notebook would be easier
to understand. Abbie placed the notebook on her bedside table, then turned off the light. Sliding down in the bed, she turned on her side, pulling the blanket and sheet up to her chin. Maybe tomorrow everything would fall into place and she'd know what to do. She relaxed and soon slid into sleep.

In her dreams a dark shadow crawled onto her legs, holding them down. “You've got only fifteen minutes,” a voice whispered in her ear.

Abbie struggled to get away. “Let me go!” she moaned.

“Abbie, be quiet!” Davy answered. “Mom's in the kitchen making breakfast, but if she hears you she'll come upstairs. We've only got fifteen minutes till she calls us. So start talking. I'll write it all down.”

“Get off my legs,” Abbie said. As Davy squirmed to one side of the bed, she sat up and told him about Charlie Merkel. “He took Mrs. Merkel's rings,” she said, “but I can't prove it.”

“Maybe you can when he sells them,” Davy said. “If he took them to make money, he'll have to sell them.”

“How would I know who he sells them to?”

“Crooks,” Davy answered.

Abbie thought about it. “Maybe pawnshops. If he pawns the rings they'll be on display for sale.”

“You could just tell the police,” Davy suggested.

“I've got a better idea. I'll tell Mrs. Merkel.”

Davy looked surprised. “She can't answer you. She's in a coma.”

“But she might be able to hear.” Abbie smiled. “Soft music and pleasant words aren't going to bring Mrs. Merkel around. But knowing her nephew stole her rings might. Mrs. Merkel's going to have to help me solve this case.”

Davy looked at his watch, then at his notes. “We've got only two minutes before Mom calls us,” he said. “Was there anything else?”

“Fingerprints on a coffee cup,” Abbie said. She told him about it.

“Abbie! Davy!” Mrs. Thompson called from the foot of the stairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

Abbie flew into her clothes, shoved Mrs. Merkel's notebook into her backpack, and ran down the stairs. “Nobody else in the world has to wake up this early,” she complained to her mother.

The telephone rang.

“Except Gigi,” Mrs. Thompson said. “She called you twice last night.”

Abbie answered the phone, but it wasn't Gigi. It was Gladys Partridge. “Dolores Garcia was the one who thought of getting your phone number from Officer Martin,” Gladys said. “We're in such a muddle. We can't believe that it all happened. We're hoping you can tell us why.”

“No one knows why Mrs. Merkel was attacked,” Abbie said.

“Oh, we're aware of that. The officer I talked to didn't say why. It's the other part we don't understand.”

“What other part?” Abbie asked.

“The part we want you to explain to us,” Gladys said. “Granted, they had their differences,
and no one could really blame him for being angry with her after what she did, and—”

Abbie interrupted. “Mrs. Partridge, wait a minute. I'm not following you. What are you telling me?”

“I thought you knew,” she said. “His son said something about fingerprints on a coffee cup.”

Abbie gripped the telephone. “Mrs. Partridge, please! What are you trying to tell me?”