Nobody's There (19 page)

“Here's the information you requested,” Martin said. “Mitchell and Eddie Krump left town and were last seen near San Antonio.”

“
When
were they seen?

“On Wednesday. Matter of fact, because of a potential customer's complaint, they spent the night in the county jail.”

“So they have an alibi. What about the other guy?

“Bud Kessler, who allegedly stole cell phone numbers. Bud was with his girl friend from Wednesday noon until past midnight.”

“Would she lie for him?”

“Probably. But in this case they were with a group of people. Went to a rodeo and out dancing afterward.”

“So Bud has an alibi too.”

“Looks that way, but it doesn't matter. We have our perpetrator.”

“I don't think Jose Morales did it.”

“Can you give me a reason that would hold up in court?”

Abbie sighed. “No.”

“I didn't think so. Can I help you with anything else?”

“I tried to find the stolen rings,” Abbie told her. “I went to the EZ Loan Pawnshop on Main. The owner said he hadn't seen them.”

Officer Martin laughed. “Right idea, wrong pawnshop. We recovered one of the rings. The
shop owner had already sold the other, but we'll keep an eye out for it.”

Abbie was curious. “If somebody bought the stolen ring, how will you ever get it back?”

“Sometimes the
Buckler Bee
lists stolen items. Occasionally a law-abiding citizen buys an object in good faith, discovers it was stolen property, and brings it in.”

“And gets his money back?”

“Not too often, I'm afraid. The money is usually spent immediately by the person selling the stolen item. The pawnshop doesn't accept the responsibility, so the purchaser is out of luck.”

Abbie told Officer Martin her theory, and Martin asked, “Do you think Charlie took the rings from under our noses?”

“He must have. Unless he lied to us about when he got to Buckler, he didn't show up until after the attack took place.”

“It's possible that he did take the rings during his so-called search,” Martin said. “The rings weren't pawned until the shop opened this morning.”

“Could the owner identify Charlie?”

“As we expected, that pawnshop owner couldn't or wouldn't remember who had pawned the rings. His records listed what proved to be a fictitious name and address.”

“One more thing,” Abbie said. For just a moment she hesitated. “Remember I said that something was missing from the living room, but I couldn't remember what it was?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it was an Asian bronze horse with onyx eyes. If you grabbed it at the head or in the middle, the heaviest part would be in the rear. The horse's back legs could have made the puncture wounds the doctor found.”

There was silence for a moment; then Officer Martin said, “That's interesting, Abbie. We'll follow up on it, but promise me you won't try to follow Mrs. Merkel's bad example. You are not a trained investigator. You are not a member of the police force. Leave this case to us to solve, or you may find yourself involved in a highly dangerous situation. We can't always keep an eye on you.”

Abbie couldn't make any promises. She tried to change the subject back to the weapon. “When you find the horse—”

“Chances are slim or none. Weapons have a way of getting lost. This one could have ended up in the gulf or could have been buried in a remote spot. It would be almost impossible to find.”

“Who would throw it away? That horse is rare and valuable.”

“Very few people would know that. They'd think of it only as incriminating evidence. Even though it was wiped clean, or even washed, enough traces of the victim's blood would remain for a lab to identify it. The D.A. likes to have the weapon on hand when he brings a case of murder, or attempted murder, to court, but even without the weapon, he has enough evidence against Jose Morales to prosecute him.”

Officer Martin's voice became more abrupt and determined. “Abbie, I asked for your promise.”

“I almost forgot to tell you what Mrs. Merkel found out about Irene Conley,” Abbie said. “According to notes she made, Irene Conley's father, Buck Steaver, wasn't rich. Irene got her money by embezzling from the Gulf East Savings and Loan. She spent a lot of money on clothes, a car, and remodeling her house. What she didn't spend she put in a safe-deposit box in Unity National. Maybe Mr. Hastings found out. Maybe that's why he was killed. Maybe Irene did it.”

There was silence for a moment. Finally Officer Martin said, “All I can say is that we are pursuing the bank investigation along a similar line. As for you—you can expect—”

Abbie interrupted. “Officer Martin, I know not to put myself in danger. Mrs. Merkel is the one who didn't know that. I'd just like an update, please. Did you find any evidence that Irene Conley was in Mrs. Merkel's house?”

“Abbie, I know you've put up with a lot from Mrs. Merkel. I can tell you this: We have an eye witness—a next-door neighbor—who told us that Irene Conley
had
visited Mrs. Merkel early that afternoon.”

Abbie grew excited. “Did the doctors determine what time Mrs. Merkel was attacked? Could Irene have done it?”

“Don't get too involved with police work, dear. Don't learn from Mrs. Merkel.”

“Please, just tell me something,” Abbie begged.

“The witness saw Irene Conley leave the house. Mrs. Merkel stood at the doorway warning her not to come back. Now, as I was trying to tell you about your behavior—”

“Thanks, Officer Martin. I'll behave,” Abbie said quickly. “Bye.” She hung up the phone.

When she told Davy what the police officer had said, he shook his head. “We can't find that weapon any more than the police can. Whoever hit Mrs. Merkel could have thrown it off Longmont Pier into deep water. He could have driven it west on a farm road and buried it in rangeland where no one could ever come across it.” Davy peeled the clear tape from his fingers and stuck the wad on the end of the table.

Abbie stood and reached for the tape, tearing off an eight-inch strip. “Watch,” she said to Davy as she opened the kitchen door.

She held the latch in as she quickly slapped the tape across it, then shut the door.

“What did you do with the tape?” Davy asked.

“It's across the door latch. It keeps it from closing and locking.”

“I can't see it.”

“Neither could Mrs. Merkel when somebody used tape on her door to keep it from locking. I stepped on a wad of the tape. It was probably tossed aside after the attack.”

“But you tried her door. You couldn't get in,” Davy complained.

“That was after the tape was removed,” Abbie said.

Davy looked at Abbie with admiration. “Cool,” he said. “You're pretty good at figuring things out.” He grinned. “Maybe you're learning how to be a good P.I. from Mrs. Merkel.”

Abbie sighed. “It tells us
how
, but not
who
did it. And you're right about the weapon. If the police can't find it, then neither can we.” She closed the notebook in front of her and said, “Sometimes I get scared.”

“No, you don't,” Davy told her. “I've been writing down all the things you've been doing. You're very brave, Abbie.”

“It's not those things I'm scared about,” Abbie said. “It's … well, I don't want to have dinner with Jamie Lane tomorrow night.”

“Neither do I,” Davy said, “but it's a chance to go out with Dad. We like the food at the restaurant and checking out the neat stuff around the fountain. We can pretend Jamie's not there.”

“If we're rude to her, Dad will get mad at us,” Abbie warned.

Davy thought a moment. “Okay. Then we'll be polite and say please and thank you and stuff like that. But we can still pretend she's not there and just talk to Dad.”

Abbie began to laugh. She tried not to, but she couldn't help it. It was a strange kind of laughter because it gripped her like a vise and wouldn't let go. And while she was laughing tears rolled down her cheeks.

Davy stared at her in surprise. “What's the matter with you?” he asked.

Abbie wiped her eyes, reached for a tissue, and blew her nose. “To us, Jamie's nothing,” she said. “For Dad now, you and I are nothing. Dad won't bother to notice—he's too caught up in himself.” She laid her head down on her arms and began to cry.

I
n the middle of the night Abbie awoke. She sat up in bed, shaking a little, as if she had broken away from a bad dream. Without even realizing it, Davy had given her the answer. It seemed clear now. She figured out where the weapon would be hidden from the police. She now knew who had put it there.

I should call Officer Martin
, she thought. One foot was already out of bed and touching the floor when she doubted her own logic. She wasn't sure. She had no proof, and she had to be sure. She pulled her foot back under the covers, vaguely remembering when she was little and afraid of the monsters she thought hid under her bed.

Now that she was older, she knew that the
dark space under the bed was safe and empty, but monsters
did
exist.

Tomorrow is Friday
, Abbie told herself as she lay back in bed.
Tomorrow I'll make sure the weapon is there.

At school Abbie saw Nick in the hallway a few steps ahead and trotted to catch up with him. “Hi,” she said, warmed by his answering smile. “Will you be at Blue Water Beach tonight for your father's company picnic?”

His eyes lit up. “You mean you can go?”

“Not with you, I'm afraid. I do have family plans,” Abbie said. “My father is taking my little brother and me to dinner at the Oriental Gardens restaurant there.” She paused. “To get acquainted with his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Nick said.

Abbie could tell he was trying to think of the right thing to say, so she quickly added, “We'll be there at six o'clock. Maybe we can at least see each other and talk a little.”

Nick grinned. “You'll be there at six? Me too. There's going to be a mob, but don't worry. I'll find you.”

“I hope we can have a real date if you still want to. You asked me to the prom. I should have given you an answer sooner. Thanks. I'd like to go with you.”

“That's great!” Nick said.

He began to talk about a movie he thought
they could see. She tried to listen intently. Over his shoulder she could see Gigi grinning.

The bell rang, and Abbie went to class feeling good. She wasn't a nothing. She wasn't a nobody. She wasn't going to spend her life being afraid, in spite of what her father had done or might do in the future.

After school Abbie drove straight to the hospital. She was directed to the room where Mrs. Merkel lay hooked up to an array of IV drips and monitors.

“She has stirred, but she hasn't awakened,” the nurse whispered. “Maybe if you gently chat with her it will help pull her back to reality.”

Abbie waited until the nurse had left, then said, “Let's talk about what I've done while you've been asleep.” She told Mrs. Merkel about reading her notebook and Davy's notebook, and what information she had given Officer Martin. “I know you didn't want the police to get all the credit for solving Mr. Hastings' murder and Irene's embezzlement, but somebody had to do something before it was too late, and as usual you are not cooperating. You won't wake up.”

Now Mrs. Merkel stirred, making little grunting noises in her throat.

“I'm pretty sure I can find the weapon someone used on you. I think I know where it's hidden. I'll find out in a little while. The way I see it, nobody can prove what time your nephew Charlie arrived in Buckler, so about those rings—”

Mrs. Merkel's eyelids suddenly moved and
then opened wide. In a raspy voice she croaked, “You are a lamebrain! Don't blab everything you know where people can overhear you.”