Nobody's There (8 page)

Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Merkel continued. “I'm sure this guy I've seen has been picking up each call with his equipment, getting the cell phone number, and writing it down. Then he either gives his list of numbers to a contact
or sells it. Doesn't matter which. What matters is that he's there in front of the store right now, and if you move on it, you can nab him. But you'd better get here fast.”

“How did you find out all that information about picking up cell phone numbers?” Abbie asked as Mrs. Merkel ended the conversation and tucked her phone away.

“I told you, I read a lot. There are news stories every once in a while about people driving slow past houses, trying to catch a cell phone in use. They can get the numbers easy and then make a lot of long distance calls using them. So why shouldn't a crook figure out just what I did, that it would be even easier to just park across from a store that's doing a booming business in selling cell phones and offering free calls?”

“You really are good at figuring things out,” Abbie said in wonder. “Did you ever actually work for the police?”

“Work for the police? Ha!” Mrs. Merkel exclaimed.

Before Mrs. Merkel could launch into a diatribe against the police, Abbie asked, “Did your husband? Did you learn police tactics from him?”

Mrs. Merkel turned to face Abbie, who imagined she could feel the woman's glare drilling into her forehead. “What I learned from my husband was to never trust a man—especially one who started out full of sweet talk and flattery and pretty gifts he sent me from foreign ports. The day he walked out on me I was through with him forever, and that includes answering stupid questions
about him. Never ask me about him again. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Abbie said, “and I'm sorry I asked. I didn't know.” Trying to make amends, she said, “I know how rough that must have been on you and your children.”

“We never had children,” Mrs. Merkel answered. “The only kin I've got is a good-for-nothing lazy nephew from his side of the family. Charlie Merkel is almost as worthless as his uncle was. But he does come down from Dallas a couple of times a year to patch up things around my house. He tells me he wants to see how I am and help out if he can, but I know what he's after.

“Last time he was here he tried to borrow money—as if I'd be stupid enough to let him have any. If he runs up debts, that's his problem. Charlie will be my heir since he's the only relative, so he can darned well wait until he inherits my money someday.”

She cackled and added, “It'll serve him right if I outlive him—which I intend to do.”

As a police car entered the parking lot, Mrs. Merkel shouted to Abbie, “Quick! Park in front of the crook! Block him off on this side!”

“What if he has a gun?”

“Do what I tell you!”

No sooner had Abbie driven to face the gray sedan, nearly touching its bumper, than Mrs. Merkel jumped from the car.

She arrived at the window of the sedan only a few seconds ahead of one of the police officers.

“Gotcha, you stupid crook!” Mrs. Merkel yelled at the man in the car.

The officer glared at her. “Move out of the way, ma'am,” he ordered.

“I want him to know that he wins the Stupid Crook of the Day award,” she shouted back.

“Move,
now
!” the officer commanded as the man in the car yelled obscene threats at Mrs. Merkel.

The second officer took Mrs. Merkel's arm and led her back to Abbie's car. “Pull back,” he said to Abbie. “Get your car away from here. You're hampering the police.”

Abbie was only too glad to comply. The threats the man had shouted, and his terrible anger, were scary. Not even waiting for Mrs. Merkel to fasten her seat belt, she drove out of the parking lot and into the street.

Mrs. Merkel opened her window and stuck her head out. “He's out of the car,” she reported to Abbie. “He's leaning against it, his hands on the car. They're patting him down, looking for weapons.”

A smug, satisfied smile on her face, Mrs. Merkel sat back against the seat, fastened her seat belt, and rolled up the window. “Three crooks in one day,” she said. “I bet most private eyes don't have records as good as that.”

Suddenly she sat up straight, glancing to the right and left. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I'm taking you home,” Abbie said.

“I don't want to go home. I want to go to the police station and sign that complaint.” Mrs.
Merkel chuckled. “And see the looks on their faces when I remind them I'm better at nabbing crooks than they are. Then, after that, I want you to drive me to the supermarket in the mall.”

Abbie shot a quick glance at Mrs. Merkel. “You're not too tired?”

Sarcastically Mrs. Merkel answered, “No, I'm not too tired. And stop treating me like I'm old and decrepit.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Mrs. Merkel grumbled, loudly enough for Abbie to hear, “What I
am
tired of are these stupid, lamebrain girls Mrs. Wilhite keeps sending me. I ought to fire this one too.”

“Mrs. Merkel,” Abbie said quietly, “I'm trying very hard to do whatever you ask me to do … even if I don't always agree with your ideas.”

“Nobody asked you to agree. You don't have the right to agree or disagree. You're nothing but my driver. That's all.” She turned toward Abbie, and once again her stare seemed to drill into Abbie's head. “At least those other girls were model students. You're different. I was warned that you're undisciplined, heading for sure trouble, and if you gave me any trouble I was to send you back.”

Abbie flinched. The words were as hurtful as sharp stones. “Who told you that?” she asked. “Mrs. Wilhite?”

“Never you mind. It's none of your business,” Mrs. Merkel said. “Only reason I told you is that you need to know just where you stand. Now,
watch out up ahead. That light is going to turn red any second.”

Abbie gripped the steering wheel. She wanted to cry out against the unfairness of what Mrs. Wilhite had done to her.

“Yes, ma'am,” Abbie answered politely. But she thought,
You can be as mean and disagreeable as you want to be, Mrs. Merkel, and I won't care. You think you're so smart and tough? Well, I can be even smarter and tougher.

Abbie could feel Mrs. Merkel's surprise at her quick agreement. “The police station's right up ahead,” Abbie said, “and yes, I do see that truck coming.”

A
bbie didn't sleep well Sunday night. She dreaded going to school the next morning. A story of her arrest and the action behind it had appeared in the
Buckler Bee.
She knew how fast information could spread in Buckler. A lot of the kids would have read the story—or heard an even more gossip-glorified version of it.

Just as she'd suspected, as she walked to her locker a few kids turned away, whispering to each other. But others took her hand or patted her shoulder.

“Hang in there, Abbie,” Rosa Madrina told her. “You only did what a lot of us would have liked to do. I haven't seen my dad for three years.”

Nick Campos suddenly stood before her. Did he know about what had happened? He'd never said a word. “Second try,” Nick told her. “On Friday my dad's company is having their annual company picnic at Blue Water Beach. Tons of stuff to eat, swimming, good beach, even a combo and dancing at that Oriental Gardens restaurant. Want to come, Abbie? I really wish you would. We didn't get to know each other very well last year, but I think we'd have fun together.”

Abbie leaned against the cold metal of her locker. The chill seemed to spread through her back and neck until her entire body felt like an icicle. The Oriental Gardens at Blue Water Beach had been a favorite with her family. She and Davy had always enjoyed the lavish fountain in the lobby. Its rim was covered with little statues, brass and clay horses and replicas of small villages, with a multitude of tiny dolls dressed in kimonos and fishermen's garb.

Nick's smile warmed his eyes, but she couldn't look beyond them. She liked Nick. But what if she began to like him too much? She didn't want to be hurt.

“Gosh, I'm sorry, Nick,” she said. “We've got some family thing for next weekend.” She looked away, uncomfortable with the lie she had told. “I really would have liked to go with you. Really.”

“My grandmother has an old saying: Third time's the charm,” Nick said. “Maybe next time you'll agree to go out with me.”

Abbie tried to smile. “Maybe,” she said.

What's the matter with me?
she wondered as Nick walked away.
Why am I so afraid?

Gigi joined Abbie at their lockers, which were side by side. “How's your Friend to Friend sweet old lady?” Gigi asked.

“Anything but sweet. She keeps trying to catch crooks.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Mrs. Merkel thinks she's a private eye.” Abbie filled Gigi in on all that had happened.

Gigi laughed so hard she had to lean against the lockers. “I hope the elderly friend they assign to me isn't that wild.”

Abbie gaped in surprise. “You aren't in Friend to Friend.”

“Yes, I am,” Gigi said. “I called Mrs. Wilhite and signed up. All she needs is my transcript and a letter from the school counselor to prove I'm a so-called model student, and I'll bring those to the meeting this afternoon.”

Abbie could only blink, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You were really down when I talked to you,” Gigi said. “You dreaded going through this by yourself, so here I am. What are friends for?”

Suddenly Abbie's vision was blurred by tears. “You'd do this for me?”

“For you and for some dear, elderly darling. I haven't met her yet, but I know what she's like. She's way overweight, and a hundred years old, and giggles when she talks, and munches on chocolates, and—”

Abbie chimed in. “And wears some kind of sweet perfume that smells like marshmallows.”

“Don't forget the hat with the sunflower,” Gigi added, and they laughed again.

Suddenly the world seemed a much better place to Abbie. If Gigi was at her side during the Friend to Friend meeting, she could live through it, Mrs. Wilhite notwithstanding.

“I've got the car today,” Gigi said. “I've already told your mother I'll drive you to and from the meeting so you don't have to use her car.”

Somehow Abbie managed to live through the school day, even getting a “Good answer, Abbie,” from Mr. Anderson in world history.

Still, long before she was emotionally ready to face Mrs. Wilhite and the other kids in Friend to Friend, Abbie found herself walking with Gigi into a meeting room inside the county courthouse.

There were about two dozen girls in the room and only one adult—a tall, slender woman dressed in an expensive knit suit.

Clutching Gigi's hand, Abbie walked directly to Mrs. Wilhite and introduced herself. Then she introduced Gigi.

Mrs. Wilhite graciously accepted the transcript and recommendation from the school counselor that Gigi handed her. She scanned them, murmured approvingly, then smiled at Gigi.

Mrs. Wilhite suddenly turned to Abbie. “How are you getting along with Mrs. Merkel?” she asked.

“Fine,” Abbie answered.

Mrs. Wilhite looked surprised. “You aren't having any problems?”

Abbie looked right into Mrs. Wilhite's eyes.
You just think you're winning
, she thought. She forced herself to look pleasant. “No problems at all,” she answered. “Thank you for matching me with Mrs. Merkel. She's a fascinating person.”

Unable to cover her surprise, Mrs. Wilhite asked, “You find Mrs. Merkel fascinating?”

“Oh, yes,” Abbie said. “Of course you know she has a very quick mind. She's not only interested in book discussions, she's quite active in Buckler's Bloodhounds. She named the group, in fact. Buckler's Bloodhounds. Isn't that clever?”

One of the girls standing next to Mrs. Wilhite asked, “What in the world are Buckler's Bloodhounds?”

Abbie replied, “They're a group of senior citizens who are aiding the police in protecting other seniors against the con men who target them.”

“Well,” Mrs. Wilhite answered. “I—I hadn't heard of the program.” She seemed to struggle to collect herself, then announced loudly, “Girls, will you all find chairs, please? We'll begin our meeting.”

Gigi nudged Abbie as they walked toward a pair of empty folding chairs. “If I hadn't been so angry with Mrs. Wilhite I would have burst out laughing. Did you see her face?”

Abbie began to answer, but a short, chubby girl, her eyes crinkled in a smile, touched her
arm, interrupting. “Abbie,” she said. “My name is Leslie Hodges. Don't let Mrs. Wilhite give you a bad time. Welcome to our group.”

Abbie realized her mouth was open. “Thanks, but didn't Mrs. Wilhite tell you about me?”