Nobody's There

by Joan Lowery Nixon

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.”

  Abbie 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 sud
denly 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?”

  “Oh, sure. She’s a strict straight arrow,” Leslie answered. “But who hasn’t done something that later they wish they hadn’t?” As Mrs. Wilhite rapped on a lectern for order, Leslie quickly said, “I was assigned to Mrs. Merkel until she ‘fired’ me. So was Joyce Reamer. You seem to be a lot better than we were at dealing with her. Good for you.”

  “Girls, please come to order,” Mrs. Wilhite said.

  Abbie, Gigi, and Leslie quickly took their seats. The room quieted, and Mrs. Wilhite began to conduct her meeting.

  Gigi was given her packet and asked to contact her Friend to Friend assignment during the next two or three days. A few people had questions, which Mrs. Wilhite answered. Then she asked each member to stand as she called her name in alphabetical order and briefly describe an activity she had carried out with the elderly woman assigned to her.

  One by one the girls talked about various activities, from inviting their Friends home for dinner to taking them to the park, the grocery store, or choir practice.

  Finally Mrs. Wilhite called, “Abbie Thompson.”

  Nervously Abbie stood and faced the others. How could she tell them that Mrs. Merkel had trapped two roof repair scam artists and led the police to a man stealing cell phone numbers?

  She skirted the direct question about what she and Mrs. Merkel had done and began describing Buckler’s Bloodhounds. Finally she said, “That’s it, I guess,” and looked at Mrs. Wilhite.

  Mrs. Wilhite cleared her throat and said, “Everyone, please maintain the fine image of our important group. If there is no further business, this meeting is adjourned.”

  Some of the girls left the meeting room as quickly as possible, but Abbie waited a moment until Leslie had gathered her books. “Thanks for … for everything,” Abbie said.

  “I was ten when my parents divorced,” Leslie said. “I still remember how angry I was.”

  “My brother’s ten,” Abbie told her. “He’s angry all the time. He’s even angry at me, and none of what Dad did is my fault.”

  Leslie nodded. “You have to be patient,” she said. “Looking back, I wonder how my mom put up with me.” She swung her book bag over her shoulder as she added, “If Mrs. Merkel’s working on protecting senior citizens, let your brother in on it. Kids like the game of being spies or detectives. You know.”

  Abbie nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll try it.” She couldn’t tell Leslie—she couldn’t tell anyone—that Mrs. Merkel wasn’t following the rules of investigating. And she wasn’t involved in a game. She was playing for keeps.

  Abbie made macaroni and cheese for dinner because it was Davy’s favorite. He came banging in the kitchen door just before their mother was due home from work, tossing his baseball glove, bat, and ball on the floor with a clatter.

  Normally Abbie would have yelled at him to stop making so much noise and put his stuff where it belonged. Instead she said, “Davy, I need some help.”

  “I’m not going to set the table, if that’s what you want,” he said. “You can do it yourself.”

  Abbie shook her head. “It hasn’t got anything to do with setting the table. I’m worried about some criminals I might have to deal with—some dangerous criminals.”

  Davy stopped halfway across the room and turned to look at her. “That’s dumb,” he said, but Abbie knew she had his full attention. “Where would you meet a dangerous criminal?”

  Abbie lowered her voice and glanced from side to side. “It’s a long story,” she said. “And it’s top secret. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

  Davy plopped into a kitchen chair. “Tell me,” he said. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  So Abbie sat opposite him, resting her elbows on the table, and told him about Buckler’s Bloodhounds and what Mrs. Merkel had done to catch the con men.

  Davy listened, his eyes wide. When Abbie had finished, he said, “You stuck a chair leg into the guy’s back and he thought it was a gun? What a turkey! But, hey, that’s cool!”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Abbie said. “Mrs. Merkel is really into this private-eye stuff, and she keeps hinting at something big. It’s probably all in her imagination, but I’m not sure. What do you think I should do, Davy?”

  Davy’s forehead wrinkled as he thought a moment. Finally he looked up. “You said she writes things in a little notebook?”

  “Yes, but she won’t let me see what she writes.”

  “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. You should keep a notebook too.”

  “What would I write in it?”

  “Things like when you meet with her. Put down the day and the times. You know, all that stuff you need to record.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know what to—”

  “Look,” Davy interrupted as he shifted impatiently in his chair, “I’ll keep it for you. You just report to me every time you’ve gone to visit her, and if she’s done any detecting, then I’ll write down what I just told you. Then you can tell me what went on, and I’ll write that down too.”

  Abbie smiled. “Thanks, Davy. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I could even come along,” Davy suggested, and Abbie relished seeing her brother the way he used to be—happy and interested and excited about something new. She owed Leslie. When she saw her at the next meeting she’d thank her again.

  “It’s better if Mrs. Merkel doesn’t know about you,” Abbie said. “She might get suspicious. You could be kind of like—what do they call it?”

  “I could go undercover,” Davy answered.

  “That’s it, undercover.”

  “Yeah!”

  Abbie gave an involuntary shiver as she thought of the roofers’ faces and the scowl of the man in the gray car. To help Davy she was making a game of the whole thing, and it wasn’t a game.

  “Stay here. Don’t go away. I’ll come right back,” Davy said. He jumped from the chair, nearly toppling it, and ran from the room.

  In just a few minutes he was back, a thin three-hole notebook in his hands. “I took out last year’s science project that was in this notebook and put in some clean paper,” he said. “This will be our official notebook.”

  Abbie placed one hand on the notebook. When Davy caught on to what she was doing, he put his hand on her own. She co
vered it with her other hand, and Davy laid his right hand on top of the pile. “This is our secret notebook,” Abbie said solemnly. “You and I are the only ones who will ever read what is in this.”

  “Right,” Davy said.

  “You must keep it in a hidden, secret place and guard it with your life.”

  “Right.” Davy thought a moment, then grinned. “I know just where,” he said.

  As they sat back, he opened the book and began to write. “I’m putting down what you told me,” he said. “And then I’ll hide the book where no one will find it.” He looked at Abbie. “When are you going to visit Mrs. Merkel again?”

  “Tomorrow, after school,” Abbie said.

  “What’s she going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” Abbie answered. She sighed. “I only wish I knew so I could be prepared.”

  Davy looked eager. “Do you think it will be dangerous?”

  “I hope not,” Abbie said, but she shivered again. There was no telling what Mrs. Merkel would decide to do.

  “It’s about time,” Mrs. Merkel snapped as Abbie showed up at three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon. She stepped out on the porch dressed in a shapeless black cotton knit dress, a red satin letterman jacket, tennies with pink socks, and a wide-brimmed yellow straw hat. “I’ve been ready to go for an hour.”

  “I came as soon as classes were out,” Abbie explained. She took a deep breath to steady herself and asked, “Where would you like to go?” She hoped it wasn’t another trip to the supermarket. She dreaded a return visit. Sunday’s excursion had been little more than a loud series of complaints from one end of the large grocery store to the other. Couldn’t Mrs. Merkel get along with anybody?

  Mrs. Merkel turned to lock the front door behind her. “You know where the college is. There’s a coffee shop right across the street from the main entrance to the college grounds. That’s where I want to go.”

  Abbie relaxed. A coffee shop. That shouldn’t be a problem—unless she ran into her father there. She didn’t want to see him or talk to him. It was easier to pretend that he and his girlfriend didn’t exist.