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.”
“I hadn’t finished. That was just the beginning. There’s a lot more,” Abbie said. She stopped, her mouth open, suddenly aware that Mrs. Merkel was awake. She jabbed at the button to call the nurse. “You’ve come out of your coma!”
“That’s obvious.”
“Who hit you?” Abbie asked.
“How should I know? Whoever did it came at me from behind.”
“Was anyone in the house with you?”
“If I’d seen someone, would I be lying here like this?”
“Irene Conley came to see you.”
“With a lot of babble about how I could profit if I kept my mouth shut. Huh! I threw her out and slammed the door.” Mrs. Merkel scowled at Abbie. “Now—about my notebook that you promised not to read—”
“I had to read it,” Abbie said firmly. “You know that.”
“I’m going to call Mrs. Wilhite. I don’t need a snippy little troublemaker like you around.”
Abbie took one of Mrs. Merkel’s hands in her own. “Don’t overreact,” she said calmly. “You were assigned to me, and I’m going to be very hard to get rid of. We’re going to find out who attacked you, and then I’m going to visit you and read to you and bring you something better to eat than hospital food.”
“Are you just looking for trouble?”
“No,” Abbie said. “I’m going to prove I can carry out an assignment.”
Two nurses bustled into the room and one shooed Abbie out the door. “The doctor’s on his way,” she said. “You can sit in the waiting room if you want.”
Abbie wasn’t about to sit in a waiting room. She had to get home and get dressed for the worst possible evening in the world. And she had to make sure she could find the missing weapon.
At five-thirty Dr. Thompson picked up Abbie and Davy and took them out to his car, where Jamie was waiting. Jamie took one look at Mrs. Thompson standing in the doorway and didn’t get out of the car. She merely swung around in her seat and smiled at Abbie and Davy, holding out her left hand for a backward handshake.
Abbie stared in amazement. The hand thrust at her, Jamie’s hand, was sporting a ring. A gold dragon holding a large opal flanked by two small diamonds encircled her ring finger.
“This is Jamie,” Dr. Thompson said as if purring. He turned the key in the ignition and drove away from the curb.
“Hello,” Abbie said. She and Davy quickly glanced at each other before staring again at the ring. “Your ring is beautiful,” Abbie added.
“Yeah, cool,” Davy said.
“My darling Davis gave it to me,” Jamie told them, and then leaned over to kiss Dr. Thompson on his right ear. “I’ve got a friend in the business. He found it for us, and Davis insisted I just had to have it.”
Abbie leaned back against the seat. She smiled to herself. The evening was turning out to be much more interesting than she’d thought it would be.
When they arrived at the Oriental Gardens, Dr. Thompson guided Jamie, working their way through a crowd of people to the dining room hostess. “Stay with us,” Dr. Thompson ordered as Abbie and Davy turned toward the fountain. “There seems to be a much larger crowd than usual here, and we don’t want to become separated.”
“But Dad,” Davy said, “we always look at the fountain first.”
“Not tonight,” Dr. Thompson answered. He said to the hostess, “I’m Dr. Davis Thompson. My party has a reservation for six o’clock.”
“There’ll be only a five-to-ten-minute wait,” the hostess answered. She smiled as if pleased at their great good fortune.
Abbie glanced toward the main entrance. She caught only a quick glance of the back of a blond woman who had walked in but had turned and was struggling back through a group of people trying to enter the restaurant.
Abbie kept staring. The woman looked like Irene Conley. Abbie moved her head to see better in the crowd.
The blond woman could have been anyone, Abbie admitted to herself, but she felt an even more urgent need to see if the bronze horse was hidden at the fountain.
“We’ve got five minutes, Dad,” Abbie said. “Davy and I will be right back.” She turned quickly before her father could answer.
They squirmed through the crowd in the lobby.
Abbie searched among the many fascinating pieces on display around the rim of the fountain. Where was the horse? She was sure it would be there, hidden among others like it, unnoticed even by the owners of the restaurant.
Suddenly she stopped, sucking in her breath. The horse was tucked in between four kimono-clad dolls, their paper umbrellas almost hiding it from view. She’d been right. The one person who knew the value of the horse had been unable to throw it away.
“Abbie,” Dr. Thompson called, “our table is ready.”
“Go ahead, Dad. I have to make a phone call,” Abbie answered.
He frowned. “Not now. Don’t be silly. This evening is just for the four of us. Stay here.”
Abbie made her way to her father. “Dad.” She tugged at his arm, pulling him with her. When they reached the fountain, she pointed at the place where she’d seen the horse with the onyx eyes. It was no longer there.
“Where is it?” she cried out, looking toward the doorway. Squeezing through the front door, shoving aside a group of people, was the blond woman.
Abbie saw enough to recognize her—Irene Conley.
As if pulled by a stare, Irene turned, giving Abbie a startled look. Then, ducking her head, she plowed through the crowd, bursting out into the parking lot.
Abbie struggled after her as she heard two voices. “Where
are you going?” Dr. Thompson called.
And Davy yelled, “Wait for me, Abbie!”
Abbie ran as fast as she could, chasing Irene, who clutched the bronze horse as she dashed across the parking lot. Abbie’s chest hurt as she tried to scream, “Stop!”
To Abbie’s amazement, two uniformed police officers suddenly appeared and stopped Irene.
Panting and almost breathless, snatching gulps of air, Abbie managed to reach the police. “How did you know you should come?”
One of the officers calmly answered, “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, ma’am, at the request of Officer Martin.”
“But how did she know I’d be here?”
“She didn’t. We’ve been tailing you.”
Abbie pointed at the bronze horse Irene was still holding. “Take good care of that horse,” she told the officers. “Be careful about fingerprints. It’s the weapon that was used when Irene tried to kill Mrs. Merkel.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Irene insisted. “I’ve even got a witness that saw me on the porch with Mrs. Merkel, as I was leaving her home.”
“I know,” Abbie said, “but neither the neighbor nor Mrs. Merkel saw you slip clear tape over the door latch so it wouldn’t lock and you could walk in later.”
Irene shot a malicious glance at Abbie as the horse was taken from her and wrapped in a large piece of cloth from the trunk of the squad car. “You and that old hag just couldn’t mind your own business, could you!” she growled.
“The police would have figured all of it out pretty soon—the embezzlement, the murder, and the attempted murder,” Abbie said. “You gave yourself away, living with so many luxuries. Of all the suspects in the attack on Mrs. Merkel, you’re the only one who knows about expensive objects. You’re the only one who would know how valuable that horse is. Not Charlie, and not even Mrs. Merkel. I think you kept the horse and didn’t throw it away because you planned to sell the piece. You’re not only bad, you’re greedy.”
Abbie’s father strode up beside her as Irene Conley was being put into a police car. “What’s this all about?” he demanded. “What’s going on with my daughter?”
The younger police officer said to Dr. Thompson, “I’ll be glad to answer your questions, sir, but I think your daughter can do a better job of explaining to you what happened.”
Jamie arrived, slightly breathless, balancing on her four-inch heels. She leaned against Dr. Thompson, resting her left hand on his shoulder. Her opal and diamond ring flashed under the lights in the parking lot. Jamie looked at Abbie with alarm. “What terrible thing did Abbie do now?” she demanded.
“Why, she saved the day!” the officer answered. Then, staring at the ring, he added, “Ma’am, may I ask you about that ring you’re wearing?”
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Jamie answered. She admired it as she wiggled her fingers.
The officer took some stapled sheets of paper from the squad car, read them by the beam of his flashlight, then turned to Jamie. “That ring fits the description of an item that was recently stolen,” he said. “May I ask where you got it?”
“Stolen!” Dr. Thompson exclaimed.
“Stolen? It couldn’t be!” Jamie screeched.
“What kind of a crook is your ‘friend in the business’?” Dr. Thompson demanded.
“He’s a very good friend. And he’s not a crook!”
“I’m afraid that’s stolen goods. I’ll need you to come with us or give us some information.
Jamie tugged off the ring and began to shout at Dr. Thompson, whose scowl grew deeper by the minute.
Abbie walked away and leaned against the trunk of the nearest car.
Davy followed, leaning companionably next to her. “Bummer,” he said.
“Poor Dad,” Abbie murmured.
Davy looked at her with surprise. “I thought you were mad at Dad.”
“I was. I am,” Abbie answered. “But I I think I just stopped being angry and started to feel sorry for him.”
Davy’s eyes grew even wider. “You’re sorry for Dad? Don’t you mean you’re sorry for Mom?”
“For both of them. I thought Dad didn’t like us. I heard him say we were nobodies to him. I was wrong. I finally figured out that he doesn’t like himself. He thinks of himself as a nobody. He’s trying hard not to be himself, so he’s got nothing and no one.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t know why. I don’t know what he expected to become someday or what goals he had for himself, but he thinks he’s failed. Now look at his clothes, his car, his girlfriend. He’s trying awfully hard to be somebody he definitely is not.”
“But I love him. He’s still my dad. You love him too … don’t you?”
Abbie put an arm around her brother’s shoulders. To her surprise, he didn’t shrug it away. He moved even closer.
“In spite of everything, I guess so. I loved him better the way he used to be … but yes. I can’t stop loving Dad,” Abbie said.
“Hey, Abbie!” a voice called, and Abbie turned to see Nick striding toward her.
“Nick!” she called, realizing she’d almost forgotten about meeting him.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Nick said. “I told you I’d find you.” He smiled. “Come on inside the restaurant. There’s a ton of food on the buffet tables in the company’s room.”
“Food? Great,” Davy said. “Can I come too?”
“Sure,” Nick said with a grin, and Davy smiled back.
“We’re going into the restaurant, Dad,” Abbie called. “We’ll be with the big party.”
Nick took Abbie’s hand as they walked away. “What’s up?” he asked.
Abbie laughed. “It’s a long story. When I’ve got time I’ll fill you in.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sorry, not tomorrow,” Abbie said. “Tomorrow I’m going to spend some time with my friend Edna Merkel, private investigator. She’s solved a murder and ID’d the perp, and she needs my report to wrap up the case.”
“Way cool,” Davy said, his eyes shining.
Nick shook his head and then grinned. “About this story of yours,” he said, “does it come with a translation?”
Abbie didn’t need a translation for Mrs. Merkel. As soon as she arrived in Mrs. Merkel’s room, she pulled a chair next to the hospital bed and put down her tote bag. Before Mrs. Merkel had a chance to say a word, Abbie told her everything that had happened from beginning to end.
She’d expected Mrs. Merkel to be gratified, but Mrs. Merkel frowned. “You found the weapon used on me,” she complained. “If I hadn’t been stuck in this bed, I would have found it.”
“But you have the evidence. Without that I wouldn’t have had any idea it was the bronze horse.”
The frown disappeared, and Mrs. Merkel looked puzzled. “What evidence?”
“The marks the horse’s hooves made,” Abbie said. “That’s the most important evidence of all, and you’re carrying it right under that bandage on your head.”
For an instant Mrs. Merkel actually looked pleased with herself. Then she complained, “That’s all well and good, but this evidence needs to be recorded. Have any of these nincompoops thought about that? Have the police taken photographs of the wounds? Have they measured the marks?”
Abbie reached into her tote bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera. “That’s why I’m here. The doctor okayed photos, and he’ll be on hand to measure the marks and rebandage the evidence. The police may or may not have taken photographs. I didn’t ask, and it doesn’t matter. We’ll take our own. Good private investigators don’t leave anything to chance.”
Mrs. Merkel was silent for a moment. Then she let out a long, unhappy sigh. “Officer Martin was here,” she said. “She told me I was officially retired from Buckler’s Bloodhounds. She suggested that I learn to knit or embroider or paint with watercolors.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Abbie said. She reached into her tote bag, pulled out a paperback book, and held it high so that Mrs. Merk
el could see it. “This is a good, scary murder mystery,” she said. “I’m going to read it to you. If you like it, I’ll read more mysteries.”
Abbie opened the book and began. “ ‘Herman knew someone was in the room with him. Though not a scrap of moonlight could ooze through the heavy curtains that covered the window, Herman blinked hard, desperately trying to see something … anything. In the silence he could hear ragged breathing … in and out … in and out … coming ever closer. Something soft and wet touched his bare neck, and Herman screamed.’ ”
“Huh,” Mrs. Merkel scoffed.
As Abbie closed the book, placing it on her lap, Mrs. Merkel quickly said, “Don’t stop. Since you haven’t got anything else to read to me, you might as well keep reading that drivel.”
“I thought you were going to tell me you can write better than that,” Abbie said.
“It doesn’t need to be said. I can write better than that—even on a bad day.”
“That’s what I thought,” Abbie answered. She smiled. “So after we go through half a dozen mystery novels, I’ll read the last book I bought. It’s called How to Write Mystery Novels.”
“Well, I suppose since you bought it, you might as well read it to me … not that I’ll need it, you understand.”
“I’ve got a laptop computer at home,” Abbie said. “When you’re ready, you can dictate. I’ll write.”
Mrs. Merkel sighed, this time with satisfaction, and relaxed against her pillows. “I guess I can manage to put up with you for a year,” she said. “I just hope you’re a better secretary than you are a driver.”
She suddenly laughed, startling Abbie. “It just occurred to me. If I become a published mystery novelist, it will drive the book club members crazy.”
Abbie laughed too. “And maybe Mrs. Wilhite,” she added.
Mrs. Merkel waggled a finger at Abbie. “Quit wasting time, girl,” she said. “Stick to what you came here to do. Start reading.”
Abbie no longer minded being Mrs. Merkel’s partner in crime. She opened the book and began reading. Her own tale was probably not as easy to wrap up as the mystery novel, but she now felt ready for any twist in the story.
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