Nobody's There

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  A wave of guilt splashed over Gladys’s face. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. With a visible effort she recovered and added, “We’re glad you’re back, dear.”

  “Not all of us,” one of the men growled. Although he spoke to himself, his words were loud enough to be heard.

  “I didn’t expect you to cheer, Jose,” Mrs. Merkel said, “since I’m the only one around here with enough smarts and gumption to disagree with your lame opinions.”

  Jose muttered something under his breath, but Gladys smiled at Abbie and asked, “Who is this dear girl? Is this a granddaughter we didn’t know about?”

  Abbie braced herself for whatever Mrs. Merkel might blurt out about her arrest and probation. I don’t know these people, she thought. What difference does it make what they think about me?

  She was surprised when Mrs. Merkel smugly announced, “This is Abbie Thompson. She’s my driver.”

  “Oooh! You have a driver. How lovely,” the short woman said. She put an arm around Abbie and patted her shoulder. “I’m Gladys Partridge, and it’s so nice to have you here, dear.”

  “Don’t get too chummy,” Mrs. Merkel said. “Abbie’s on probation. If you’re smart, you’ll keep a wary eye on her.”

  Abbie flinched as Gladys stepped back and one of the other women whispered, “Is she a gang member?”

  With a smile Jose took Abbie’s arm. “If you’re going to be a regular I’ll introduce you. We’ll start with me. I’m Jose Morales.”

  Although Mrs. Merkel scowled her disapproval, Jose made the circle, introducing Abbie first to the woman whose story they’d interrupted, Lawanda Truitt. The others were Olivia Barton, Dolores Garcia, and Sam Granby. Abbie was grateful for Jose’s kindness and tried her hardest to remember their names, settling on first names only. Gladys was short and sweet; Lawanda was tall and heavy; Dolores was round and smiley; Olivia was small and quiet; Jose was leather-skinned and bushy-browed; and Sam was tall, bony, and easygoing.

  Lawanda leaned toward Mrs. Merkel. “Did you read the papers this morning? We were talkin’ about the murder.”

  “Delmar Hastings, the bank president,” Sam said.

  “Gulf East Savings and Loan,” Dolores added.

  Olivia sighed and said, “His poor wife. At least his children were grown.”

  Lawanda took a step forward, picking up where she had left off. “I was sayin’, when you came in, that Irene Conley—you know Irene. She’s the head cashier in Gulf East Savings and Loan—Anyhow, Irene come to, after bein’ hit on the head, and there was her boss lyin’ on the floor, shot dead in a pool of blood.”

  Gladys closed her eyes. “Delmar Hastings, the bank president,” she whispered.

  “I know all that. I read the paper,” Mrs. Merkel grumbled.

  Abbie hadn’t read the newspaper or listened to the morning TV news, so she paid close attention.

  “Irene told the reporter from the Buckler Bee that she was hit on the head from behind, so she didn’t even see who did it,” Lawanda said.

  “Whodunnit,” Dolores corrected. “That’s what they say on TV shows—whodunnit.”

  Lawanda continued. “I heard on the news this morning that Irene is in such a state she’s confined to bed. Won’t even talk to the TV or newspaper reporters.”

  “Why didn’t the murderer kill Irene, too?” Mrs. Merkel asked.

  Dolores shivered. “Edna, you sound so bloodthirsty.”

  Jose shook his head. “She’s not bloodthirsty. She’s not good at figuring things out. Anybody would know why it happened the way it did. Hastings saw the murderer’s face and would have been able to identify him. Irene didn’t and couldn’t.”

  Mrs. Merkel snapped, “Since you’re a lawbreaker, you’d know how the criminal mind works, if anybody would.”

  Jose’s eyes flashed with anger. “You’re the worst kind of backstabbing snitch. The world would be better off without you in it.”

  “Now, now,” Gladys said, stepping between them. “That unpleasant business is over. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Is it over? Not likely,” Mrs. Merkel said. The look she gave Jose made Abbie think of blowguns and poison darts.

  Dolores stepped between Jose and Mrs. Merkel. “Speaking of Irene,” she said, “I heard Irene didn’t even need that job. Mavis in the beauty parlor said that Irene’s parents were the Buck Steavers. You’ve heard of the Buck Steavers.”

  “I haven’t,” Mrs. Merkel said.

  “Oh. Well, most people have … I think. Buck Steaver owned a lot of oil wells up in Beaumont. He was really, really rich, according to Mavis. Anyhow, he and his wife left Irene a lot of money.”

  Gladys nodded. “Then that’s why Irene had such a nice car and pretty clothes,” she said. She hesitated. “Unless it’s her husband who’s rich.”

  “Her husband sells appliances,” Dolores answered. “You know—at that big appliance store out near the college. He’s not about to make the fortune her parents did.”

  “Is he the bald man—the one who always wears bow ties?”

  Mrs. Merkel snorted. “When are you two going to learn to stick to a subject? Are you talking about a murder in Buckler or about bow ties?”

  Olivia spoke up shyly. “I don’t understand how the murder could have happened. I keep reading in the Bee that the federal government has statistics to prove that the crime rate has gone down.”

  Sam’s slow drawl emphasized his words. “It don’t matter what the statistics say. All that counts is that a man got murdered in our own neighborhood.”

  “I use that bank,” Gladys said.

  “So do I.” Lawanda nodded emphatically.

  Mrs. Merkel frowned at everyone. “We all do. That’s not news. And we don’t know anything about the murder that wasn’t in the paper, so let’s get down to business. What’s the book y’all have up for discussion today?”

  Gladys smiled. “We aren’t going to discuss books today, dear. We have a guest speaker.”

  Mrs. Merkel scowled. “We don’t need a guest speaker. We’re a book club. We’re supposed to discuss books.”

  Gladys patted Mrs. Merkel’s arm as she glanced toward the doorway. Her smile suddenly grew broader. “Sit down, dear,” she said. “Here’s our speaker now.”

  A young woman, dressed in a dark blue police officer’s uniform and carrying a clipboard, strode briskly into the room.

  Abbie started at the sight of the uniform, her heart thumping. “I’m here, like I’m supposed to be!” she wanted to shout. “Don’t take me back to the judge!”

  But the officer paid no special attention to Abbie. She shook hands with each of the book club members in turn, introducing herself as Amanda Martin.

  When she held out a hand to Edna Merkel, it was ignored. Mrs. Merkel aimed her laser glance at Officer Martin and snapped at her, “What does a cop know about books?”

  “Books?” The officer blinked.

  “Yes, books. This is a book club. We talk about books. Or maybe you haven’t figured that out yet. I guess with being so busy making the crime rate go down, cops need all the help they can get.”

  Gladys nervously waved her hands. “Edna, Officer Martin is our guest speaker. I told you we were going to have a guest speaker.”

  Mrs. Merkel shrugged, and her sarcasm deepened. “Don’t guest speakers at book clubs speak about books?”

  Officer Martin smiled. “Not this time,” she said. “I asked Mrs. Partridge, as club president, for permission to speak to your group about a very important project we’re starting in Buckler.” She looked directly into Mrs. Merkel’s eyes as she added, “You were right when you said cops need all the help we can get. We have to catch some mean, no-good crooks who are victimizing people in Buckler, and that’s why I’m here—to ask for your help.”

  Mrs. Merkel shoved between Gladys and Olivia in the front row of folding chairs. Abbie took a seat at the back.

  Officer Martin began her speech. “During the past few years thieves and con artists hav
e set their sights on senior citizens. Older people are vulnerable to this type of crime because they tend to be more trusting and less suspicious. There are many crooks right here in Buckler who need to be stopped. There are repair companies that promise to do work, collect their money, and disappear. Or people who advertise a specific product for sale, then substitute something else.”

  “They call that bait and switch.” Gladys looked pleased with herself.

  “Right. And people who telephone about something ‘free’ you’ve won, then tell you that you have to send money in order to get it.”

  “If anyone falls for that scam, he’s stupid,” Mrs. Merkel interrupted.

  “No. Not stupid. Duped.”

  “Same thing.”

  Officer Martin went on. “Some scam artists try to get you to tell them your credit card number over the phone. Or they say they’re collecting money for relief funds that don’t exist. The list goes on and on, and it means that every day people right here in Buckler are losing a great deal of money to these crooks.”

  “What are we supposed to do about it?” Mrs. Merkel blurted out. “You want us to send sympathy cards?”

  “Edna, dear,” Gladys began.

  But Jose snapped, “Shut your mouth up, Edna, and let the police officer say what she’s got to say.”

  With all the book club members glaring at her, Mrs. Merkel leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and scowled.

  Officer Martin smiled and continued. “A few years ago the Houston Better Business Bureau founded an organization that called upon senior citizens to protect other senior citizens. They named it Silver Sleuths. They’ve had great success with it. We’re setting up a similar organization in Buckler and calling it the Buckler Senior Citizens’ Brigade. We’ve had an enthusiastic response from other seniors in Buckler, and I hope your group will join us too.”

  Mrs. Merkel broke her short silence. “I don’t like that name,” she grumbled. “In the first place, I don’t like to be called a senior citizen, as if I had to be reminded how old I am. And Brigade sounds like something from a 1940s army movie.”

  “Edna, I already told you to be quiet and listen for a change,” Jose snapped. “You don’t know everything, even if you think you do.” He nodded toward Officer Martin. “Go ahead. Don’t pay any attention to Edna.”

  Officer Martin hesitated only a moment. Then, with her eyes on Mrs. Merkel, she said, “Those of you who volunteer will be trained for various jobs. Some of you will help us in our office or answer our special phone line for senior citizens’ questions or complaints about a company. Some of you will be our eyes and ears in the community. You’ll check out ads, making sure consumers won’t be tricked. You’ll track down scams and fraudulent schemes.”

  “Humph! You make us sound like a pack of bloodhounds,” Edna mumbled.

  The officer continued. “We plan to set up a special hotline. Some of you can man the hotline from your home. You won’t even need to work in our office. And those of you who like to shop can be Mystery Shoppers, checking out the stores—even the flea markets—in our town for suspicious business practices.”

  Edna suddenly sat upright and blurted out, “Buckler’s Bloodhounds! That’s a much better name than the one you cops thought up. It’s got a snap to it.”

  “She’s a pest!” Jose shouted at the officer. “Argues about everything. She’s a pain in the neck. Don’t pay any attention to her. We didn’t come to hear Edna. We came to hear you.”

  Gladys stood up, looked back and forth from the officer to Jose, as if she were at a tennis match following the ball. “Please don’t start an argument again, Jose. Edna may be right. I like the name she thought up. If we’re going to go sniffing out fraud, then Bloodhounds isn’t a bad name. Buckler’s Bloodhounds. I do like it.”

  “So do I,” Olivia said. “Maybe the six of us could call ourselves Buckler’s Bloodhounds.”

  Officer Martin smiled. “We’re just setting up our plan. The name for our project isn’t carved in stone. I like Buckler’s Bloodhounds too.” She beamed at Mrs. Merkel, as if she were a child who had stopped being naughty, and said, “Thank you for thinking up such a great name.”

  Abbie expected Mrs. Merkel to give a rude answer, but instead she turned around and smiled at everyone in the group, enjoying the praise, seemingly thrilled at having her idea accepted. Abbie surprised herself by feeling a sudden pang of sympathy for Mrs. Merkel. I didn’t realize she feels left out, she thought. Maybe if she were nicer to people …

  “Usually I’m the only one here who can think,” Mrs. Merkel added, and Abbie’s sympathy vanished.

  Lawanda hefted herself to her feet. “There’s nothin’ I like better’n shoppin’,” she said. “I want to be a Mystery Shopper.”

  Officer Martin wrote Lawanda’s name on a pad of paper on her clipboard, and everyone announced what they’d be willing to do.

  Suddenly Abbie realized that everyone was looking at Mrs. Merkel. When she didn’t respond, Jose said, “How about that? Edna the loudmouth’s got nothing to say.”

  “Sure, I’ve got something to say,” Mrs. Merkel answered. “I’m waiting for the lady cop to leave so we can get back to our book club business. Now that I’ve got a driver, I don’t intend to miss a single meeting.”

  An evil sparkle appeared in Jose’s eyes. “I make a motion,” he said loudly. “Why don’t we disband the book club and use our time to work for the Buckler Bloodhounds?”

  Abbie saw him elbow Sam, who added, “I second the motion.”

  “Oh, my! Then I suppose we’d better vote. All in favor?” Gladys asked.

  The ayes were unanimous, except for Edna Merkel.

  Olivia put a hand on Mrs. Merkel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you don’t want to join us,” she said.

  Mrs. Merkel angrily shook Olivia’s hand away. “Who said I wasn’t going to join you? I am. You all remember when I helped the police catch that guy who was parked near the children’s playground?”

  Jose let out a loud groan, and some of the others looked pained.

  “We heard the story,” Lawanda said.

  “Many times,” Dolores added.

  Addressing herself to Officer Martin, Mrs. Merkel bragged, “I did just what you said. I kept my eyes and ears open and noticed things. When I saw the same car parked on the street across from the playground with that guy sitting in it, I knew he was up to no good. So I gave his license number and description to the police. When they checked him out, they found he had a record.”

  “That was good detective work,” Officer Martin said. “That’s exactly what we want.”

  “You didn’t hear the rest of the story,” Jose said. “When the guy got out of his car and walked toward the playground, Edna hit him with her handbag. The police didn’t come because of her call, they came because they thought they were stopping a case of assault and battery. She’s the one who should have been arrested.”

  “I was just making a citizen’s arrest.” Mrs. Merkel sneered at Jose as she added, “I’ve also had experience turning in illegals.” She said to Officer Martin, “It’s decided. I’ll be a private eye for Buckler’s Bloodhounds.”

  Jose hooted. “There aren’t any private eyes in the Bloodhounds.”

  Officer Martin politely smiled at Mrs. Merkel and said, “We like to think of senior citizen investigators as neighborhood scouts.”

  “Don’t call me a senior citizen,” Mrs. Merkel snapped. “That’s a label for old people. And what kind of a name is neighborhood scouts? Do these scouts also help old ladies cross the street?” She tapped the officer’s clipboard. “Write my name on there the way I told you: Edna Merkel, private eye.” She glanced scornfully at the others. “I’m not afraid to take on a dangerous job.”

  Officer Martin took a quick step forward. “Please, let me assure you all, there is no danger in any of the jobs you’re asked to do. We don’t want you to confront someone who is breaking the law. We simply want information. You
know—license number, name of the company contacting you, time, place—you’ll be given literature that will explain all that.”

  Later, after the meeting had disbanded and Abbie was driving Mrs. Merkel home, she asked, “Mr. Morales seems like such a nice person. Why is he so angry with you?”

  Mrs. Merkel chuckled gleefully. “Jose and his son have a landscaping service. They have a rapid turnover with their crews, so they get help wherever they can. That means hiring illegal aliens who have sneaked into the country.”

  Abbie was puzzled. “How do you know they do this?”

  “Their crews work in our neighborhood—mow lawns, trim bushes, and all that. I keep a sharp eye out. I remember faces. The law’s the law. You can’t hire illegals. So twice now I’ve notified the INS to check them out, and I was right. Jose and his son have had to pay fines. One more time and they’re in really big trouble.” She looked smug as she added, “Which they may be in again. Their excuse is that they can’t get enough U.S. citizens or foreigners with green cards to do the work, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let Jose get away with breaking the law.”

  She deliberately got Jose into trouble, Abbie thought. And it looks as if she plans to do it again. No wonder he can’t stand her.

  As Abbie stopped the car in front of the walkway to Mrs. Merkel’s front door, Mrs. Merkel ordered, “Come inside. As my assistant, you’ll need to know what to do.”

  Abbie looked at her watch. “I’ve been with you all afternoon,” she said. “I have to get home to help my mom make dinner and have the car there if she needs it. You know I’m using my mother’s car to drive you around.”

  Mrs. Merkel stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. “Then I’ll tell you what you need to know right here,” she said.

  Abbie sighed, realizing that she was going to have to listen whether she wanted to or not.

  “First of all, you can’t talk about what you see or hear when you’re with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just might be involved with a major case, and I don’t want you spilling the beans to people I’m investigating.”