Nobody's There

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Abbie scanned Darnell Street as she drove onto Mrs. Merkel’s block. A tar-encrusted black truck and a small trailer with roofing equipment stood on the street in front of Mrs. Merkel’s home.

  Abbie parked her car a short distance away and walked to Mrs. Merkel’s house. She could see two men, their overalls as dirty as their truck, leaving the porch of the house next to Mrs. Merkel’s.

  As she reached to press Mrs. Merkel’s doorbell, the door flew open and a gnarled hand shot out. Mrs. Merkel grabbed Abbie’s arm, pulling her into the house, and slammed the door.

  Abbie squinted in the dim light, examining her surroundings. The room was tidy, but the furniture was old, its faded, stiff plush fabric a reminder that it must have been new in the forties. Crocheted doilies covered the chair arms, and inexpensive little figurines and knickknacks rested on a built-in bookcase. A foot-high Asian bronze horse with inset eyes of gleaming black stone stood, one front leg raised, on a teak pedestal at one end of a coffee table. The kind of over-sweet, floral scent that comes from a spray can hung in the air, and yellowed lace curtains at the windows filtered out most of the sunlight. Abbie noticed that there weren’t any framed photographs, even though they seemed to belong in this setting.

  Mrs. Merkel leaned back against the door. “Did you see those men?” she asked. “They’ve been in Buckler before, over on the next street—Effie Glebe’s house. Said they were roofers. Ha! Tore up her roof. Put some gunk on it that leaked bad at the first rain. And I’d hate to tell you what a terrible high price they charged her. Effie filed a complaint, but by that time they were long gone from Buckler and the police couldn’t find them. Now they’re back—the same people. What a nerve. They think they can pull the same thing again and get away with it. I got a good look at them last fall, and I don’t forget things like that. They’ve even got the same truck. They didn’t know that they’d tangle with me.”

  Abbie nodded. “I guess you should report them to Buckler’s Bloodhounds.”

  Mrs. Merkel chuckled. “I’ll report them, all right. That’s why I needed you to be here. You’re my witness.”

  The doorbell rang so suddenly that both Abbie and Mrs. Merkel jumped.

  Mrs. Merkel tiptoed to the nearest front window and held back the curtain a half inch to peek through. “It’s them,” she said. “You sit over here behind the door, where they can’t see you. You can watch them through the crack in the door. Just remember to keep quiet and pay attention. I’ll do all the talking.”

  The chair she had put behind the door was a lightweight wooden one that looked as if it could be an antique. Abbie sat on it carefully, thankful that it didn’t wobble.

  Mrs. Merkel opened her door and sternly asked, “Yes?”

  Abbie looked through the crack in the door, as Mrs. Merkel had ordered her to do. She did have a good view—across the porch and all the way to the street. Facing her were two very dissimilar men. The tall one was husky and muscular, with at least two days’ growth of beard on his face. The shorter one was thin and small-boned. Their clothes were stained with tar.

  The husky man stepped forward, gripping a clipboard and pen. “I’m Mitchell, with the All-Round Roofing Company,” he said. “We had work in your neighborhood and couldn’t help noticing how bad your roof looks. It needs work.”

  “My late husband said our roof would last forty years,” Mrs. Merkel told him.

  “Nobody’s roof lasts that long,” Mitchell said.

  He shook his head sadly. “We can beat the competition and give you a good, fair price. How about we do this—” he turned to the other man. “Eddie, you just run up there and take a close look at what’s wrong.” To Mrs. Merkel he said, “I’ll walk around your house. I need to examine the joints and gutters.”

  Eddie shot away, pulled a ladder from the truck, stuffed something from the truck into his pockets, and was soon on the roof of Mrs. Merkel’s house. Abbie could hear him thumping around and hoped he wouldn’t fall through.

  Still in the doorway, Mrs. Merkel turned to Abbie and grinned. “I’ve got a perfectly good composition roof with ten years to go on the warranty. It’s going to be mighty interesting to hear what they have to report.”

  It didn’t take long for both men to return. Mitchell came up the steps to the porch, sadly shaking his head. “Sorry to tell you this,” he said, “but your roof needs major repair work.”

  Eddie held out some ragged, worn scraps of composition. “Take a look. Your roof is falling apart.”

  Mrs. Merkel reached out for the piece of composition, examined it, and dropped it into a pocket in her skirt. She sighed and said, “What’s it going to cost me?”

  Mitchell coolly named a figure. The number seemed so high that Abbie was astounded. Was that what it cost to fix a roof?

  “I don’t know what to do,” Mrs. Merkel said. “That seems like an awful lot of money. Maybe I better call around.”

  “Tell you what,” Mitchell went on. “Today being Sunday, we’ve got time to take care of most of the problems right now. If you agree to let us get going with the job today and pay in advance—we take checks—I’ll take ten percent off the total price and you’ll get our standard contract. It also includes a lifetime warranty.” He held out the clipboard. “You can sign right here.”

  “Fill it out first,” Mrs. Merkel said. “I want to see everything in writing before I sign it or write a check.”

  She waited until he handed her the contract, then smiled again. “I’ll just close the door while I get my checkbook,” she said. “Don’t start fixing anything until I come back.”

  “They broke your roof,” Abbie whispered as Mrs. Merkel strode past her to a little desk.

  “No, they didn’t,” Mrs. Merkel said quietly. “That isn’t part of my roof. Didn’t you see Eddie slip something into his pocket when he went to the truck?”

  “Oh,” Abbie said. “Yes, I did, but I didn’t think—”

  “That’s the trouble with you. You didn’t think. Well, I did, and this piece I’ve got is evidence. Now you know why I’m a private eye and you’re not.” She picked up one of the cards Officer Martin had handed out and dialed the phone. She identified herself and said, “Officer Martin, I need the police. There are two crooks on my front porch who tried to pull a scam on me.”

  There was a pause while Mrs. Merkel listened to what Officer Martin had to say. Then Mrs. Merkel vigorously shook her head. “If you won’t come, I’ll make a citizen’s arrest. I’ll—” She looked at Abbie. “No, I’m not alone. My driver is with me. You met her at the meeting. She’s a witness to everything those con men said and did.”

  She smiled into the phone. “I knew you’d see it my way. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  As Mrs. Merkel hung up, Abbie asked, “Why don’t you just do what the Buckler’s Bloodhounds are supposed to do? Report in and let the police take over.”

  Mrs. Merkel shook her head. “By the time the police checked things out and found the papers on Effie’s complaint, those two buzzards would be long gone again. It’s better to do this my way.”

  She stuffed the roofer’s agreement and the scrap of roofing material in a desk drawer and went back to the door. “No check,” she said as she opened it. “I thought you two looked familiar when I saw your truck, so I called some friends of mine. You think you can pull a scam on me?”

  Mrs. Merkel stepped out on the porch. “You two scam artists claimed to fix Effie Glebe’s roof last year, and you wrecked it. She filed a complaint with the police, and they went looking for you. But you left Buckler so they couldn’t find you. Hit and run. That’s the way you operate.”

  Mitchell stood his ground. Abbie saw him look at Eddie. Eddie barely nodded, then began to move behind Mrs. Merkel. He put out an arm, and the front door swung wide open.

  Abbie’s heart pounded so loudly she was afraid Eddie could hear it. Quietly she got to her feet.

  Through the crack in the door she could see Mitchell move closer to Mrs. Merkel,
forcing her to step back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Merkel demanded.

  “Let’s go inside and talk,” Mitchell ordered. “You said your late husband. We won’t be bothering anyone.”

  “You’re not welcome in my house. Besides, the police will be here any minute.”

  Eddie said, “That’s what they say in old detective movies.” He backed into the room, standing beside the open door.

  Abbie knew that Mitchell couldn’t see around the door. And Eddie didn’t know she was standing behind him. Even though she was so frightened that her arms shook, she picked up the chair and jammed the base of one of the narrow legs into the middle of Eddie’s back. “Put your hands up and keep them up,” she said sternly.

  Eddie did as he was told. “Don’t shoot!” he whimpered.

  Abbie tried to put a snarl in her voice. “Then tell your partner he’d better not move an inch until the police get here.”

  “M-Mitchell?” Eddie’s voice shook. “Did you hear her?”

  “I heard. Who’s back there? Who are you?”

  “Never you mind,” Mrs. Merkel snapped. “There’s the squad car now.”

  Mitchell growled, “You’re going to be sorry you did this, lady.”

  “Huh! You don’t scare me,” Mrs. Merkel said.

  Officer Martin and her partner—a tall, lanky man who unsnapped his holster as he ran up the walk—took charge. Mrs. Merkel quickly described how Mitchell and Eddie had tried to force her into the house, thinking she was alone.

  The two men were handcuffed and put into the back of the squad car. Then Officer Martin returned to Mrs. Merkel’s front porch. She was no longer the polite public speaker who had visited the senior citizens’ book club. Her eyes flashed with irritation.

  “Your actions endangered not only your own life, but this girl’s life too.”

  “We weren’t in danger. We can take care of ourselves.”

  “You also endangered our program. It’s set up so that senior citizens help protect other senior citizens. We can’t have them confronting crooks and putting their own lives in danger. Do you understand me, Mrs. Merkel?”

  Mrs. Merkel lifted her chin and held it out stubbornly. “I understand whatever I need to understand,” she said.

  “Then no more playing cops and robbers.” Officer Martin’s voice softened. “Thank you for pinpointing these con men. We’d like you to come down to headquarters and file a complaint as soon as you can.”

  When Officer Martin had left, Mrs. Merkel shut her front door and leaned against it. “Since that snippy little cop doesn’t want my help, she’s not going to get it on the big stuff.”

  “What? She thanked you. She said—”

  “I handed over a pair of perps to Miss High and Mighty and she scolded me. She’ll take all the credit for making the collar, and I did all the work. I made sure those perps would take the rap for what they did to Effie.”

  Abbie couldn’t help it. She began to giggle.

  Mrs. Merkel scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  “I feel like I’m in an old movie.”

  Mrs. Merkel’s frown grew deeper. “There’s nothing to laugh about. That’s the way detectives and private eyes talk. If you went to Paris, you’d try to speak French, wouldn’t you?”

  Abbie sank back into one of the overstuffed chairs, stretching her legs out in front of her. None of what was happening made sense.

  “Don’t think you can settle in there,” Mrs. Merkel told her. “I have to admit you did okay with that chair, but we’re not through. Drive me to the police station. We’ve got unfinished business to take care of.”

  As Abbie turned the corner from Darnell onto Main, Mrs. Merkel stiffened. She pointed to a small strip shopping center in the next block and said, “Pull in there. Hurry up. And pay attention to that van at the intersection.”

  Abbie drove into the parking lot and pulled up in front of a small grocery store. “I thought you wanted to go to the supermarket,” she said. She took the key from the ignition and reached for the door handle.

  “Don’t open that door!” Mrs. Merkel ordered.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to go inside the store. I just told you to park. I can see what I want to see from here.” Mrs. Merkel opened her large handbag and put on her sunglasses. She next pulled out a small green leather notebook, turned to a clean page, and jotted down some numbers and letters. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed.

  “Was that a license number?” Abbie asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Merkel said. “See that guy in the dusty gray sedan parked over there? He’s waiting for somebody to make a cellular phone call.”

  Abbie stared at Mrs. Merkel, puzzled. “How do you know that?”

  “I know because I read a lot, I know what’s going on, and I can figure things out, which is a lot more than I can say about most people—including you.”

  “I still don’t get why you wrote down his license number,” Abbie said. “Won’t you tell me?”

  “Why should I?” Mrs. Merkel rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a digital phone.

  Mrs. Merkel dialed a number, and when someone answered she said, “My name is Edna Merkel, and I want to talk to Officer Martin.”

  There was a pause, and Mrs. Merkel added, “That’s for Officer Martin to find out. I talk to her and no one else. Understand?”

  In less than a minute Mrs. Merkel said, “Officer Martin, I want you to arrest someone. I’ve written down his description, his car’s description, and his license number.” She read the information from her notebook.

  Abbie could guess what Officer Martin responded, because Mrs. Merkel said, “Of course I have a reason for wanting him arrested. Haven’t people in Buckler complained enough about their cell phone numbers being used to make drug calls, with the bills going to them? The whole story was in the paper just two weeks ago.”

  Smugly she continued, “Well, you can thank me for catching him for you. On two days last week his car was parked opposite one of the phone company’s stores. The store’s been running a two-week special, and it’s full of customers, so he’s there again. His car is dirty and gray—the kind that doesn’t stand out, so he thinks no one will notice what he’s up to. He doesn’t stay long, but while he’s there, every now and then he perks up and writes something down.”

  “How do you know all this?” Abbie blurted out.

  “Don’t interrupt,” Mrs. Merkel snapped. She scowled. “No, Officer Martin. I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my driver.”

  Mrs. Merkel turned her back on Abbie and continued her story. “Everybody knows that when you buy a cell phone the company does whatever they have to do to activate it. Then they tell you to make one free courtesy call, just to make sure the phone’s working okay. You follow me, don’t you?”

  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.<
br />
  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.