Nobody's There (21 page)

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. Merkel 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.