Nobody's There by Joan Lowery Nixon

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, allright. 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.”
    â€œMy late husband said our roof would last forty years,” Mrs. Merkel told him.
    â€œNobody’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