Read Online Who Are You? (9780307823533) by Joan Lowery Nixon - Free Book Online

Believe me, it will be more trouble than it’s worth.”
    I think about how scared I was, and I wish Sergeant Balker wasn’t such a nice guy to everybody.
    “Will you give me this private investigator’s name? Can I talk to him?” I asked.
    “Nope,” Balker says. “You don’t need to talk to him. And while I’m at it, don’t go visiting Merson’s neighbors or his hired help anymore.”
    I gasp with surprise. “Who told you?” I ask, and then I add, “Do you need to mention this to my parents?”
    “I’ll keep it to myself, but you keep to yourself. Have you got the picture?”
    “Yes. Completely,” I tell him.
Zigurski.
That was the name Balker used a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know he had let it slip.
    I change the subject. “How is Mr. Merson?”
    “Improving,” Balker says. “They’re going to move him to a private hospital tomorrow.”
    “Is he still unconscious?”
    “What makes you think he was ever unconscious?”
    “Um …” I try to think of an answer that makes sense, but all I can come up with is, “He was shot.”
    “He’s been doped up and will be for a few more days, but he’s conscious. I haven’t forgotten what you asked me. When his doctor gives permission, I’ll take you to see Merson.”
    “Thank you,” I answer.
    “I’ll be in touch.”
    “Wait,” I say, remembering the question I haven’t found an answer for. “I want to get everything straight. You said Mr. Merson was robbed and shot.”
    “Right.”
    “And the thief took his watch.”
    “Yep. His wallet is missing, too.”
    “Did the thief go into the house and take anything else?”
    “Apparently not. The other occupant of the house reported that he had carefully checked all the rooms. Nothing seemed to be missing.”
    “Why not? I mean, why wouldn’t the thief take the chance to pick up a few more valuable things?”
    “What are you getting at, Kristi?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Then don’t try. It’s our job to do the detective work. Okay?”
    “Okay,” I answer, because right now I really don’t know what my question means.
    Detective Balker says goodbye in his drawn-out drawl, and I hang up the phone.
    I pull a Coke out of the refrigerator and gulp it down while I look under the listing for investigators in the yellow pages. I find R. J. ZIGURSKI, PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS . Not a big ad. Not even a little ad. Just the last listing in a couple of columns of investigators. I jot down the number and the address, which is almost downtown on San Jacinto Street.
    Mom and Dad will be home late, and I’m in charge of dinner. Poking my head into the pantry, I find exactly what I hope is there—a jar of spaghetti sauce and a one-pound package of spaghetti. Nothing in the world is faster to make than spaghetti, when the sauce comes ready-made in a jar. I check my watch. Ten after four. I’m supposed to have dinner ready no later than seven-thirty. If I leave now, I can get to Mr. Zigurski’s office before five o’clock. Just to make sure he’ll be there, I call his telephone number.
    “Zigurski,” he says. The phone has an uneven sound, as though he’s talking from his car.
    “This is Kristi Evans,” I tell him. “I can be at your office a little before five o’clock. Will you meet me there?”
    He doesn’t act surprised to hear from me. His voice is low and flat, with a slight accent that’s notTexan. “No,” he answers bluntly. “I’m on assignment.”
    “But
I’m
your assignment.”
    “Not anymore, you aren’t.”
    “I was this afternoon. That was you in the car outside my school, wasn’t it?”
    “Okay, so you made me. That’s ’cause you were lookin’ to be followed. There were plenty of times when you didn’t make me.” He sounds defensive, like a kid who goofed on a test.
    I get right to the point. “Why did Douglas Merson want you to follow me and take my picture?”
    “I dunno. I do what I’m paid to do. I don’t ask questions.”
    “Weren’t you