by Casey Lyall
The streetlights started to flicker on, and I headed back home. Maybe I could cram in some paperwork (and clean my room) before bed. My home office was in the backyard. It was a pretty sweet tree house that my old man and I’d built over the summer. More tree-adjacent, if you wanted to get specific. Neither of us was that stuck on heights. I stored all my files there and my main gum stash.
The inside was set up with Pops’ old school desk, a rusty metal filing cabinet, and a camping lantern. In the corner sat a maroon easy chair rescued from the dump, surprisingly comfortable despite a few loose springs and suspicious dark stains. It was the place where I usually sat to work through a troubling case. Maps, notes, and surveillance photos covered every inch of wall space, making it a fire inspector’s nightmare. Pops had also managed to land a couple photos of Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe to hang up. The detectives kept watch over the reference library: my two-shelf bookcase filled with secondhand detective novels. I waved at the guys on my way to the filing cabinet to retrieve the Harris file. After I finished an itemized bill for Scotty, I shut off the lamp and headed back in for the night.
Walking up to the house, I tossed the cat food bag absently from hand to hand. Shake. Thunk. Shake. Thunk. Mewl. I stopped in my tracks and tilted my head in the direction of the pitiful sound. “Gregory?”
Silence.
“You haven’t thought this through, Gregory. There could be eagles out here.” A soft meow came from behind a clump of peonies. “That’s right. And probably wolves. Nobody’s gonna think any less of you for coming in from the cold.” I gave the food bag a little shake, and Gregory emerged, covered in dirt and leaves. He rubbed up against my calves, purring and meowing. “Life on the outside isn’t for everyone, buddy.” I bent down to give him some food and a scratch behind the ears. Hauling him up off the ground, I headed over to Mrs. Peterson’s for delivery.
A shuffling noise caught my attention. I looked up to see a hand disappearing over the top of our gate. I ran over with all the speed I could muster while carrying a twenty-pound cat in my arms. Hitting the latch with one hand, I bumped the door open with my hip.
There was no one in sight.
I wandered down to the end of the driveway and scanned the sidewalks. The yellow glow of the streetlights illuminated an empty street. I listened for the sound of receding footsteps, but the quiet wisp of the wind through the trees told me what I already knew. Whoever had been there’d vanished. Gregory sank his claws into my arm and meowed pitifully. Our short jog had been the last straw of his big adventure. He was ready for a soft bed and a bowl full of food.
“Relax,” I said. “I’m taking you home right now.”
Slogging back up the driveway, I saw a glimmer of bright in the gathering dark. Taped onto the door of the gate, a little bit crooked and a lot crinkled, was a small white envelope. I pulled it down and held it out under the streetlight for closer examination. My name was scrawled across the front in very familiar block letters.
I removed the note from inside and read it out loud to Gregory.
“Drop the Reddy case or else.” I stuffed the letter into my pocket and looked around once more. “Or else what?” I called out. “Vagueness strikes fear in the heart of no one, you know.” The mysterious note-leaver didn’t jump out of the shadows with more specifics, so I continued across the lawn to Mrs. Peterson’s.
“It’s very interesting,” I said to Gregory. “Not many people know that Meredith hired me. So how’d the blackmailer find out?” Gregory stared at me and began grooming his paw.
“I agree. We should definitely ask our client that tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning, I got up at the crack of 7 a.m. I planned to take the long way to school since I had people to see and no time for complications. Things went awry from the get-go when I couldn’t find anything to wear. Then I remembered shoving all my clothes under the bed while cleaning up last night. That was the problem with cleaning: it was the best way to ruin a perfectly good system of pile organization. Luckily, I had two bananas browning on my bookshelf so I didn’t have to waste any more time gathering breakfast.
Ten minutes later, I flew out the door and headed to the garage to retrieve Blue. My mother, with her bloodhound’s nose for objectionable outerwear, appeared at the kitchen window. “You have a normal coat, Howard!” she yelled. I waved off her concerns as Blue and I completed our warm-up laps and lurched down the drive.
Once Blue realized we were taking the scenic route to school, she sailed down the sidewalk, clearly glad to have a Tim-and-Carl-free morning. We were making great time. It was a good thing too, because I had a packed schedule. First order of business was to find Scotty Harris and return his trumpet. I would accept his gratitude and praise and hand him my bill.
I didn’t get much further in my plans because just then someone tried to kill me.
A kid on a scooter came out of nowhere, a blur of silver that cut across our path and nearly sent Blue and me into the street. I righted myself in the nick of time and hopped off the seat to check over my girl. Big Blue was as much in one piece as she ever was. “What’s the big idea, kid?” I spun around to give him the full force of my glare. “You looking to be on the sidewalk or in it?”
He stood on a patch of lawn while his wheeled accomplice lay abandoned behind him. No more than eight years old, he had straw-colored hair mauled into an unfortunate bowl shape and a mile-wide stare. “Are you Howard Wallace?”
“Very nearly wasn’t. What’s it to you?”
“I heard from kids at school that you help people, when—when they have a problem.” A stammer and Bambi eyes. The kid was laying it on thick.
“What’s your name?” I pulled out a pack of gum and shoved a piece in my mouth.
“Kevin.”
“What school do you go to, Kevin?”
“Park Street Elementary. Sir.” I couldn’t help but be impressed that my reputation had progressed beyond the boundaries of Grantleyville Middle School.
“And what exactly is this problem you need my help with?”
The kid took a deep breath. “I need you to help me find my limited edition Spaceman Joe figurine with removable helmet and laser blaster. I haven’t been able to find him since Sunday, and I’ll never be able to replace him if I can’t find him. I’ve written out a list of suspects and—”
“Kevin.” I cut him off so we could get to the point. “Kevin. First things first. Do you have any money?” He looked confused, and I began to realize the downside of an elementary school following.
Bending down, I looked the little squirt in the eye. “Listen, I don’t do pro bono. You hire my services, you pay my fees. My kid rate is five dollars a day plus expenses. Can you swing that?”
Kevin’s face fell. “I spent all my money on Spaceman Joe,” he said. Against my better judgment, I was starting to feel bad for the kid.
“Tell you what,” I said. “You work on getting the dough together, then come find me. In the meantime, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for the Spaceman.”
“Thank you! I’ll get you the money. I promise!” The kid was so grateful, you’d think I’d pulled the Spaceman out of thin air right then and there.
“I’m not making any guarantees,” I said. “I’m saying if I see it lying on the ground, I’ll try to remember to pick it up.”
Kevin was already on his scooter, headed down the sidewalk. “I know you can find him! You’re Howard Wallace!”
The soon-to-be broke Howard Wallace, if I kept being such a sucker.
I checked my watch and shook my head at Blue. Despite our plans to be early, we were skating toward on-time. Entirely too amused by the whole Kevin debacle, her handlebars tilted rakishly to one side. “Get your giggles out now, Blue.” I hopped up and set my feet on the pedals. “Thanks to Spaceman Joe, we gotta hotfoot it the rest of the way.”
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t pretty, but we made it. Grateful for a coat that was
both lucky and absorbent, I mopped the sweat off my face with one sleeve as Blue and I coasted up the walk. I secured her to the shady end of the bike rack, hoping that by the end of the day she’d be recuperated enough to get us both home. Now to track down Scotty. As I scanned the schoolyard, looking for my client, the reedy, off-key notes of a recorder hit my ears. Jackpot.
Heading around to the back steps of the school, I snaked my way through the crowd of kids abandoning the area. The source of the musical blitz looked up morosely as I approached.
“‘Hot Cross Buns.’” Scotty waved the tormented instrument at me. “I think I almost got it, don’t you?” Telling Scotty his efforts sounded like a lovesick moose on helium struck me as someone else’s job, so I settled for a noncommittal grunt.
He dumped the recorder back on the table and everyone in the schoolyard breathed a sigh of relief. “I realized I should probably start getting used to it,” he said.
I grinned at Scotty and heaved my bag onto the bench beside him. “Your lack of confidence in my abilities both astounds and offends me.” With a flourish, I pulled out the trumpet.
“You found it!” Scotty exclaimed, a wide smile stretching his cheeks. He leapt up and grabbed me in a bear hug. Scotty may have been a year younger than me, but he was a foot taller and twenty pounds of muscle heavier. It was not a comfortable hug.
“All right, all right.” I pried myself loose and pulled an envelope out of my coat pocket. “Happy to be of assistance, kid. Here’s my bill. Be sure to tell all your friends about Wallace Investigations.” Scotty nodded absently, absorbed in his recovered treasure.
I strode back to my office, happy to be checking things off the to-do list at a brisk pace. The sound of angry voices reached me as I approached the equipment shed. Rounding the corner, I stopped short at the sight of Meredith and Ivy snarling at each other while Delia hung off to the side, as any sensible person would.
“I hired Howard Wallace. I only talk to Howard Wallace.” Meredith underscored each syllable with a forceful finger tap on my desk. I wasn’t sure how long it would stand up to that abuse.
Charging into the fray, I held out my hands in peace. “Good morning, ladies. Glad to see you here so bright and early.”
“It’s about time.” Meredith turned to me, the attack finger now pointed in my direction. “Can you make her leave? She’s trying to feed us this crazy line that she’s your partner now.”
“Add a temporary, follow it with a junior, and that about sums it up,” I said.
“Hah,” Ivy said, triumph oozing out of every pore. “I told you so.”
“Whatever, junior temp.” Meredith sneered at Ivy, and I motioned for my associate to get out from behind my desk before she alienated our client any further.
Steering Meredith in the direction of the guest bucket, I set my bag down on the desk. “We need to talk,” I said.
“I know, that’s why I’m here.” Meredith waved a hand behind her. “I brought Delia, as discussed.”
“Great. First things first: who else knows you hired me?” I threw the question out there and scanned the girls’ faces, looking for any kind of reaction. Delia hunched her shoulders and looked at the ground while Meredith froze in her seat.
“Why?” she asked.
“I got a visit from your blackmailer last night.” I set the note on the desk and crossed my arms, leaning down to look Meredith in the eye.
“See, I was under the impression we were the only ones who knew about this case,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone, haven’t even filled Ivy in yet, which leaves you two.”
“It’s Delia’s fault,” she snapped. Delia nodded, and Meredith’s lip curled in disgust. “She wouldn’t shut up about it in the cafeteria yesterday.”
The harsh words cut deep. Delia shrank under Meredith’s glare, looking more miserable by the second. “Funny,” I said. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a loudmouth.”
Delia frowned, and a mutinous look crept into her eyes. “I still think she’s making a mistake. We should go to Mr. Vannick and explain the situation. He’s a teacher. He’ll help.”
“Yes, I know that’s what you think,” Meredith said. “The whole cafeteria knows. And you know I’m not going to Mr. Vannick, because he couldn’t care less about the student council. If it comes down to figuring out this problem or shutting us down, he’ll choose door number two. Even worse, he might decide to kick me out.”
She slowed down as her snit fit ran its course. “Delia only said I hired you, not what I hired you for, so at least there’s that.”
I settled into my chair and thought it over. “Okay, the blackmailer overhears your conversation, but unlike everyone else in the caf, actually knows what you guys are talking about. He or she decides to warn me off, and here we are. Not the end of the world, but let’s be a little more careful from here on out, please.”
Delia raised her hand.
“Uh, yes, Delia?”
“Isn’t this bad though, the blackmailer knowing Meredith hired you? Should you keep investigating?”
Ivy came over to the desk and picked up the note to read. “I think it could be a good thing,” she said. “If they know we’re on the case, the pressure’s on and they might start making mistakes.” She tossed the letter back on the table. “That note is very unimaginative, by the way.”
“Isn’t it?” I turned to Ivy. “Here’s your recap. Someone stole the student council checks from Meredith and is using them to make her quit. Our suspects are two eighth graders: Bradley Chen and Lisa Grantley.”
“Madame President herself,” Ivy said. “Scandal.”
“How long did Bradley have your bag?” I asked.
“About twenty minutes,” Delia said. “He came back before the meeting was over and demanded I get his bag for him.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sniffed. “He was really rude about it too.”
“Poor Delia was almost in tears by the time I came out.” Meredith reached out to pat her friend’s hand. “She hates it when people yell at her.”
“And yet she’s friends with you,” Ivy muttered.
I cleared my throat and shot her a glare. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at me so quickly I thought I imagined it until I caught the bright smile that followed. This partnership thing was going swell.
I pointed my pen at Meredith. “When you came out of the meeting, what did Bradley say?”
“First he yelled at me about the stupid bag switch. He grabbed his bag out of my hands and tossed mine on the floor.” Meredith sat up straight on the bucket, quivering with indignation. “Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘If you’re this careless with your own things, Meredith, I’d hate to see how you treat the school’s money.’” She flung her hands out and scoffed. “And then he walked away. No, strutted is a better word. He was very pleased with himself.”
Delia sidled up to my chair, leaning down toward me. “Everyone was talking about it afterward,” she said, her voice at a low and confidential pitch. “It was awful.”
People crowding my desk gave me hives, but I couldn’t bring myself to snap at Meredith’s beleaguered sidekick. Patting her on the arm, I steered her back to client territory, then flipped to my notes from yesterday. “We know Bradley’s motives, but what do you think Lisa has against you?”
“Oh!” Delia’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Delia.”
“She and Bradley are best friends, so by principle—”
Meredith cut her off with an impatient huff. “I already told him that, Delia.” She waved a hand at my notes. “The other reason is that I keep having to say no to her ideas for the Winter Dance. I mean, her plan for decorations alone would have blown our budget for the whole year.” Meredith shrugged and shook her head. “But she’s a Grantley, so the word no is like a foreign language to her.”
I nodded sympathetically. I didn’t envy Meredith, having to deal with a Grantley on a regular basis. Then
again, I had Ivy now, so we all had our difficulties to bear. Meredith didn’t strike me as the easiest person either, but Delia was still hanging in there. Which reminded me—
“Delia, where were you when Meredith found the note yesterday morning?”
“In the office.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Oh, not like that.” Delia blushed. “I volunteer there a few mornings a week helping Ms. Tomarelli with filing and stuff.”
I made an extra note of that. You never knew when it would be handy to have someone on the inside. I closed my notebook with a snap and nodded at the girls.
“Thank you, ladies,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be in touch.”
Meredith and Delia gathered up their bags and hurried out of the office. Another good reason not to upgrade the furniture; nobody lingered.
“That was good,” I said, turning to Ivy, who hadn’t moved from her spot leaning up against the shed. “We have some solid leads to chase down.”
“Yeah, great,” Ivy said. “Why didn’t you tell me about this case yesterday? I felt like an idiot when they showed up this morning.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say. Filling Ivy in hadn’t been a priority until I found her and Meredith nearly coming to blows over my desk.
“It was need-to-know,” I said. “Yesterday you didn’t need know, but now you do.”
“As your partner—” Ivy began.
“Junior partner,” I interrupted. “Certain details are for senior partners only.”
She grumbled, propelling herself off the wall in exasperation.
“Listen, kid, it’s my agency, and I’ll run it how I see fit.” I bit back further arguments when I saw her ferocious expression. My old man’s driveway pep talk nagged at me. This partnership business was murky territory, but I wasn’t about to let it be said I didn’t give it a fair shot. I had some fast talking to do if I was going to smooth things over.