Howard Wallace, P.I.

by Casey Lyall

  Plucking at her pants, Ivy did a high-stepping dance down the sidewalk. “In all my life,” she said, “I’ve never been given a wedgie. I thought that only happened in movies. Thanks, Howard, for helping me reach that horrible milestone.”

  I snorted out a laugh and carried on coaxing Blue along to school. Ivy had gotten off easy. I turned to tell her so, only to see she wasn’t there. Looking back, I saw her parked a few feet behind, glaring at me.

  “It’s not funny,” she said. “Why didn’t you do anything to stop those guys?”

  She didn’t get it at all. “There’s no stopping Tim and Carl,” I said. “There’s just surviving them.”

  Ivy shook her head. “How is giving in the only option? There were two of us and two of them.”

  “Ivy, c’mon,” I said, throwing my hands out to highlight my less-than-impressive frame. “Two of us barely equals one of them.”

  “My dad says a bully can only push you around for as long as you let them.”

  Parents give the worst advice. “No offense, Ivy, but your dad is full of it.”

  Her head snapped up, indignant anger boiling out of her. I held up a hand before she could defend her father’s shortsighted words of wisdom.

  “Listen,” I said. “There are two kinds of bullies in this world: those who are trying it on for size and those who mean business.”

  Disbelief ran rampant over Ivy’s face. “Oh, and Tim and Carl mean business?”

  “They own a franchise.”

  Ivy started walking again, kicking along a small pebble as she went. “I’m trying to get this straight. You let them take your lunch? Like, every day?”

  “Not every day,” I said. “Sometimes I take the long way to school. Or I get a ride.” But detours and rides weren’t always possible, and the truth of it was—there would always be a Tim and Carl. Guys like that can pop up anywhere. Every encounter with them I made it through was another check in the endurance column.

  Ivy sniffed and made a little hmm noise before going back to kicking her rock.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “It’s disappointing, that’s all,” Ivy shrugged. “I never figured you for a pushover.”

  I slammed on the brakes, and Blue’s gears screeched in protest. It was bad enough Ivy had witnessed my daily ordeal. I didn’t need her judging me for it. “I am not a pushover,” I said. “I’m smart.” When did being sensible suddenly become being a pushover? “Who asked you to come along, anyway?” I demanded. “If you’d listened to me and stuck to the plan, you’d be at school and we’d both be able to walk properly.”

  “So now it’s my fault?”

  “I’m not saying it’s not.”

  “Howard!”

  Blue creaked and shuddered while Ivy glared at me. Now I was getting it from both sides. Guilt squirmed in my stomach. “I’m sorry, okay? I should have at least warned you what you were walking into.”

  “That would’ve been nice,” Ivy said. “Why didn’t you?”

  “And have you go charging in there to give them a piece of your mind? You think that would have gone better than this did?”

  “We’ll never know, will we?” she sniffed.

  “You gotta understand that I’ll deal with Tim and Carl in my own way, in my own time,” I said. “In a way that is not saying no to their faces when they’re in possession of giant fists.” I held up my own considerably smaller fists for emphasis.

  Ivy looked unconvinced, but the dynamic of the delicate balance between thugs and their targets wasn’t easily explained to those on the outside. I set my feet back on Blue’s pedals and started forward again. Maybe something good could come of this, what Ms. Kowalski would call a “teaching moment.” If Ivy was determined to join the P.I. game, she’d have to get used to all the dirty tricks that came with it.

  “This was an important lesson for you this morning,” I said.

  “Explain that one to me.”

  “Rule number ten,” I said. “Pick your battles. You’ve got to be in control of a situation and only fight when you know you can win.”

  “And you think Tim and Carl—” Ivy trailed off.

  “Are not a battle worth fighting right now,” I said. “We have more important things on our plate. Like Meredith’s case.” We arrived at the bike racks, and I locked Blue up tight. “You want in on this gig, you have to learn how to compartmentalize.”

  “I get what you’re saying,” Ivy said. “Right now, I’m really annoyed at you and kind of want to punch you, but you’re saying we have to work on the case, so I should save it for later.”

  Hmm.

  “I think I should explain it again,” I said.

  “You could try.”

  As we rounded the corner to the office, Ivy froze. “Howard,” she said. “Your desk!” The whole place was in shambles. All the buckets were toppled over, and the desk was lying butter side down in the dirt. I sighed. You came to expect this sort of thing when you didn’t have a lock. Or a door. Or walls, for that matter.

  “Grab the guest chair, would you?” I got busy turning the desk back over and resettling my own bucket to its optimal lean against the tree.

  Ivy brushed dirt off of the desktop. “Who would’ve done this? There’s not an evil rival agency around, is there?”

  “This isn’t an unusual scene to walk into,” I said. “Could’ve been squirrels. Or delinquents. Or—delinquent squirrels.”

  Ivy shook her head and wiped off her hands on her jeans. “And you’re okay with your stuff being trashed on a regular basis?”

  I pulled open a desk drawer. Juicy Smash stash unharmed. At least I could chalk up one win to the morning’s numerous losses. “It is what it is,” I said. “People are going to mess with me no matter what. Having an outdoor office kind of invites this sort of thing.”

  She flopped down onto the guest bucket. “Sadly enough, that’s only the second weirdest thing I’ve learned about you this morning.”

  I reached into the drawer and reorganized the packs back into neat, orderly rows.

  “Listen,” I said. “It’s not like I keep important files here. It’s a pretty small price to pay for, you know, not having to pay for anything.”

  “Haven’t you ever thought about setting up some sort of security system?” Ivy asked.

  “I did,” I said, “but then I took on a partner. I could probably swing it if I fired her.”

  “A private eye and a comedian.” She tapped a finger on the desk. “You’ll need new business cards. Sorry, business sticky notes.”

  People always had to take a jab at the sticky notes. “Enough with the gags,” I said. “We’ve got a case to solve and not a lot of time to do it.”

  “What’s the plan?” Ivy asked.

  “It’s time to meet the president.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Getting close enough to talk to Lisa proved to be an impossible task. Every time we approached, one of her entourage blocked us off.

  When lunch finally shuffled around, we were tired, frustrated, and no closer to our goal. Ivy and I were working on our game plan when Meredith appeared. Seething, she threw down a white envelope on my lunch tray.

  “What exactly am I paying you for?”

  Ivy snatched up the envelope, and I plucked it out of her fingers. After reading the contents, I scoffed. “This is nothing,” I said to Meredith. “They’re trying to scare you off.”

  Meredith grabbed the note back and scrunched it up into a ball. “It doesn’t sound like ‘nothing,’ Howard. ‘I have more than one way to get what I want.’ It sounds like they’re getting serious.”

  “There are rumors,” Delia said, popping out from behind Meredith. “People are saying Meredith hired you to find dirt on Lisa because she wants to be president.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at Meredith.

  “Well, obviously, yes, I do,” she said. “But not until next year. It’s
all part of my twenty-year plan. First, I win—”

  “We had an interesting chat with Bradley yesterday,” I interjected, wary of how long a description of a twenty-year plan would last. “He mentioned something about you buying your votes with baked goods.”

  “Oh, please, he wishes he thought of that.” Meredith rolled her eyes and flicked her hair back. “The cupcakes were just a bonus. I came up with a good strategy, and I earned my place fair and square.”

  “Keep reminding yourself about that. Whoever’s behind this,” I said, pointing at the scrunched-up envelope in her hands, “they’re all about cheats and shortcuts, and that’s what’s gonna get them caught.”

  Meredith’s shoulders slumped. “I hope so. Have you had a chance to talk to Lisa yet?”

  Ivy and I shook our heads.

  “It’s been a little difficult tracking her down.”

  “She has volleyball practice after school,” Meredith said. “Try catching her then.” She jerked her head at Delia, and they headed toward the student council table. Ivy and I watched as Meredith pushed her way through Lisa’s crowd of admirers to take up residence on one of the chairs.

  “Do you have a twenty-year plan?” Ivy asked around a mouthful of granola bar.

  “Kid, we’re lucky when I have a twenty-minute plan.”

  ... .- -- -..-. ... .--. .- -.. .

  Due to circumstances beyond my control, Ivy and I were late getting to the gymnasium.

  “I still don’t understand why you couldn’t say ‘Thank you, Ms. Kowalski’ when she handed back your essay,” Ivy said.

  “Because,” I said, “she smiled at me.”

  Ivy stopped in mid-rush down the hallway. “What?”

  “Smiled like she’d won. I didn’t like it.” It was only October, and I wasn’t keen on the idea that Ms. Kowalski believed she was the early victor in our war, especially not if I had to deal with her in homeroom and English. I’d flipped through the essay and pointed out all the spots where my surveillance report provided superior information. She downgraded me from a B- to a C, but at least we were back on even ground.

  Ivy snorted and shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

  I straightened my sleeve cuff and considered that. “Maybe,” I said. “But I also think I’m winning.”

  We snuck through the gym door and stood in the shadow of the bleachers. Practice was well underway, and not much could be heard over the squeak of shoes, the thumping of the ball, and the girls on the sidelines shouting encouragement at the players. The coach was pacing the edge of the court, yelling out instructions. When he turned, I caught a glimpse of his face. Mr. Vannick. The man was everywhere lately.

  Ivy poked me in the side. “There’s Lisa.” She pointed out a tall blonde, laughing and high-fiving another player.

  One of the greatest investigative advantages is the opportunity to observe your subjects when they’re unaware of being watched. People behave more like themselves when immersed in their natural environment. Lisa reigned supreme over her home court. She smiled and bounced around. She soaked up the attention. The girl was all sunshine—until you looked into her eyes.

  Lisa Grantley had a predator’s eyes. They were razor-sharp, constantly tracking those around her. Her head whipped to the right as one of her teammates tripped, missing the ball and allowing a point. The other team cheered. Lisa’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth tightened before she called out a rallying cry to her team. The ball came back into play.

  I saw the moment she went for blood. The girl who’d scored stumbled on the other side of the net and the ball came Lisa’s way. She leapt up and spiked it down, hard, into the other player’s back. Lisa smiled as the girl face-planted and then quickly rearranged her features into a look of shock and dismay.

  “Lisa,” Mr. Vannick shouted. “That’s not how we play here. What were you thinking?”

  Lisa trotted over to the sidelines, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. V, it was an accident. I didn’t think she’d be so slow.” She snuck a look at her victim, and triumph glinted in her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Mr. V, I’m fine.” The fallen player staggered to her feet and waved a hand at Mr. Vannick. I recognized her look of resignation well. Better to take a blow from Lisa as public punishment than rat on her and face worse away from prying eyes.

  Mr. Vannick wasn’t convinced. “I don’t ever want to see behavior like that again or you’re suspended from the team,” he said to Lisa. “Do you understand?” Lisa nodded meekly, and Mr. Vannick blew his whistle. “That’s it for today.”

  The team scuttled off in a huddle while Lisa prowled after them. It wasn’t merely one player; she had the whole team under her thumb. I grabbed Ivy, and we snuck off to wait outside the girls’ locker room.

  Despite the power play we’d just witnessed, Ivy was all excitement.

  “I’m meeting Grantley royalty,” she said, pacing around the hallway, patting her cheeks and forehead with every turn. “I’ve got so many emotions running through me right now. Wonder. Excitement. Anxiety.”

  I had always found sarcasm to be much less amusing when you were on the receiving end. “Are you done?” I asked from my post, leaning against the wall.

  “Almost,” Ivy tilted her head to the side. “How’s my hair?”

  “Brown.”

  “Right on.”

  “Remember, you’re taking the lead on this,” I said. “There’s no way Lisa’s talking to me when she thinks I’m Team Meredith. We’ve only got one shot at her. Make it count.”

  “I’m not going to screw this up, Howard,” Ivy said, all of her teasing light fading away. “I won’t let you down.”

  Lisa Grantley came barreling out into the hall and stopped short when she spotted me.

  “You.”

  I grinned. “Me.”

  Her lip curled and she straightened every blue-blooded inch in her body. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Snaking a pack of Juicy from my pocket, I cocked my head toward Ivy. “You might change your mind when you find out who my friend here is.”

  That put a hitch in her stride. It’s a rare person who can resist a hint of mystery. She glanced at Ivy.

  “Ivy Mason,” I said as I wrangled a piece of gum from the battered pack, “meet Lisa Grantley. Lisa, meet the newest reporter for the Grantleyville Middle School Blog.”

  Lisa plastered on the winning smile every Grantley was taught at birth. She gave Ivy a slow once-over and tapped her fingers on her hip. “Mason,” she said. “You moved here with your dad, right? You’re staying with your grandmother on Greenfield Road.”

  “Yes,” Ivy said slowly. “How did you know that?”

  “I’m a Grantley,” she said. “It’s my job to know what goes on in our town.” Lisa brushed at her bangs and smirked. “You should know that.”

  I pushed myself away from the wall and strolled over to stand beside my partner. “Ivy’s doing a feature piece on all the student council members.”

  “I thought I’d start with you,” Ivy jumped in. “You are the president, after all.”

  “Okay, but only for a few minutes,” Lisa said and smoothed out her shirt. “I’m meeting someone soon.”

  Ivy dug her notebook out of her bag and flipped through, pretending to consult her notes.

  “You come from a long line of Grantleys who held student government positions,” she said. “What’s it like being part of such an impressive legacy?”

  Lisa posed prettily, regardless of the fact neither of us had a camera. She spoke as though reading from the Grantley Book of Public Relations. “It’s an honor, not only to have been chosen by my fellow classmates but also to be keeping the tradition of Grantley leadership alive.”

  Ivy stared at Lisa, processing the weirdness spewing out of her mouth. Lisa dropped her pose, and irritation flickered across her face. “Aren’t you going to write that down?”

  “Oh, right.” Ivy made a few scribbles on her paper. “Next question: How do you view the
council’s role in our school?”

  “The council is vitally important to our school,” Lisa said, her eyes growing brighter as she warmed to the topic. “We are the face, heart, and mind of the student body. We are the agents of change and the custodians of student welfare—seriously, you’re not writing any of this down? This is good stuff.”

  Ivy passed her notebook over to Lisa. “Maybe you should do it. I’d hate to miss anything.”

  Lisa snatched the pen from Ivy and began scrawling across the page, muttering to herself. I tamped down the impulse to jump in. Ivy may have different methods than me, but she was still getting results. After underlining her last few sentences, Lisa tossed the notebook back to Ivy and gave the pen an appreciative glance before pocketing it. “That should cover everything,” she said. “I’d work on my interview skills if I were you. Not everyone’s as approachable as I am.”

  Ivy cleared her throat and peeked over at me. I nodded. Time to take things up a notch.

  “One more question, if you don’t mind,” Ivy began. “You made quite a few promises in your campaign speech.” Lisa stiffened as Ivy flicked through her pages again. “A coffee bar in the cafeteria and a dance every month. Neither of these has happened so far. Can you tell me when you’ll actually follow through?”

  Advancing on Ivy, Lisa towered over her target. I tensed, ready to intercept if necessary.

  “I believe I said I would lobby for a coffee bar. I’m currently in talks with the vice principal about it. As for the dances,” she said, smacking the corner of Ivy’s notebook. “There’s been resistance with regard to spending our money on what the students want. Some members are excessively concerned with the ‘budget.’” She did air quotes around the word “budget” like it was a made-up issue.

  “Do you have any comments on the rumors about friction between you and Meredith Reddy?” Ivy asked.

  “What is this?” Lisa charged toward me. “What’s Meredith up to? I know she hired you.”

  I held up my hands to ward her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Lisa and I stood nose to nose as she backed me into the wall. “I am not someone you want to mess with. Make me ask again and I won’t do it nicely. Why are you really here, Howard Wallace?”