Howard Wallace, P.I._Shadow of a Pug

by Casey Lyall

  “I’m with Howard on this one,” Ivy said, arms crossed, face set. “There are limits.”

  “I’m sorry, Marv,” I said. “I’ll honor our deal, but not like this. Not for him.” Ivy and I headed toward the door when Marvin’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “So, that’s how it is? The great detective gives his word and then walks away?”

  Doubt and resentment battled in my chest. Throwing my own code back in my face was a low blow and Marvin knew it. He held up his hands, waiting for me to respond, a glimmer in his eye daring me to say no. Professional integrity or pride? This was a lose-lose situation.

  “Howard,” Ivy said, standing in front of me and grabbing the sleeves of my coat, “this idiot has stolen from you, beaten you up, and given you wedgies. He’s not worthy of our help.”

  Marvin sat up in his chair, a phlegmy cough rumbling in his agitation. “Carl, what are they talking about? You messed with these guys?”

  He shrugged, scuffing the floor with his shoe. “Mostly Tim did.”

  Marvin turned to us. “Now that kid is a cretin.” No one argued with that. Tim was Carl’s partner-in-crime. They used their eighth-grade clout and general overgrown-ness to pursue illicit gain—activities that had helped bump Tim up to number two on my list of adversaries. He was also a Grantley, although he swam in the shallower end of their gene pool. The fact remained: Tim was rich enough to buy himself and his friends out of any kind of trouble they cooked up . . . and he did. Frequently. The need for this meeting was beginning to perplex me.

  “Why isn’t he helping you out?” I asked Carl.

  “Yes.” Ivy jumped all over that option. “Call Tim. Problem solved.”

  Carl’s ears pinked up, and he studied the ceiling.

  “About that . . .” Marvin pulled a stained handkerchief from his pocket and unloaded both barrels into it, one nostril after the other. If this was the prep work, I could hardly wait for the explanation. “Tim’s out of the picture.” He shrugged, and curiosity got the better of Ivy.

  “What do you mean ‘out of the picture’?” she asked.

  “Kid’s happy to be a delinquent as long as there are no consequences,” Marvin said, swiping at the table with his hankie before pocketing it. “One whiff of real trouble and he turned tail. Never mind the fact that Carl didn’t do anything. School started talking suspension, and he was out. Too afraid of what Daddy will say to stick around.”

  “Nice friends you got there,” I said. “Leaving you twisting in the wind.”

  The twitching muscle in Carl’s jaw was the only acknowledgment that he’d heard that statement.

  Ivy clapped her hands together, returning to her senses. “Still don’t see how it’s our problem.”

  “What can they do, anyway?” Carl said, slouching against the wall.

  “You know exactly what we can do, Carl,” I snapped. “Let’s not pretend otherwise. Better think twice about how you talk, if you want our help.”

  Ivy crossed her arms, doubling down on my glare. “Which you’re not getting anyway.”

  Marvin smacked a fist down on the table, silencing the room. “I don’t care about whatever beef is between you. Howard, we had a deal. You owe me a favor and I’m calling it in. We need your help on this. That’s all there is to it.”

  Carl, Ivy, and I stared at each other for a moment. This was my own fault for griping about easy cases. “I need to talk to my partner,” I said. Ivy and I legged it out into the hallway and holed up in the storage room. Even after our cleaning session, it barely had enough room for the two of us.

  Ivy flopped down onto a crate, her mouth set in a mutinous line. “We’re not taking the case, Howard. I don’t care what Marvin says.”

  “Trust me, I’m not happy about this either,” I said. “If I could walk us out of here, I would. Whatever trouble Carl’s in, I’m sure he earned it.”

  “So what’s the problem? We tell them no deal.”

  The problem.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face and motioned for her to move over. Reason was knocking on the door frustration had slammed shut. Grabbing a seat beside Ivy, I sighed. I was already regretting my next words. “The problem is, Marvin’s right. We owe him. If we walk away from that, our name will be mud. No one’s gonna want to hire P.I.s who don’t keep their word.”

  “Even if the client’s nephew is a jerk.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Even if the client’s nephew is a no-good, snack-stealing, bike-mocking, head-busting, jerk-faced jerk.”

  “We heard that,” Marvin called out.

  “Good!” Ivy and I shouted.

  My partner kicked her heels against the crate, grumbling. “This is so dumb. You know, you could be trying a little harder to figure a way out of this mess.”

  I tipped my hat back on my head. “I’m all ears, sweetheart, if you’ve got any bright ideas.”

  “Don’t get all Bogart on me,” she snapped. “This is serious!”

  “Believe me, I know,” I said. “You think I want to be stuck working with that pile of muscles? Not a chance.” I tugged on the end of Ivy’s scarf until she looked up to meet my eyes. “But if we walk out on Marvin, he’ll be peeved enough to go yapping around town, and then where will we be?”

  I took my partner’s silence as begrudging concession. “It could be worse.”

  She considered that while she sulked. “How?”

  “His nephew could have been Tim.”

  “You’re not even a little bit funny,” Ivy said, chuckling despite herself. Her laughter faded out into a sigh. “We’re taking this case, aren’t we?”

  “We’re probably taking this case.”

  “Howard . . .” She drew my name out as she buried her face in her hands.

  “We need to at least hear their story,” I said. “And by them I mean Marvin.”

  “Ugh.” Ivy hauled herself up off the crate and pointed a finger at me. “After this, no more favors. We’re going strictly on the books.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  We walked back to the kitchen, taking our time before facing the task ahead. Marvin and Carl were seated at the table when we entered, heads close together as they held a furious, whispered argument. They both sat back at the sight of us.

  “Finally,” Marvin said. “Took you long enough to come to your senses.”

  “We’re not promising anything yet, Marv,” I said. “Just hurry up and give us the details.”

  “Alright, alright,” he said. “Keep your shirt on.” Marvin nodded at Carl. “This one’s been suspended from the basketball team, and they’re talking about making it permanent if things don’t get cleared up.”

  “What’d you do, Carl?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Carl tapped a nervous beat out on the table. “Coach accused me of stealing our mascot, but someone took him out of my yard.”

  I paused, pen hovering over my notebook. “I’m going to need you to fill in some more blanks here, Carl. Who’s the mascot, why’d you have it, and why would the coach think you’d steal it?”

  He pulled up a picture on his phone and slid it across the table. Ivy and I leaned over to get a closer look.

  “This doesn’t clear anything up. Is that supposed to be a dog?” Between the bug eyes and squished nose, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  Carl snatched the phone back and held it tight. “It’s a pug, and his name is Spartacus.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “We’re the Grantleyville Gladiators, so . . .”

  “No, I get it. That’s just a lot of name for a little dog.”

  “He’s a good dog,” Carl said, glowering at the picture. “Coach Williams has us all rotate turns taking care of him. Says it builds team spirit.”

  “So you had Spartacus and someone swiped him out of your yard?” Ivy looked up from her surprisingly accurate doodle of the doglet. “Where were you when this happened?”

  “I went inside to get his ball, and when I came back h
e was gone. Our yard is fenced in; he didn’t run away. Someone definitely took him.”

  “We’re going to need to take a look at your yard,” I said. “Why does your coach think you had a hand in this? You explained what went down?”

  “He wouldn’t listen to me,” Carl said. “He knows I’ve been mad ’cause he’s had me riding the bench most of this season, but I’d never do anything to hurt Spartacus.”

  “Why aren’t you playing?” Ivy tapped her pen against the table, frowning at Carl.

  “There’s a new crop of Grantleys on the team. Coach is a Grantley. Doesn’t take a genius to do the math.”

  “Mr. Williams is a Grantley?” That was news to me.

  “Barely,” Marvin said. “Third or fourth cousin. Nowhere near the inner circle. He’s always sucking up to the main branch.”

  That was the way of our town’s royal family for you. Not happy unless they’re making someone feel inadequate. Even one of their own. I flipped my notebook shut. “That’ll do for now.”

  I looked over at Ivy, and she gave me a small, resigned nod.

  “We’ll come by your place tomorrow to check out the scene,” I said. “Start working on your list of suspects. See if you can think of anyone who’d have a reason to swipe Spartacus, specifically when he was in your care.”

  Carl grimaced, but he nodded before standing up from the table. “I’ll see you later, Uncle Marv.”

  Ivy and I were left in the kitchen with Marvin. He cracked a smile. “I’m glad you kids are on the case. Blasted school won’t listen to a word we say. We need some proof to turn things around.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Marv,” I said. “And then we’re square, right?”

  “Right.” He held out a hand and we shook on it. Then he offered his hand to Ivy.

  “This is a megafavor, Marvin,” she said, grasping it tight. “I think you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yup.” A wicked grin flashed across her face. “But I know how to even things up.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m keeping the vest.”

  Chapter Six

  The next afternoon, Ivy and I trooped across town to Carl’s place. Temperatures had dropped, and a chilly wind chased us down sidewalks lined with frost-covered trees. The branches reached up into the sky like icy fingers. I looked around at the empty street and snorted. The depth of that mistake was instantly made clear. Frigid air whooshed up my nose, freezing everything in its path.

  “Urgh!” I covered my nose with hands, attempting to redirect warm air from my mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” Ivy zipped her coat up to her chin and inspected me.

  Releasing my face, I took an experimental breath. “I’m good,” I said. “Looks like everyone else had the better sense to stay inside today.”

  “Sunday afternoon in Grantleyville,” she said. “It’s like a ghost town. So weird.” Ivy moved to our town from the city over six months ago. Adjustment to small-town living was slow going. “Like, the grocery stores close at five. People still need to eat after five, Howard.”

  I recognized the beginnings of a rant when I saw one. “Look at it this way,” I said. “Fewer people nosing around while we check out the scene of the crime, and you can come to my house after for dinner.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” she grouched.

  “My dad’s making lasagna.”

  “Sold.”

  We were closing in on Carl’s house when a rhythmic thumping filled the air. Two figures darted around his driveway as a basketball bounced between them.

  Ivy rubbed her hands together and stomped her feet. “Who plays basketball outside in the middle of February?”

  “Apparently our client does,” I said, stopping short at the end of the drive. “Along with his poor choice of company.”

  Ivy followed my line of sight. She let out a breath, her whole body drooping. “This can’t be good.”

  Carl’s one-on-one partner was Miles Fletcher, proud occupant of the top slot on my list of enemies. It was a title earned when he threw away the one of my best friend. He’d joined the basketball team and spent a good chunk of last year making my life miserable. Memories of Miles’s taunting voice crowded in, his laughter echoing in my mind. A flash of being shoved inside a locker, hard walls digging in to my sides. Not being able to move. The feeling of not enough air.

  “Howard.” Ivy snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You okay? You zoned out there for a minute.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ivy looked ready to challenge that, and I held up a hand. “I’m fine,” I said more firmly than I felt. I wasn’t about to let the past interrupt my mission of closing this case as quickly as possible.

  I fished a pack of Juicy out of my pocket as I strode over to Carl. He and Miles paused in their game, panting out little clouds of air into the cold. “We’re here to look at your yard,” I said, popping a piece of gum and talking around chomps.

  Carl nodded, rubbing a red, chapped hand over an equally reddened nose. Ivy looked him over, eyeing the ball rolling over to the snowbank at the side of the yard, taking in the icicles clinging to the backboard of the net.

  “Okay, I have to ask,” she burst out, “why on earth are you playing outside when it is flipping freezing?”

  “Carl’s not going to be off the team forever,” Miles said, shrugging and shifting his long arms around against the cold. “We’re keeping him sharp.”

  “You couldn’t find somewhere nice and warm to do that?” Ivy asked, tucking her hands into her pockets.

  “Coach won’t let him come anywhere near the court at school,” Miles said. “League teams took all the times at the senior center. Nowhere else to go.”

  “Sounds rough,” I said, heading up the drive. Chitchat was for people handing us paychecks. “Backyard?”

  Carl pointed to a path leading around the side of the house and started forward. Two sets of footsteps followed along after us—one too many. Sneaking a quick look behind me, I spotted Miles keeping pace beside Ivy.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

  “Is this how you deal with all your clients?” Miles jogged around me. “No ‘Hi, Miles, how are you, nice weather we’re having’?”

  “You’re not my client, I don’t care, and no, it’s not.”

  He aimed a look at Ivy. “You put up with this charmer every day?”

  My partner walked along beside me, kicking chunks of snow out of her way. “He’s more charming than some people think they are,” she said.

  Miles clutched at his heart. “Direct hit.”

  Ivy’s lips twitched.

  Enough of this. We had a case to investigate. Carl stood by the gate to the backyard, watching the three of us with his usual carefully closed-off expression. I shouldered past Miles and hustled through the entrance. “Didn’t get much of a deal on your Tim replacement,” I muttered to Carl.

  “You’re not the best one to judge,” he said.

  Five minutes into this case and it was already giving me a headache. Definitely no more favors. I should be getting paid for this level of aggravation.

  “Okay,” I said, looking around the yard. “Was this where Spartacus was when he was taken?”

  Carl nodded.

  “Ivy, let’s take a look around. You two”—I pointed at Carl and Miles—“stay back and don’t touch anything.”

  Miles knocked off a salute. Carl rolled his eyes.

  “What are we looking for, partner?” Ivy sidled up next to me.

  “The usual,” I said. “How they got in, how they got out.” I took in the yard. Scraggly grass poking up between bits of dirty snow. Tiny shed in the corner. A chain-link fence running around the perimeter. “The ground’s too hard for there to be any prints.”

  “How long was Spartacus out here?” Ivy called back at Carl.

  “Five, ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” she said.
“So it had to happen pretty fast.”

  “Over the fence?” I walked up to it to take a closer look. Bits of metal poked up along the top rail, which stood close to five feet tall. “Awfully big jump. Risk getting caught on it, too.”

  Ivy peered through the fence. Carl’s yard backed up to an empty lot next to a convenience store. “Nothing around to use to get over it, either,” she said.

  A bit of black caught my eye, and I looked down. The bottom left section of the fence had a few pieces of black plastic stuck on it. “Ivy, check this out.”

  She crouched down beside me. “Are those zip ties?”

  “I think so,” I said. “Someone cut off the ends.” After using them to tie the fence back together. “Wire cutters and some elbow grease. They’d be in and out pretty quick.”

  “I’m surprised Spartacus didn’t put up more of a fuss,” Ivy said.

  “He’d go anywhere with anyone if they had treats for him,” Carl said. He and Miles were standing directly behind us. I scowled and straightened up.

  “I told you to stay over there.”

  “Over here looked more interesting,” Miles said, towering over me to gape at the fence. “Find any more clues?”

  “No,” I said. “We’re done.” Grabbing our business cards out of my pocket, I handed one to Carl. “Get in touch if you think of any more details. Do you have that suspect list ready for me?”

  “In the house.” He took a step toward the back door, and I glanced over at Miles, who continued to nose around my crime scene.

  “Stop touching things,” I snapped at him as he poked at the fence. He shrugged as if contaminating evidence was an acceptable Sunday afternoon activity. I needed to get out of here.

  “Carl.” I waved him back. “The list can wait,” I said. “We’ve got enough to get started. You can bring it tomorrow.”

  Carl made a noise of assent.

  “We’ll talk more then.”

  Carl nodded.

  “Or we’ll just keep asking questions and you can grunt yes or no.”

  He reached out and grabbed the collar of my lucky coat. “Less jokes,” he said. “More investigating.”

  “Noted.” I extricated myself from his meaty grasp and turned to find Ivy deep in conversation with Miles. “Hey, partner,” I called out. “Time to go.”