Howard Wallace, P.I.: Shadow of a Pug

by Casey Lyall

  “Have a seat,” Ivy said, pointing at the small, round table in the corner. “We’re just about ready.”

  “Sorry, sweetie,” he said. “I’m eating at my desk tonight. Too many files to go through.”

  Ivy and her grandma shared a sigh. “Tax season.”

  “Hi, Howard.” Mr. Mason grabbed a plate, scooping a few pancakes off Ivy’s pile. He pointed at the top one. “Pterodactyl?” He nodded at Ivy’s grin. “Nice.”

  “Take orange juice,” Lillian called after his retreating form. “Man thinks he can live on coffee alone.”

  “It’s brain juice,” Mr. Mason said over his shoulder.

  The rest of us gathered our plates and sat around the tiny kitchen table. Ivy was quiet, stealing glances down the hall toward her dad’s office.

  “What’s on the agenda for tonight?” Lillian asked.

  “The usual,” I said. “Movies. Eating.”

  “We’re going to work on our marketing strategies too,” Ivy piped up. “Try to snag some new cases.”

  “If you really want to get some good ideas,” Lillian said. “You’ve got to start thinking outside the box. Sam Spade is fine, but not every detective is a smirk in a trench coat. There are other ways to do things.”

  I inhaled the rest of my perfectly fluffy pancakes. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Time to add another chapter to your training regime.” Lillian winked.

  After the dishes were done and the kitchen tidied up, Lillian clapped her hands together. “Ready to get started?”

  “Just one second,” Ivy said, pulling a glass out of the cupboard. “I’ll meet you in the living room.” She filled the cup with orange juice and hurried down the hall.

  Lillian and I arranged the living room, and I was all snuggled into the comfy end of the couch when Ivy came in. She stopped short at the sight of me. “That’s my spot.”

  “You snooze, you lose,” I said.

  Ivy narrowed her eyes, then cut a smile that had my own smirk falling off my face. She was airborne before I had a chance to move an inch.

  “Ooof.” Ivy landed on top of me, squishing me deep into the cushions. “No tackling,” I said weakly while she cackled.

  “Settle down, shenaniganizers,” Lillian tutted. “That couch is on its last legs.”

  We untangled and somehow Ivy managed to end up back in “her” spot. “That was a dirty trick,” I grumbled.

  “It was the couch, I swear.” Ivy held her hands up. “I can’t help it if it loves me more.”

  “Hush, the lot of you,” Lillian said. “Prepare yourselves to be amazed and entertained.” She pressed Play and sat back on the couch as the show began.

  “Tiny little town,” Ivy said, watching the scenery unfold. “It could be Grantleyville.”

  “This lady doesn’t look like much of a detective.” I eyed the tidy-looking woman on the screen.

  “That’s Jessica. She’s a writer,” Ivy’s grandma said. “It’s an entirely different dress code.”

  “Oh, don’t go in there,” Ivy said. “You never find anything good in creepy, old houses.”

  “Go in the house,” I cheered. “Go in the house!”

  “I need popcorn for this,” Lillian said, boosting herself up off the couch and heading for the kitchen. Ivy and I continued watching Murder, She Wrote, dissecting all the clues as they cropped up.

  Ivy’s grandma returned with a huge bowl of popcorn. “What’d I miss?”

  “Jessica’s found two bodies already,” I said. “Cabot Cove is way more exciting than Grantleyville.”

  “I don’t think we need that much excitement here, Howard,” Ivy said, leaning back and tossing popcorn into her mouth.

  “Speak for yourself,” I muttered.

  Lillian sat through three episodes with us before raising her arms up in a stretch. “These old bones are going to bed,” she said over the sound of joints popping and cracking. “’Night, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “’Night, Lillian,” I said. Ivy hugged her grandma goodnight. We settled into our sleeping bags as the show continued and the body count continued to climb.

  “Okay, seriously,” Ivy said. “We’re five episodes in, and that’s how many murders? How is this town not on a watch list? Why does anyone still live there?”

  “Because plot?” I flopped back onto my pillow. I was more than a little envious of Jessica’s caseload. Not that I wanted us to be stumbling across a murder scene in a creepy old house. But if we did, Ivy and I could handle it. Maybe. Probably.

  Ivy paused the show. “Talk.”

  “What?”

  “You’re thinking so loud, I can hear you over the TV.”

  “I was just thinking: Grantleyville could do with a little plot,” I said, sitting up.

  My partner nodded, her face growing serious. “I agree.” She reached behind her back and whipped her pillow out, hitting me full-on with a giant whump. I fell back on to the floor, stunned.

  “Oh, man,” she said. “I think I just stumbled across a body in the living room. Hang on. Lemme check.” She smacked me again with the pillow. “Yup, definitely dead.”

  “Check again.” I grabbed my own pillow and returned fire. Ivy’s eyes widened as she cackled. Our sleeping bags were kicked to the side as the pillow fight escalated into a pillow war.

  “Ahem.”

  I paused midswing at the voice coming from the doorway. Ivy’s dad leaned against the wall, eyebrows raised. “Having a restful evening, are we?”

  Ivy and I stammered out apologies as he grinned. “If I can hear you in my office, it’s only a matter of time before your grandma gets woken up,” he said. “And trust me, you don’t want her coming in here next.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Ivy said. “We’ll be quiet.”

  “’Night, kids.”

  We set our sleeping bags out again as he left, and I flipped off the living room light. Ivy turned off the TV before stretching out on the floor. I started to relax, listening to Ivy’s breathing evening out beside me.

  “For the record,” I whispered. “I was winning.” The room was silent as I waited for Ivy’s response.

  “Go to sleep, Howard,” she said.

  It was too dark for her to see my smirk, but she heard it loud and clear. I barely heard a rustle before the pillow came out of nowhere and bopped my face.

  “’Night, Ivy.”

  Chapter Three

  Sleep had been hard won after a night of popcorn and small-town murder. Lying on the floor in a sleeping bag wasn’t optimal either. The luxury of sleeping in slowly slipped through my grasp as I surfaced to the most annoying sound in the world.

  “Howard. Howard. Howard. Howard.” Ivy was chanting my name with a fair amount of glee in her voice. I could feel a twitch building between my eyes. I opened them to see her staring at me, her nose barely an inch away from mine.

  “Oh, good,” she said. “You’re awake.”

  “The question is, why?”

  “We have a million things to do today and we’re already late.”

  “Saturday,” I groaned.

  “Yup,” Ivy said. “Chore time.”

  The only downside of our Friday night sleepovers: Ivy had managed to wrangle me into helping her with her list of Saturday chores after the first night. Since then, it had somehow become part of our routine. We grabbed a bowl of cereal before putting the living room back in order and tackling the laundry. Ivy’s house was quiet. Her grandma volunteered at the library on Saturdays, and her dad was already back in his office. After vacuuming and tidying up the kitchen, Ivy and I flopped back onto the couch, putting our feet up on the coffee table.

  “That’s it,” Ivy said. “I’m done-zo.”

  “I hate to break it to you, partner, but we still have one more job.”

  “But the list,” Ivy whimpered. “We crossed off all the things.”

  “For your house,” I said. “Pops wants us to tidy up the garage. He says the office is starting to spre
ad.” I hauled myself up off the couch and held out a hand. Ivy took it, pulling herself up to her feet.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “Anything for Pops.”

  I grabbed my bag and we bundled up before heading outside. Ivy hopped along the sidewalk beside me, her mood picking up as she breathed in the fresh air.

  “Hey.” She poked me with an elbow. “What do you think about advertising?”

  “In the general sense?”

  “In the ‘for our business’ sense,” she said. “We mostly go on word of mouth, but maybe if we put in some effort, we’d attract bigger cases.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. Posters, maybe? Something online?”

  I mulled it over. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Ivy said. “That’s why I’m your partner. You’d be lost without me.”

  I elbowed her back and she laughed. We spent the rest of the trip to my house discussing slogans and color schemes for possible ads.

  “I bet you Mrs. Hernandez would let us put one up in her shop,” I said as we walked up my driveway.

  “There you are.” My mother poked her head out the side door. “Have you eaten?”

  “We had some cereal earlier, Mrs. Wallace,” Ivy said.

  “Come on in and have a snack before you take on the office.” She disappeared back inside, and we followed. I tossed my bag onto the floor and hung up my coat by

  the door.

  “I know that thump was the sound of you putting your bag away properly,” Ma called from the kitchen.

  Ivy snickered at me as I picked up my bag from the floor and carried it up to my room. My partner was seated at the kitchen table when I came back, munching on apple slices.

  “How was your night?” Ma asked as she set a plate in front of me.

  “Good,” I said. “How was Date Night?”

  “Good,” she said with a smile that made me regret asking. “What are your plans for the day?”

  “Office,” I said. “And then working on a new business plan.”

  “Full schedule then,” Ma said. She set a container of cookies on the table.

  Ivy nodded enthusiastically, grabbing a cookie and tossing one to me. “We should probably take some of these with us to keep our energy up.”

  We all jumped as feet thundered down the stairs and Eileen burst into the kitchen. “Where have you been?”

  “At Ivy’s,” I said, leaning back to take a leisurely bite of my cookie. “Why? Did you miss me?”

  Eileen shot me a look. She hadn’t missed my presence since I learned how to talk. “Marvin’s called you like six hundred times, and I’m trying to study. I don’t have time for—”

  “What’d he want?” I cut in before she could get on a roll.

  “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you,’ Howard,” my mother cut in.

  “Thank you, Eileen,” I said. “What’d he want?”

  “I’m not your lackey, Howeird,” she said, shoving a piece of paper into my hand. “I have better things to do with my time.”

  “And the words you’re looking for, Eileen, are ‘you’re welcome,’ ” Ma said with a sigh.

  “You’re welcome,” Eileen snapped. “Put me on the payroll if you want me to keep taking your messages.”

  “Cookie?” I held out one of Ma’s magical chocolate-chip concoctions. “You can eat around the bite.”

  She turned her nose up at my offered payment before spotting the full container on the table. Grabbing it, she stalked back down the hall, fuming about her current living conditions before stomping up the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed moments later. Girl knew how to make an exit. Uncrumpling the note, I barely had time to decipher Eileen’s scrawl before Ivy snatched it out of my hands.

  My partner scanned the message, and a slow grin took over her face as she said our four favorite words:

  “We have a case.”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you think it’s a real job, or are we gonna end up cleaning out his storage room again?” Ivy looked back as she leapt nimbly over the rivers of melted snow running down the sidewalk. “Because that was disgusting and once was enough.”

  “He actually said case this time, so the odds are good it’s legit.” I splashed along behind her, wishing my ride was here to save me from the treacherous terrain ahead, but Blue was useless in this kind of weather. My ancient bike had a strict hibernation policy. She holed up in our garage from the first frost until at least the beginning of April. That left me hoofing it all winter long.

  Marvin helped us out of a couple of jams a few months back, including our big blackmail case. Since he preferred to remain off the books, he took his fee in favors. After he’d called in the first one, it became clear that failing to negotiate the parameters of the favors was a mistake. However, a deal was a deal, and at Wallace and Mason Investigations, our word was our bond. Even if that word led us to cleaning out a room full of junk Marvin’s customers wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

  We arrived at the fractured steps of Marvin’s on Main. Ivy sprinted ahead to be first through the door. She’d only been there a few times, but after the first visit she’d declared the pawnshop “one of the top five places to be in Grantleyville.” I’d been afraid to ask what the other four were.

  The bell on the door clanked softly as we entered, years of dust muting whatever chimes it had once possessed. “Marvin,” I called out. “We’re here.”

  “In the back,” came the gravelly reply.

  “Ivy—” I turned to find an empty space where my partner had been, and bit back a growl. “Ivy.”

  She leapt out from behind the next set of shelves, decked out in a fringed vest and a gardening hat, carrying a blue guitar. “Yes?” The hat flopped down, and she shoved it up with an arm covered in about a dozen bracelets.

  “Ivy, cool it. We’re working,” I said. “Paws off the merchandise.”

  “I can’t help myself,” she said, strumming tunelessly on the guitar. “This store is awesome.”

  “I’m not getting any younger over here,” Marvin hollered from the back.

  “Understatement of the year,” Ivy whispered. I shot her a look as she mugged. “I’m putting it away, relax.” She tossed the hat and guitar up on a shelf and slid the bracelets onto the counter. “You have to admit: I’m totally pulling this off,” she said, swishing the fringe of her vest at me.

  “Yeah, you’re a regular fashion plate,” Marv said, shuffling through the doorway, spindly arms wrapped up in a moth-eaten brown sweater. “If you solve my case, you can keep it.”

  “Really?” Ivy beamed.

  “No.” He pushed us down the hallway into the kitchenette. “Get in here so I can tell you about this job before I die.”

  We were escorted into a tiny room decked out in yellowed wallpaper whose design had long since become one with the cobwebs. Mugs littered the counter, and the faint scent of burnt coffee hung in the air. Marvin pulled out a plastic lawn chair, sending the papers piled on it tumbling to the floor. “Take a seat,” he said. “We gotta lot of ground to cover and you took your sweet time getting here.”

  Ivy and I sat gingerly on either side of the chair. It looked like it had last been cleaned around the same time as the walls. “We were working a case,” I said. “Things got messy.”

  “I heard.” Marvin wheezed. “Mrs. H has that little delinquent cleaning her shop from top to bottom.” News traveled fast in a town this size.

  “We’re more interested in hearing about your case,” Ivy said. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a real humdinger for you.” He rubbed at his chin and frowned. “My nephew’s got himself in a spot of trouble.”

  “Nephew?” Given Marvin’s indecipherable age, it was hard to gauge how old this nephew could be. The spectrum of trouble we were looking at was potentially vast.

  “Grandnephew,” he clarified. “My little sister’s grandson
. He’s about your age.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “He’s taking the fall for some ridiculous prank over at the school, and it sounds like a suspension is the least of our worries.” Marvin grunted his opinion on the matter. “I need you to help clear his name.”

  “That’s a pretty big case, Marvin,” I said. “We talking clean slate after this?”

  “Wiped clean until the next favor.”

  Ivy whipped out her notebook and held a pen at the ready. “Give us the details. Who’s your nephew?”

  Marvin craned his head to look out the doorway, peering blearily through the smeared lenses of his glasses. “I told him to come by. He’s late as usual.” On cue, the front door opened, the bell clunking at the arrival of our new client.

  “Uncle Marv?” a voice called out.

  A familiar voice.

  Ivy caught my eye, and I could see the same question on her face.

  Footsteps came down the hallway as recognition began to dawn.

  Of course I knew that voice. It lived in my nightmares and plagued my days.

  It belonged to my third-worst enemy.

  The one and only Carl Dean.

  Chapter Five

  A shocked silence reigned as Carl walked into the miniscule kitchen. He stopped short at the sight of us at the table. I was still cursing Marvin’s family tree when Carl found his voice.

  “Uncle Marv?”

  “Well, nice talking to you, Marvin, but there’s no way this is happening,” I said, pushing away from the table. I stuffed my notebook back in my pocket and jabbed a pen in Carl’s direction. “You’re going to have to pick a new way to cash in your favor. I don’t work with cretins.”

  “Careful, Howard,” Marvin said. “We all have our faults.”

  Ivy snorted. “Some more than others.” We both glared at Carl, and he stared back, impassive face unreadable as usual. He was like a brick wall: hard, wide, and impossible to tell what was going on beyond it. I’d seen a few sparks of character during our big blackmail case, but it’d been business as usual since then. Business being violence against my person and the thieving of my belongings.