by Casey Lyall
“Tell you what,” I said, grabbing at the first shiny idea that came to mind. “Come with me to interview Bradley, and I’ll show you the interrogation ropes.”
The bell rang, and kids started filing inside. I gathered up my stuff, ready to leave, but Ivy stayed planted in her spot. My idea wasn’t shiny enough, apparently. “Oh, c’mon,” I said. “Are you gonna be shirty or work this case with me?”
“Lucky for you,” Ivy said as she sailed past me with her nose in the air, “I can multi-task.”
Chapter Nine
Ivy and I compared schedules at morning announcements and figured the best time to take a run at Bradley was over lunch. I did some fact-checking during English and confirmed he had the same break as us. Operation Interrogate Bradley was a go.
When the bell rang for lunch, people headed out to the caf, and I pulled Ivy aside to review our game plan. “It’s a simple little chat. We want see how he reacts when we bring up Meredith,” I said.
Ivy nodded. “I hear you.” She edged in close. “So, who’s good cop, and who’s bad cop?”
My new partner had some highly unrealistic expectations for her new profession. “Ivy, we’re not cops.”
Her wide grin spread slowly from ear to ear. “Does that mean we both get to be bad cop?” She pulled a pack of gum from her pocket. “Relax,” she said when she caught me squinting at the label. “This is from my own stash.” She proceeded to unwrap a hunk of gum the size of a small apple and chomped it into submission. The scent of cotton candy wafted toward me.
“I think you’d have trouble being a convincing bad cop,” I said. “Nobody’d be able to understand you over that wad.” Ivy stuck her tongue out at me. The effect was a bit lopsided since the entire right side of her mouth was pulled tight by the gum tucked in her cheek. I tried to avoid staring at it. “Besides, like I said, we’re not cops. It’s merely a friendly chat with a possible criminal.”
We wove our way through the throng of students. “I made some discreet inquiries during math class,” I said. “Apparently, Bradley likes to spend his meal time in the east end.”
“That’s a prime spot. Big windows, extra chairs.” Ivy punctuated her statement with a loud snap of her gum.
“It’s also where the Drama Club hangs out,” I said. “Bradley’s their newest member.”
“Student council to Drama Club. The guy likes a stage.”
We neared the tables, and I decided it was best to lay down some ground rules. Questioning suspects was tricky business, and you only had one shot to catch them off-guard. I put a hand on Ivy’s arm to stop her from charging into the group.
“Time out, champ.” I straightened her collar and smoothed out my own. “We’re gonna run this smart, okay? Rule number four: always have a cover story ready. Follow my lead.”
I spotted Bradley and his gang sprawled over the tables, limbs weighed down by the tedium of life offstage. I was unwillingly familiar with the world of theater, as my sister had always been heavily involved. It was a natural outlet for her dramatic tendencies. I had more mundane interests, like shaking down suspects.
Stepping up to the group, I zeroed in on our quarry. “Bradley Chen?”
Bradley flipped his hair out of his eyes. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Howard, and this is Ivy. She’s new. Her family moved here from the city.”
Bradley leapt up from his seat and took Ivy’s hand. “Oh, you poor, poor thing. Abandoned to the wilds of Grantleyville. How are you holding up?”
Ivy looked back at him solemnly. “It’s been a struggle.”
“I’m Ivy’s student liaison, assigned to help her through the transition,” I said. “We’ve been checking out different clubs this week, and Ivy said she was interested in acting. I heard you’re the man to speak to.”
“Excellent!” he said, perking up under the attention. “Do you have any experience?”
“I was in The Music Man and Bye Bye Birdie at my old school,” Ivy said, smiling. “Recently I’ve been interested in more improv-based performances.”
“Great.” Bradley bobbed his head enthusiastically. “We do a lot of that in our group. The debate is still raging over what play to do this year, so auditions won’t be until next month. You should come to a few of our meetings and see if you like it.”
Ivy nodded, and I made my move. “Ivy’s also interested in student government,” I said. “You were involved with that last year, weren’t you?”
He sniffed. “Hardly. Our student council is a joke. They let anyone in.”
“Except for you, apparently.”
Bradley crossed his arms and sucked in a breath. Ivy stomped on my foot on her way over to him. She laid a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle pat. “I know I’m new here,” she said, “but I think I can say with confidence that it was their loss.”
“Oh, believe me, it was. I had a million great ideas and a seventh grader got voted in over me.” Bradley sagged down to take a seat on the bench. I leaned up against the side of the table.
“Isn’t that how democracy works?” I asked. “The people vote in who they want?”
Rolling his eyes, Bradley directed his answer at Ivy. “The whole thing was rigged,” he said, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Meredith Reddy, that girl who stole my spot, bought all her votes.”
“Bought?” Ivy hadn’t been kidding about her acting skills. Even I believed she was shocked.
“Cupcakes for everyone on the day of the election. Shameless.” He shook his head. “I should’ve thought of it.”
“So, really,” I said, “you’re mad that she out-underhanded you.”
Bradley twisted around to face me. “I’m mad because she ruined my whole plan for eighth grade. My best friend, Lisa Grantley, Student Council President? We had it all worked out. We were going to rule the school and become legends.”
“Sure,” I said, sticking my hands in my pockets, finding it hard to pretend I wasn’t enjoying myself. “Legends in bankruptcy court, maybe.”
“Excuse me?” Bradley bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Word is, some of your plans were a bit pricey.”
“More like amazing, and if Meredith’s telling you any different—”
“I didn’t say I’d heard that from Meredith,” I said before Bradley could get himself worked up. His raised voice was starting to attract an audience, and he knew it.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had,” he said. “She’s so threatened; she takes every opportunity to trash me.”
“Slandering the competition,” I whistled. “That is low.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” Ivy tutted.
“They shouldn’t allow seventh-grade officers. They’re too irresponsible for the position.” Bradley turned to her. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Ivy replied with a little hand-pat of reassurance.
“Last week, she took my bag instead of hers. If she’s not paying attention to her own possessions, how can we trust her with our money?”
“What happened after you mixed up bags?” I asked.
Bradley, caught up in his soapboxing, blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You walked off, realized you had someone else’s bag, then what?” I jabbed a foot at the bag hanging off the back of his chair. “Did you poke through it and see if there was anything good?”
Bradley’s face shuttered. “Of course not, I brought it back and had a chat with her and her little friend about carelessness.” He looked over at Ivy and allowed a small smile to break through. “I have to get back to my friends, but I really hope you’ll come by Drama Club. We’re always happy to have new members.”
“Super.” Ivy said. “When do you meet?”
“Every Tuesday after school. You could start today.”
“She’ll see you then,” I said, steering Ivy away from the group.
“I actually have to join?” she hissed at me.
“Shouldn’t b
e a problem for the star of, what was it? The Goodbye Bird?”
“Bye Bye Birdie. And don’t pretend you don’t already have that info filed away,” she said. “Besides, my stage days are in the past.”
“Relax, it’s temporary,” I said. “We have to dig deeper on Bradley. Did you see his face when I asked him if he’d checked out Meredith’s bag?”
Ivy nodded. “Sketchville. Population: Bradley.”
“He’s hiding something. You’re going to find out what at the meeting.”
“Okay.” Shooting me a sideways glance, Ivy punched my arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“I can’t believe you made me be good cop.”
Chapter Ten
“Romeo, oh, Romeo. Something, something, Romeo.” My junior partner was twirling around, holding what looked to be a scrap of paper towel in her hand.
“Ivy, cool it.” We walked down the hall, surrounded by kids pushing past us, eager to be free for the day. I could think of a thousand ways to draw less attention to ourselves, none of which seemed to interest Ivy.
“What? I’m practicing.” She flung her head back and fluttered the paper towel across her forehead. “Drama Club is literally around the corner, and I feel under-rehearsed.”
I took out a piece of Juicy Smash and tossed it in my mouth before giving Ivy a once-over. “Play it the same way you did earlier. That was good.”
Ivy cupped a hand to her ear. “Excuse me? What was that?”
“You heard me.” I poked her in the shoulder. If I could get Ivy to concentrate, we had a chance of pulling this off. “For some reason, he likes you, so we have to use that to our advantage. Let’s review the plan.”
Ivy ticked off checkpoints in the air. “Get him comfortable. Get him talking.”
“Preferably about Meredith and Lisa,” I said.
“And if all else fails, get him mad and hope he trips up,” Ivy said with a final twirl.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m serious, pay attention. We have an opportunity here to get the inside track with a suspect. Are you ready for that?”
“I’m so ready.” Ivy straightened up, vibrating with excitement. “Lay the rest of the plan on me.”
“You have to stay in his good books. Be his new best friend. Get him to confide.”
“On it,” Ivy said and then looked at me with growing suspicion. “What are you doing while I’m undercover?”
I smiled and snapped the gum in my mouth. “A little B&E on Bradley’s locker. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find the checks.”
“Your assignment sounds like more fun,” Ivy said, miffed. “How are you gonna break into his locker?”
We’d arrived at the classroom the Drama Club met in, and I steered Ivy toward the door.
“That knowledge is above your clearance level,” I said.
“For now.” Ivy shot off a small salute. “See you on the flipside, Howard Wallace.”
“Remember: confidence, comfort, focus.” I prayed this wouldn’t end in disaster as she entered the classroom. Risking a peek inside, I spotted Bradley waving her over to the group of kids he was talking with. So far, so good. I hurried down the hallway to complete my own mission.
As I walked to my destination, I pulled a notebook out of my bag and flipped to the back. Earlier in the year, I’d made an important discovery in one of the janitor’s closets Pete let me use from time to time (for an extra fee, of course). One of those times, I encountered a file he’d left out. It was a list of locker combinations for all the lockers at Grantleyville Middle School. Naturally, I borrowed it and made a copy. Or five. Valuable information like that couldn’t go to waste.
“Sixty eight, sixty nine, seventy.” I tapped a finger along the metal fronts while I tracked down Bradley’s locker. After I found the combination on the list, it only took me two tries to get it open. Stepping back, I blew out a large bubble while I surveyed the contents of the locker.
Inside the door, an overflowing collage of pictures showcased the friendship of Bradley and Lisa. “Shrine” was probably a more accurate term. Bradley took his vow of best friendship very seriously. The contents of the locker were surprisingly jumbled. A pile of notebooks was rammed in haphazardly along with what looked like Drama Club notes. I was sifting through the papers when a flash of red caught my eye. Shoving all the books aside to get a clearer view, I nearly choked on my gum.
Taped to the back of the locker was a picture of Meredith. Bradley had drawn red horns on her head and given her a goatee. I carefully put everything back as I’d found it and closed the door.
I crowned myself the master of good timing when the instant I clicked the lock back into place, Mr. Vannick came around the corner and spotted me.
“What are you doing here?” He strode forward, and I tried to look as casual as possible.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” I said.
Mr. Vannick slowed down as he got close enough for a better look. He studied me for a moment before recognition sparked in his eyes. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re Howard Wallace, right?”
That phrase always led to trouble when it came out of the mouths of adults.
“Yes,” I said, slowly inching my way to the closest exit.
“I’ve heard about you.” He stepped closer and glanced at Bradley’s locker, its lock resting at a slightly crooked angle. “Is this your locker?”
“No, sir, I’m just—”
“Waiting for a friend,” Mr. Vannick said. “Yes, you mentioned that.”
Hunching my shoulders in my coat, I sidestepped away from Mr. Vannick and Bradley’s locker. “She’s probably done by now. I should get going.”
He nodded and rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. “You do that, Howard.” He leaned over me, the deep lines in his forehead each adding their own layer of disapproval. “Hanging around after school hours is ill-advised,” he said. “For any student.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Understood, sir.” I sped down the hall and relaxed my pace once I was out of sight. Time to meet up with Ivy and pursue some more ill-advised activities, all in the name of investigation.
Chapter Eleven
Thirty minutes later, I was cooling my heels on the back steps, still waiting for Ivy. Mr. Vannick never said anything about not hanging around outside the school. Good thing, too, since it looked like I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
The door slammed open, and Ivy staggered out, one hand plastered to her forehead and the other one grasping at the wall. “I survived,” she gasped, sagging down to the ground. “Although I think I may have signed up to audition for the spring musical, and that’s on you, pal.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” I said. “What’ve you got for me?”
Ivy scooted forward to sit on my step. “Our friend Bradley can’t say enough about the virtues of Lisa Grantley.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “He has a small shrine dedicated to her in his locker.”
“Creeper.”
“I think he prefers the term BFF.” I leaned back against the concrete. “There was also a less-than-complimentary picture of our client on display.”
Ivy nodded and stretched out her scrawny legs in front of her. “That’s his other favorite topic of conversation. Meredith Reddy is ‘the worst’!”
This was old news, staler by the minute. “Did you get anything useful out of him?”
“No, but . . .” Ivy trailed off and frowned.
“What?”
She picked idly at a loose thread at the bottom of her jeans before looking up again. “It was funny, watching him in Drama Club.”
I nodded, waiting for her to continue.
“He hangs back and waits to see what everyone else is going to do,” she said. “He never laughed at anything right away, just watched to see if anyone else was going to laugh first.”
I got up from the steps and held out a hand to help Ivy up. “This is the kid who was going to ‘r
ule the school’?”
“Exactly.” She hopped up on her feet, and we headed for the bike racks. “The more I hang out with him,” Ivy said, “the less I think he could have planned this thing with Meredith on his own. Someone else planted the seed.”
“Looks like tracking down Lisa has moved to the top of tomorrow’s list,” I said.
We came up to Big Blue, and Ivy hooted. “Nice ride,” she said. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Ivy, meet Big Blue. Blue, meet my first major business regret.” I unlocked Blue, and Ivy eyed her skeptically.
“Do you actually ride this thing or just push it around for show? Ow!” Blue had run over Ivy’s foot as we started our warm-ups.
“Sorry, her eyesight’s not what it used to be.”
Ivy rubbed her foot and gave me the stink eye.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s time to get serious with your training.”
Blue’s cruising speed was the same as Ivy’s walking speed, so we shared the sidewalk at an amiable pace. “We’ll start downtown,” I said, “to help you get the lay of the land.”
“What, all five blocks of it?” Ivy snorted.
I shook my head. “If you want to be a P.I., you have to be familiar with where you work. Rule number three is ‘know your surroundings.’ You won’t be able to track something down if you don’t know where to start. And you definitely won’t be able to get answers if you don’t know the people.”
Ivy gave an exaggerated bow with a sweep of her arm. “Then lead on, my friend. Show me the secrets of Snoresville.”
I ignored that cheap shot and kept going. “Grantleyville was founded by the four Grantley siblings—Archibald, Henry, Marcus, and Rosalind—in 1869.”
Staggering around the sidewalk, Ivy groaned. “Howard, what’s with the history lesson? I heard all that junk from the Welcome Wagon lady.” We turned onto Main Street.
“Fair enough,” I said. “But did she tell you this town is still lousy with Grantleys? Look around, what do you see?”
Ivy scanned the main drag, taking in the tidy storefronts with their color-coordinated signs. “Grantley Hardware, Grantley Grocery, Grantley Menswear, Grantley Pharmacy . . . okay, yeah, that’s a lot of Grantleys.”
