Howard Wallace, P.I.

by Casey Lyall

  “Sure is,” I said. “They still own half the town. There’re a few independents like Marvin over there who thumb their nose at the establishment, but everyone else is in their pocket. Not much goes on here that the Grantleys don’t know about.”

  Ivy looked delighted at this information. “Snoresville has a Mafia. I love it!”

  “The point, Ivy,” I said, hoping to redirect the lesson, “is that you have to know who will give you the goods and who’ll turn you over to your folks. It’s hard to work on an investigation when you’re grounded.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “You bet.”

  She began looking at the non-Grantley storefronts with greater interest. “So tell me who’s willing to play ball.”

  I pointed out the pawnshop first—hard to miss, with its faded blue paneling and crooked front stoop. “There’s Marvin. But watch out for him; he usually expects a favor in return. Don’t promise anything you can’t deliver.” I motioned to Ivy’s bag. “You should probably be writing this down.” She rolled her eyes but went ahead and tugged out her notebook.

  “Next is Mrs. Hernandez. She runs the bakery and the coffee shop.” The tantalizing scent of fresh-baked Danishes drifted past my nose as we walked by. I resisted going in. My informants weren’t prepared for the likes of Ivy on such short notice. “All the news makes its way through this door first,” I said, shuffling her past the shop. “But if you go, give yourself lots of time. There’s twenty minutes of gossip attached to every good piece of intel.”

  We neared the end of the road where the busy shops gave way to the peaceful, tree-lined streets of suburbia. The last stop on our tour was a squat building that’d laid its foundation before Grantleyville had a name. “Butcher shop,” I said. “Ollie Benson, the assistant, runs a numbers game out the back. He’s usually good for a tip or two if the boss is away. A pop and a chocolate bar.”

  Ivy paused and squinted at her notes. “And that is?”

  “His usual fee.”

  She nodded and scribbled that information down. “Got it. Who else?”

  Blue and I turned off Main Street and started coasting down Albert. “That’s it. I’m not giving you all my sources on the first day. Now we go to the home office,” I called out. “Keep up!”

  Ivy chugged along behind me. “You know, I think I’ve figured out what bugs me about this town.”

  I looked back at her. “No movie theater?”

  “Well, there’s that. But no, it’s the smell.”

  “What are you talking about?” I sniffed. “Grantleyville doesn’t smell.”

  “Exactly! It always smelled in the city. I miss it. The street meat, the people, even the garbage! Chock-full of smells. And sounds! Here all you hear at night is the Snoresville Cricket Brigade.”

  “It’s peaceful,” I said, steering us toward my house.

  “It’s weird,” she grumbled.

  We trooped up the driveway, and I hustled Ivy into the garage. The last thing I needed was my mother or sister spotting her and making a big deal about me bringing a girl home. I didn’t feel like explaining the finer points of our business relationship to them. I settled Blue in, and then Ivy and I headed to the home office.

  She stopped in her tracks at the sight of it. I couldn’t blame her. It was particularly striking in broad daylight. My old man and I were not what you would call master craftsmen. The building had a distinct lean we’d tried to cover up with a bright coat of paint. The gleam of fire engine red was broken up by the gaps between the boards. It creaked a little but was perfectly safe to be in if there were no high winds.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess this is a Howard Wallace original.”

  I grinned and held the door open for her. “Frank Wallace and Son.”

  Once inside, Ivy started to nose around. She peered at my hand-drawn map of the town.

  “You couldn’t have bought one of these?”

  “Not with customized shortcuts and escape routes. I’ll help you make one for yourself.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  It was a small space to begin with, but having another person inside made it seem miniscule. The office had been designed for a party of one, and I doubted it could withstand a renovation. I hoped she wasn’t expecting a desk.

  “Hey, are these your old partners?” Ivy asked. “I thought you said you worked alone.”

  My gut twisted as I recognized the clump of photos she was pointing at. “No, and I do. That’s Noah. He moved before the beginning of the summer.”

  She turned to face me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Not a partner. Howard Wallace, was this individual actually your friend?”

  “Can we move this along?” I asked, debating whether to take offense at the astonishment in her voice. Better to nip the conversation in the bud. We had way too much work to do to be wasting time with a trip down memory lane.

  Ivy was back to examining the photos. “I didn’t think you had any friends,” she murmured.

  “I don’t,” I said. “Remember that part where he moved?” Leaving me to deal with the perilous terrain of Grantleyville Middle School alone. Some things were unforgiveable. Ivy’s sigh brought me out of my brooding.

  “It sucks when people leave, doesn’t it?” she mused.

  Easy for her to say. “How would you know? You did the leaving.”

  “Not always.”

  That got my spidey-P.I. senses tingling. “What do you mean?” I asked, only to be met by a wall of deflection.

  “Hey, who’s this other guy?” Ivy was a fraction of an inch away from the photo. “He looks familiar.”

  “He’s nobody. Come on. I’m not paying you to nose around.”

  “Actually, you are.” Ivy blinked. “Is that Miles Fletcher? You know Miles Fletcher?”

  “Used to know.” I grabbed the photos off the wall, cursing myself for keeping the stupid things. They only reminded me of a couple of jerks who couldn’t be bothered to stick around. Snaking the garbage can out from under the desk, I tossed them in.

  “Past tense,” I said. “Before he grew a foot and gained enough super jock powers to make everyone forget he used to be a nerd. Including him.”

  “Hm.” Ivy clucked her tongue, looking from me to the garbage can. “Anything you maybe wanna talk about, Howard?”

  “You first.”

  She poked at the papers on the desk. “Isn’t there more to this training thing?”

  “That’s what I thought. Sit here,” I said, steering her closer to the ugly comfy chair. Maybe the smell would put a cap on the conversation.

  Ivy plopped down on the seat, coughing when the cloud of stench rose up to envelop her.

  “I want you to know that I’m here for you,” she said, choking out the last words, “partner.”

  “Save it, sister, I know you’re digging for dirt.”

  Ivy scrunched her nose at me, thwarted. “Miles is actually pretty cute,” she mused. “Hey, do you think—”

  “I will fire you if you finish that sentence,” I said.

  She opened her mouth to pepper me with more questions, but I cut her off before she could continue. “Listen, the training stuff is in my room. Sit tight, and keep your hands to yourself until I get back.” Ivy slouched down in the chair and made a production of laying her hands carefully on her lap.

  “This chair stinks, you know,” she called out after me.

  I made the trip into the house and back in less than three minutes. Ivy was already nose-deep in the filing cabinet. “Have you ever heard of alphabetization?” she asked. “Or a fancy new machine called a computer?” I walked over and gave the drawer a push. It shrieked and squealed, giving Ivy enough time to pull her hand out before it slammed shut with a crash.

  “Hard to run a computer in here with no electricity,” I said. “Besides, I like to keep all my files where I can see them.” Not to mention my parents preferred to closely monitor my Internet usage. Apparently my search history had
set off some alarm bells.

  She leaned against the cabinet and tapped the top drawer. “What’s the T and C surveillance file all about?”

  “Something I’m working on my own. Keep out of it.”

  “You should get me my own filing cabinet then. And my own desk.”

  I bit back a sigh and handed her the training materials. “Junior partners get a notepad. End of story.”

  Ivy juggled the stack of movies I’d given her. “What’s this?”

  “The best way to teach yourself how to be a P.I. is to learn from the greats,” I said. “Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon, Philip Marlowe in The Big Sleep, and Nick and Nora Charles in The Thin Man.”

  “You’re not serious.” Ivy’s grin faded. “Howard Wallace. There are over fifteen movies here.”

  “Roughly thirty hours of intense theory and methodology,” I said. “These guys will teach you how to talk, how to tail a suspect, the top interrogation techniques. You name it, they’ll show you the best way to do it.”

  Ivy looked dubiously at the pile. “I have a feeling the only thing these are going to help explain is you.”

  “I used them to come up with the Rules,” I said as I plopped a sheet of paper on top of the stack. “Memorize them. All members of Wallace Investigations must follow these rules to achieve investigative success.”

  Ivy scanned the list with a critical eye. “Did these movies also help you come up with the dress code?”

  “Out,” I said. “Be at the school office early so we can get cracking on Lisa.”

  “Yes, sir.” She clicked her heels together and nodded off a salute while balancing the load in her arms. I followed her out the door and was watching her leave when a flurry of activity in the kitchen window caught my eye. Groaning, I shook my head as I marched to the back door. Better to catch my mother before she caught Ivy.

  The door opened the instant I reached for the handle. My mother appeared in the doorway, craning her head around me in an attempt to see the sidewalk. “Howard, does your friend want to stay for supper?”

  “If you feed her, she’ll keep coming back.”

  “Howard Wallace, don’t be rude. It would be nice for us to get to know your new friend.”

  “Quit calling her that. She’s not my friend. She’s my partner.”

  Her encouraging smile faded at that bit of news. “Partner. Joined your ‘detective agency’ type partner?” I pushed past her into the kitchen and took off my coat.

  “Yeah, Ivy Mason. She got it in her head she wants to be a P.I., so I cut her a break.”

  “Ivy was here?” My old man had wandered into the kitchen and was sniffing at the various pots on the stove. “Why didn’t you invite her for dinner?”

  My mother turned to him in disbelief. “You know about Ivy? How do you know about her and I don’t?”

  “Howard’s second rule of private investigation, dear,” Pops smiled. “Ask the right questions.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning got off to a bumpy start. Two days of hard labor, trekking back and forth to school, put Blue in a foul mood. She got that way every Wednesday. I managed to coax her down the driveway only to have her drop her chain once we hit the sidewalk. “Blue!” I said. “Pull yourself together.” It took me a few minutes to set everything back to rights, and then I gave her a dollop of hard truth.

  “Here’s the thing, Big Blue. You’re a bike. You’re built to carry people around. That’s never going to change, so you’re gonna have to get it square in that rusty noggin of yours.” I patted her headlamp affectionately. “We’re only halfway through the week, and I still have business to conduct. It’d be nice if you could try to maintain at least a small level of professionalism. Do that for me and you can have the weekend off. Deal?”

  She didn’t fall over or bust a tire, so I figured it was safe to assume we had an understanding. The rest of the ride was smooth until we hit Maple Street. Blue and I slowed down so I could adjust my lunch. We were nearly at the corner when I heard a familiar voice calling my name.

  “Howard Wallace! Wait!”

  Blue rattled to a stop, and I turned to see Ivy huffing down the sidewalk after me. This was the last thing I needed: a partner who didn’t stick to a plan. “Weren’t we supposed to meet at school?” I asked, frowning. It was one thing for me to deal with Tim and Carl every morning. I had no intention of dropping off innocent bystanders at their feet.

  “Good morning to you too, Howard.”

  “How did you even find me?” I hadn’t been training her that well.

  Ivy leaned against the stop sign, fanning herself with the edges of her coat. “I’m a crazy good detective,” she said. “Plus I stopped by your house first, and your mom told me you’d be going this way.”

  “Ratted out by my own mother. The shame.” The woman had no idea what she’d done.

  “I’m going to pretend you said, ‘Hey, Ivy! Nice to have some company on the walk to school.’” Ivy hopped away from her post and twirled on the sidewalk. “So,” she asked. “What do you think?” It was a bright, balmy October day and Ivy had on a neon green raincoat with yellow daisies on it.

  The misfortune of having an older sister had taught me a number of hard and fast life lessons. Never to comment on fashion choices was in the top five. Besides, appropriate outerwear was the least of my concerns at this point. I grabbed a piece of gum from my pocket and chewed it as I decided the best avenue of avoidance. On all fronts.

  She nudged me with her elbow. “Every P.I. wears a trench coat, right?”

  “Is that what that is?” Good thing I’d never answered the question.

  Ivy sulked and yanked on my sleeve. “First of all, look who’s talking, bathrobe boy. And what was that you told me? ‘Work with what you’ve got’?”

  At least she’d been listening.

  “Don’t expect to be doing any surveillance in that getup.”

  “Right, because the girl in the raincoat would look so out of place next to the boy in the loungewear.”

  “Brown loungewear, Ivy,” I said. “Earth tones blend.”

  Ivy started up the hill, flapping the sides of her coat as she went. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “Plastic doesn’t breathe. It is Sweat City under here.”

  Her wardrobe complaints turned to white noise as my brain whipped through different scenarios, trying to figure out how to redirect Ivy and get her out of the line of fire. We might have been spotted by now. If I stuck around as a distraction, Ivy had a chance at getting to school uninterrupted. I slid off Blue and wheeled her alongside my clueless partner. “You should cut over to Hickory Street.” I said, grasping at straws. “More trees, lots of shade.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?” Ivy asked.

  We were getting close to the danger zone, but Ivy still had time to turn back. “Only looking out for my partner,” I said.

  “Aw, how sweet,” she said. “But why would I take a detour when we’re almost there?”

  “This route has its drawbacks,” I said.

  Right on cue, Tim and Carl surged out of the bushes, and Ivy yelped in alarm.

  “Morning, Howie, you know the drill—” Tim cut off abruptly when he noticed Ivy standing beside me. “What a surprise,” he said in a long drawl. “Howie’s got a friend.”

  With a miniscule shake of my head, I shot Ivy a hard look that I hoped said, Keep quiet and follow my lead.

  “Did you get a lady friend to go with your lady cycle?” Tim asked.

  “Excuse me?” Ivy snapped. Cringing inwardly, I made a note to work on more effective silent eye communication.

  “No offense to you, Freckles,” he said, “but it’s most unusual to see our pal Howard in the company of other humans.”

  I rummaged through my bag for my lunch. “I’ve got what you want, Tim. Leave her alone, okay?”

  Tim sucked in a breath and hocked a wad of spit at my feet. “No can do, Howie,” he said. “She wants to pass, she’s gotta pay the
toll.”

  Ivy put her hand up. “Toll?”

  “Your lunch.” Tim pointed at her bag and grinned.

  “For real?” she asked. “This is your thing? Ambushing kids and stealing their lunches? Way to aim low in life, guys.”

  “Ivy,” I hissed at her as quietly as possible, but it didn’t matter. She was on a roll.

  “Who actually puts up with this ridiculousness?”

  Tim pointed at me, and Carl coughed. Ivy’s mouth fell open when she caught sight of the lunch bag in my grasp. She put a hand on her backpack and shook her head. “No, no way.”

  I passed my lunch over to Tim. “How about we call it even with that, eh, guys? Give her a pass.”

  Tim gestured for Ivy’s bag. “We do not disseminate.”

  “Discriminate,” Carl said.

  “Or that.” Tim took a step toward Ivy. “Equal stealing from all.”

  A stubborn look clouded Ivy’s face, and she held her ground.

  “Ivy, just do it,” I pleaded. “We’ll get you something else to eat.”

  “That’s not the point,” she said, holding her bag tight to her chest. “I refuse to hand over my lunch simply because these idiots said so.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “Ivy, I’m begging you.”

  She swung her gaze back and forth between me and the moron patrol. Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “No.”

  Tim smiled. He never encountered much opposition and was enjoying the change of pace. “If you don’t pay the lunch toll,” he said. “You have to pay the W toll.”

  Ivy stared at Tim, bewilderment crowding out her anger. “What’s the W toll?”

  Tim cracked his knuckles, and he and Carl stepped forward as one. I groaned, and Ivy turned to me.

  “Seriously, what’s the W toll?”

  ... .- -- -..-. ... .--. .- -.. .

  Five minutes later, we were back on our route, picking our underwear out of our teeth.

  “If you’d listened to me even a little bit, this could have been avoided.” I shook my head as I kept a shaken-up Blue on a steady course. “Junior partner,” I said. “You’re supposed to follow my lead.”