Howard Wallace, P.I.

by Casey Lyall

  Wait, what?

  Tim approached, cracking his knuckles, as I stood frozen in place. I had no backup and no escape. This was not going to be pretty.

  “Hang on,” I said.

  My tormentors stopped and stared.

  “Is the W toll still an option?”

  “Shut up, Howie.” Tim sneered and lunged.

  Chapter Twenty

  My cheek throbbed as I hobbled to school. Tim subscribed wholeheartedly to the “eye for an eye” philosophy. Or slap for a slap, in this case. Other than that, I wasn’t much worse for wear. He’d roughed me up a bit, but his heart wasn’t really in it. It would take him a while to get over the shock of me taking a stand. I wasn’t proud of it. Well, a little bit proud. But violence was not the ultimate solution to the Tim and Carl problem.

  “Howard!”

  Ivy was waiting for me at the corner by the school with Meredith and Delia a step behind. She looked me over with a raised eyebrow. “What the heck happened to you?”

  “A poorly timed moment of lightning-fast reflexes.”

  “Couldn’t have been that fast.”

  “It started out well.”

  “And ended with your face like that,” Ivy said. “You need practice.”

  “Not planning on it anytime soon.” I nodded at the girls behind her. “To what do I owe the welcoming committee?”

  Ivy passed me an envelope. “This.” The piece of paper inside was wrapped around a small rectangle. I unfolded it to reveal a check stub and a note that said “Say goodbye to the activity fund.” Enough was enough.

  Meredith was abnormally quiet, her face drawn and sad. All the fight had drained out of her. “It’s over, Howard,” she said. “They’ve won. I’m going to the principal’s office to tell Mrs. Rodriguez everything.”

  Delia nodded and wrapped a supportive arm around her friend’s shoulders. “It’s for the best. She’ll know how to make things right.”

  I pulled up the collar of my coat and stepped toward Meredith. “You’re forgetting one important piece of infor-mation,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Meredith eyed me with trepidation.

  “I have a plan.”

  “You said that yesterday.”

  “This is a better plan.”

  Meredith and Delia started to protest, and I cut them off with one quiet statement.

  “They attacked my bike.”

  The girls fell silent, and I let that sink in. I sat heavily on the bike rack and ran a hand along Blue’s empty space. “They sliced her up and left her on the ground,” I said. “I’m not walking away from that.”

  Meredith came and sat beside me. “Okay.”

  “What?” Delia squawked, and Meredith shushed her.

  “Howard’s had that bike forever,” Meredith said. “That was a rotten thing for someone to do.”

  “I feel bad for you, Howard, but this is ridiculous,” Delia said. “Over a silly bike?”

  “Blue’s part of the team,” Ivy said. “She deserves justice.” I met Ivy’s eyes, and she smiled. “We’ll get them.”

  “If you have a plan,” Meredith nodded, “I say finish it.”

  Delia shook her head. “This is a mistake,” she said. “There’s Mr. Vannick. Let’s settle this now.” She waved wildly as the man himself came whistling up the sidewalk. “Mr. Vannick!”

  He waved back. A flash of gold glinted in the sun. “Good morning!” he said. “How is everyone today?”

  The girls answered in a chorus of goods and fines while I crept closer to Mr. Vannick. That flash had been a fancy new wristwatch. My eyes darted to his other hand. It held a smooth, brown leather briefcase.

  “That is a fine-looking bag, sir. Is it new?”

  “Why, yes!” he said, beaming with pleasure. “I got it last night.”

  No wonder Mr. Vannick was in a good mood. He was having a field day parading around with his ill-gotten gains. Concern creased his forehead as he surveyed the schoolyard. “Where’s your blue cruiser today?”

  I stiffened. “Why do you ask?”

  “It looked like a neat old bike. It’d be a shame to hear you had to retire your wheels.” He chuckled like he’d made a joke. Nobody laughed.

  “My bike’s at home,” I said. “She’s taking a personal day.”

  Our eyes locked, and I caught an odd flicker in the depths of Mr. Vannick’s. He held up his wrist. “Look at the time. I’ve got to head in. Nice talking to you, kids.” Mr. Vannick slid his gaze away and hurried up the sidewalk into the school. Lisa and Bradley appeared at the entrance and waved him over. He stopped to talk, all three of them glancing back to look at us.

  “Do you believe me now?” I asked Delia.

  “That was kind of bizarre,” she admitted.

  “Do what you have to do, Howard,” Meredith said.

  I grabbed Ivy’s arm. “We’re going to go prepare.”

  “What’s this great new plan?” Ivy asked as we walked away.

  “We search Mr. Vannick’s classroom and find the checks.”

  Ivy choked and coughed until she found her voice again. “What?”

  “It’s the only way I can think of to get hard proof,” I said. “You don’t have to come. If we get caught, it’ll be serious. I can do this myself.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting all week for something like this,” Ivy said. “Don’t you dare leave me behind.” Reaching into her bag, Ivy pulled out her own pack of Juicy. “Just tell me when and where.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We had to wait until lunch to carry out our plan. Mr. Vannick was in the teachers’ lounge, and the coast was clear. Ivy played lookout while I tested the door to his classroom. Unlocked. We dashed inside, and the door closed behind us with a quiet click.

  “I’ll take the desk,” I said. “You check through the closet.”

  “This is more like it,” Ivy said. She rubbed her hands together with gleeful relish. “We’re finally doing some real detective work.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Aside from getting locked in a closet, all we’ve done is talk to people and spy on them. It’s about time we did some decent digging.”

  “That is real detective work,” I said. “Ninety percent boring and then ten percent borderline criminal.”

  Ivy laughed. “What do you mean ‘borderline’? Two minutes ago we broke into a teacher’s classroom.”

  “Technically, no, we didn’t. It wasn’t locked.” I opened a desk drawer. “And neither is this, so we’re good.”

  Opening the closet door, Ivy stepped inside. “Blergh! Organize much, Mr. Vannick?”

  “Start with his coat and briefcase,” I said. “We have to find something to tie him to the blackmail.” I started to comb through the desk and kept one eye on the door. There hadn’t been enough time to nail down Mr. Vannick’s schedule, so I had no idea how long our window of opportunity would last.

  There was a framed picture off to the side of a smiling brunette and two small girls. I assumed they were his wife and kids. Judging by the happy expressions, none of them were aware he was a cold-blooded bike-mangler. I flipped the picture down. I needed to focus on the task at hand.

  The top drawer held a stash of vanilla mint gum. Any doubts I’d had about the man’s character were solidified right then and there. No checks or half-written blackmail notes, though. “Find anything yet?” I asked Ivy.

  Her muffled voice floated around the closet door. “Nada.”

  We hadn’t searched thoroughly enough. Mr. Vannick was behind this. I was sure of it. Once we had our proof, he would pay, and he could start with Blue’s physical therapy bills.

  I opened the third drawer and shook my head. Birthday cards. They were probably covering up the checks. I picked them up and looked down. The bottom of the drawer was filled with office supplies and stickers. My heart did a slow turn in my chest. I opened the first card: Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Try not to get coffee on this one. The swirly handwri
ting was followed by a dozen x’s and o’s. My mouth went completely dry. The next card was filled with drawings and childish scrawl. I peered at the scribbles for a closer examination. It looked like a stick-figure man with a watch around his waist. I scanned the desk and spotted a small calendar. There was a tiny cake doodled on yesterday’s date.

  “Ivy,” I said. “I’ve made a very large mistake.”

  “What?” she called out, stepping out of the closet.

  The doorknob rattled. A male voice drifted in: “Wait a minute. I’ve got to grab my coat.”

  “Rule number nine,” I said to Ivy. Shoving her back in the closet, I grabbed Mr. Vannick’s coat before I shut the door. Just because I was breaking rules left, right, and center didn’t mean Ivy had to. I dropped the cards into the drawer. Mr. Vannick walked in the room and stopped abruptly when he saw me standing there. I used the awkward pause to surreptitiously close the drawer with my foot.

  “Your coat, sir?”

  “What are you doing in here?” Mr. Vannick strode over to the desk and spotted the other three drawers that I hadn’t yet managed to close. He snatched his coat out of my hands and pointed at the door. “Office. Now.” He took a quick look around before he propelled me out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

  We were halfway down the hall when I heard the soft click of the door again. Ivy had made it out. Rule number nine: don’t get caught. At least I still had someone on the outside.

  Maybe she could swing my bail money.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My parents and I sat huddled in the principal’s office. Ms. Kowalski was there too, as my homeroom teacher, but also, I was pretty sure, for her own amusement. She kept fidgeting in her chair as little bubbles of glee fizzed through her. Bearing witness to me being hauled before the principal was probably the highlight of her teaching career. The air was thick with silence and the dry scent of pencil shavings. I didn’t realize anyone used pencils anymore, let alone pencils that needed to be sharpened. Maybe it was a special air freshener sold to principals to add a subliminal sense of academia to their workspace.

  Pops and my mother were seated on either side of me. They bent back in their chairs to hold a silent conversation over my head, which involved them widening their eyes at each other at various intervals in between stares: a highly advanced form of parental Morse code.

  Mrs. Rodriguez entered with Mr. Vannick, crowding six people into an office built for two. She sat at her desk and opened the file that lay on it. Mr. Vannick stood to the right of her desk, at ease, his arms crossed loosely and one foot propped against the table leg. An awkward silence stretched out while we waited for her to finish reading the details of my crimes. She paused midway to put on her glasses. It was a fairly hefty file.

  “So, Howard Wallace,” Mrs. Rodriguez said at last. “You broke into Mr. Vannick’s office.”

  I raised my hand in protest. “That is inaccurate,” I said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Not your fault; you didn’t have all the facts.”

  “Howard,” my mother said, a warning hiss in her voice.

  “What I meant was the door was unlocked, so I did not, technically, break in.”

  Ms. Kowalski smiled. She loved it when I tried to argue my way out of things. My attempts usually started out strong, but quickly spiraled toward detention.

  In this instance, the point needed to be made. It was a key argument in my defense.

  “Fine,” Mrs. Rodriguez said. “You entered Mr. Vannick’s classroom and began to search through his desk—”

  “Also unlocked,” I said.

  Five pairs of eyes bore into me with varying degrees of hostility.

  “Please continue,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said with a gracious nod. I couldn’t tell if there was any underlying sarcasm in the move. Mrs. Rodriguez was good.

  “Howard, please tell us why you were searching Mr. Vannick’s desk.”

  There was only time for a split-second decision. Truth or lie? A lie wouldn’t fly with this crowd. Not when the eyewitness was standing in the room. I decided to go with a truth bomb.

  “I was looking for evidence,” I said. “Because Mr. Vannick was a suspect in a case I’m working.”

  “What case?”

  “I can’t tell you that without breaking detective-client privilege.”

  “That’s not a thing,” Mr. Vannick said, rolling his eyes with a snort.

  I leveled a steely glare at him. “It is if you want to stay in business.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez cleared her throat and closed the file. “I’d like to speak to Howard alone for a few minutes.”

  Ms. Kowalski grumbled as my old man touched my shoulder. “That okay with you, bud?” he asked. I nodded, and they all filed out of the room. The door closed behind them, followed by a brisk flurry of chair squeaks. Probably Mr. Vannick and Ms. Kowalski fighting over the best eavesdropping spot.

  Mrs. Rodriguez pressed her palms together and watched me over her steepled fingertips. I returned the gaze with a cool one of my own. Rule number eight: never tip your hand.

  “I want you to tell me the whole story,” she said. “From start to finish. And then we’ll see how I can help you solve this situation you’re in.”

  “Principal-student privilege?”

  “Within reason.”

  Any delusions I had about how this chat was going to go vanished instantly. “Within reason” was the phrase adults used when they wanted a back-door exit on a deal. Mrs. Rodriguez didn’t care about my reasons. In her eyes, I was guilty, and she was just looking for more dirt to add to the pile. This cozy chat was a fishing expedition in disguise.

  We’d see about that.

  “Why don’t we start with who hired you, Howard?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “To divulge that information would betray my client’s trust.”

  The ticking of the wall clock filled the silence as Mrs. Rodriguez studied me. “What was your case? I need some sort of information to work with.”

  I chose my words carefully. “Blackmail.”

  “What kind of blackmail could you have possibly thought Mr. Vannick was involved in?” She sat back in her chair in bewilderment.

  “The threat-filled kind,” I said. It was as detailed as I was willing to get.

  Mrs. Rodriguez leaned forward and tapped a finger on my file. “Howard, I don’t think you’re taking this situation seriously.”

  “With all due respect,” I said. “I wouldn’t have entered that classroom unless I was serious.”

  “Were you working alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

  I’d said all I could without dragging Ivy or Meredith into it. Keeping them clear was the best I could hope for at this point. If I could ride this mess out, I might be able to keep the whole case from circling the drain.

  “Howard?” Mrs. Rodriguez was watching me, waiting.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “There’s nothing else.”

  “Very well,” she said, disappointment skirting the edge of her tone. She stood up and walked around her desk to the door. “I need to speak with your parents, and then we’ll discuss your punishment.” The door clicked shut behind her.

  Right. Punishment. That was to be expected, I guess. No matter. I could take my lumps same as the next guy. I passed the time by inspecting the framed degrees and certificates hanging on the wall. They looked impressive—exactly what the home office needed to spruce it up a bit.

  The door opened, and the adults funneled back in. My parents resumed their seats on either side of me. They each placed a hand over mine, and the faith I had in weathering the storm began to falter. I wondered how severe my punishment was going to be.

  “Howard,” Mrs. Rodriguez said. “I admire your ingenuity and dedication; however, your methods leave something to be desired. First, I would like you to apologize to Mr. Vannick.”


  I stood and faced Mr. Vannick. “I apologize for misreading the evidence that you seemed to present,” I said. “I made a mistake and acted rashly. I promise never to do that again.” His forehead puckered in concentration, and I turned to Mrs. Rodriguez before he could pinpoint the holes in that apology. “You said ‘first.’ What’s next?”

  “You’re suspended for the rest of the day,” she said. “Starting Monday, you will undergo an in-school detention for the next three weeks. Mr. Vannick will decide what tasks you’ll complete during that period.”

  That cleared up any lingering pout on his face. Mrs. Rodriguez wasn’t finished. “Lastly, there is to be no more pri-vate detective work conducted on school grounds. Your ‘office’ will be dismantled. That is my final word on the subject.”

  I kicked myself for not thinking of that possibility. It was going to seriously cut into my productivity, but I could make it work. The business would survive. My parents thanked Mrs. Rodriguez and ushered me out of the office.

  We were halfway to the parking lot when I spotted Pete demolishing my corner. He’d cleared away the three-legged desk and stacked the pickle buckets neatly to one side. I jogged over before my parents could tell me to stop.

  “Pete.”

  “Howard.” He nodded glumly as I walked up. Pete was going to miss his weekly six-pack nearly as much as I was going to miss the office. “This is rotten luck,” he said. “But it was good while it lasted.”

  “Do me a favor, Pete?” I kept my voice low. “Don’t get rid of this stuff.”

  Pete scratched at his chin and kept one eye on my approaching parents. “I don’t know, Howard,” he said. “The boss said to take it all to the dump.”

  “Have a little faith, would you? I’m down, but I’m not out.”

  He kicked at one of the buckets. “You’re pretty out.”

  My mother was almost in earshot. The time for haggling was gone. “I’ll keep paying rent if you store it for me,” I said.

  “Deal.” Pete nodded as a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Time to go, Howard,” Pops said.

  My parents hustled me into the car before I had a chance to shake on it with Pete. As I sat down, I suddenly realized Ivy had no idea what was going on. My partner was in the wind, and who knew where I was going to end up?