by Casey Lyall
I sped up to keep pace with her. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday,” I said.
“Are we going to talk about something I don’t already know?”
“How about, ‘I’m sorry’?” I stepped in front of Ivy so we could be face to face. “I am,” I said. “I’m really sorry.”
She eyed me warily. “Are you all done with the Miles thing? No more making your theories fit the case?”
“I was following logical clues,” I said, bristling at her tone. “It’s our job to check out every lead.”
“Oh, man,” she said. “Would it kill you to admit that that wasn’t the best call?”
“Partners are supposed to back each other up.”
“Not when one of them is going off on half-baked vendettas. I know you and Miles have a history—”
“I was following the clues. They led to Miles. That’s all there is to it.”
“Howard, I’m trying to be supportive, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to blindly follow you while you do whatever you want,” she said. “That’s not what a partnership is, remember?”
“It’s a little hard to tell lately,” I snapped, starting back up the sidewalk.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Ivy said, chasing after me.
“The disappearing, the arguing.” The lying. “Feels more like I’ve been running a solo operation lately.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“What was going on with your grandma back there?
“What?”
“It looked like you were fighting.”
“Oh,” Ivy said, pulling apart a lock of her hair and twirling it on her fingers. “I told her about yesterday, and she was trying to get me to talk to you about it. Thought we should make up.”
“Ah,” I said, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Lying. Again. “Well, it’s not a bad suggestion. In theory.”
“Our execution sucks.” She smiled at me.
“Do-over?” I held out a hand to Ivy. Yelling and upfront questioning wasn’t working. I was going to have to stick to her like glue if I had any hope of figuring out what was going on. And a fresh start was the only way to do that.
“Sure.” She fist-bumped my open hand and kept walking. I felt like we’d put a bandage on a cut that kept splitting wider. Popping a piece of Juicy, I tamped down on the sick feeling that bubbled up in my stomach.
We walked the rest of the way to school in silence. I kept replaying the facts of the case as we knew them, trying to figure out what we’d missed. I had no idea what was going on in Ivy’s head. She plowed through the slush, her eyebrows drawn together in contemplation.
“Wallace! Mason!” Mr. Williams shouted at us from the corner of the schoolyard. He flailed his arms, beckoning us over.
“So much for keeping things under the radar,” I said.
“Updates,” Mr. Williams said as we walked up to him. “I want ’em and I want ’em now.”
“Well, sir . . .,” I started.
“Not here,” he hissed. “Honestly, Wallace. A little finesse goes a long way. Come on, come on, come on.” Mr. Williams hustled us into the school and down to his office. After checking to make sure the hall was clear, he shut the door and sat behind his desk. “Now, talk.”
“We don’t have much,” I said. “We’ve eliminated a number of suspects and we’re continuing to narrow down the field.”
“What are you, a politician?” The coach drummed his hands on the desk and took a slug from his water bottle. “I need details. Facts. Cold, hard evidence. What am I paying you for?”
I bit down on the retort that was struggling to escape from my mouth. “These things take time,” I said.
“Much like a mascot,” Mr. Williams said. “Time is something we do not have.” He wiped an arm across his forehead. “I’m going to level with you kids. Things have not been going very well for us this year.”
“With the team?” Ivy drew her notebook out of her bag.
“Yes, with the team,” the coach said. “We’re having our worst season in twenty years. The guys play like snails. Our bus broke down last month, and I had to pull every string I had in order to get us one for the tri-county tournament. Which we lost. Sparty’s gone. The Parents’ Association is talking about pressuring the school into appointing a new coach. We need to win this weekend.”
“We’re working on it,” I said.
“Work faster,” Mr. Williams said, leaning forward over the desk. “Work like your grades depend on it.”
“Are you threatening us?”
“Yes.” The coach nodded enthusiastically. “Find me Spartacus, or you fail.”
“Glad we cleared that up.”
Ivy and I showed ourselves out of the office. Mr. Williams called out after us, “I want that dog by Saturday morning!”
Hurrying up the hall to our lockers, I racked my brain trying to figure out which stone we’d left unturned. “We have to figure this out,” I said. “There’s got to be something we missed.”
“Retrace our steps?” Ivy suggested.
“We checked out the team, checked out Stoverton, checked out Miles,” I said. “What else is there?”
“We never finished checking out the team,” Ivy said. “Basketball. Face. Scrambled noggin. Remember?”
“Vividly.” I poked at my still-tender cheek. “We never searched the locker room either. Maybe that’s the key.”
“You’re going to make me miss lunch again, aren’t you?” Ivy sighed.
“When duty calls, you get it to go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m not investigating on an empty stomach,” Ivy said, shutting her locker with a snap. “Any evidence that’s been sitting there all week is not going to disappear in the two seconds it’ll take me to buy lunch.”
My stomach growled before I could answer, and Ivy laughed. “Exactly,” she said. “Come on.” She hauled me by the arm of my lucky coat, speeding through the doors of the crowded cafeteria. I spotted a familiar face as Ivy zipped over to the relatively short lunch line.
“Hey,” I said, sliding into a chair next to Leyla at the bake sale table. “I didn’t know you were part of the Arts Council.”
She smacked at my wandering fingers, making their way toward a butter tart, and rolled her eyes. “I’m not,” she said. “Ashi roped me into watching the table while she looked for Mrs. Pamuk. Apparently Mr. Williams is trying to kick them out of this spot so the team can sell tickets for Saturday. It’s a whole thing.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Meh,” Leyla said. “I’ve got articles to write up, and she was freaking out. I can work here just as well as anywhere else. Hey!” She pointed at a group of kids walking by. “Buy some cookies. You look like you can spare two bucks.”
“Two? Ashi told me four.”
“She had you pegged.” Leyla chuckled. “Your own fault for not reading the sign. I knew I liked that kid.” She stuffed the money she’d collected into a little tin and waved at Ivy as she walked up. “Hey, Ivy. I’m teaching Howard about supply and demand.”
“Please don’t.” Ivy grimaced around her sandwich.
“I know plenty,” I said, grabbing a cookie off the table, ignoring Ivy’s squawk. “Trust me. Ashi owes me this one.”
“Speaking of . . .” Ivy said, “where is Ashi? I thought she was in charge of the table today.”
Leyla filled her in on the impending eviction by the basketball team, and Ivy let out a low whistle. “Ellis is going to flip out,” she said.
“Incoming.” Leyla dipped her chin toward the far end of the cafeteria. Mr. Williams was on his way over to our table.
“We’d better go find Ashi and Mrs. Pamuk before Mr. Williams shuts you guys down.” Ivy poked at my shoulder, motioning for me to get out of the chair. “Leyla, can you distract him for a bit?”
“Definitely,” Leyla said, a terrifying grin cutting across her face. “I want to ask him a few questions for our upcoming
issue.” Leaving the situation in her intense hands, Ivy and I quick-marched out of the caf and through the doors.
“Where do you think they’ll be?” Ivy did a 360 check of the hallway. Process of elimination meant investigating the most likely spots first. I weighed the odds.
“Let’s go to Mrs. Pamuk’s classroom,” I said, turning left. Ivy and I kept our pace on the fine line between brisk and suspicious. Leyla could only stall for so long. We couldn’t afford to waste time being hauled aside by a teacher for questioning.
Rounding the next corner, we spotted our target. Ashi stood in front of Mrs. Pamuk’s room, brows drawn together in a frown, green glasses sliding down her nose as her fingers flew over her phone. Message complete, she stuffed her phone into her bag and took off at a jog down the hallway. My detective senses were tingling. I didn’t know if it was the set of her jaw or the fact that she’d hosed me on the cookies, but Ashi was looking pretty shifty. I grabbed Ivy’s hand to stop her from calling out.
“Wait,” I said. “I want to see where she’s going.”
“Probably to the cafeteria to deal with the table situation,” Ivy said.
“Caf’s behind us.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “Think she’s taking the long, long way around?”
My partner looked back at Ashi’s retreating form, an argument dancing on the tip of her tongue.
“There’s something I can’t put my finger on,” I said. “Trust me?”
“Ugh, okay, fine,” Ivy said. “But if we’re doing this, we’d better get going because she’s losing us without even trying.”
Matching Ashi’s pace, Ivy and I kept a safe distance as she led us through the halls. I held Ivy back at the last corner as our final destination became clear. “I think she’s going to the music room.”
“Maybe Mrs. Pamuk wasn’t in class and she’s meeting her here. Or—”
“Ashi.” A whispered shout cut off Ivy’s theories. We peeked around the corner to see Scotty shuffle running from the other end of the hall toward Ashi. They held a whispered conversation, too low for us to hear, but punctuated by a great deal of arm waving. Ashi shushed Scotty into submission, and he opened up the door to the music room, ushering her inside.
I looked back at my partner. “I think we should—”
“Yes, obviously,” she said, pushing me forward. “Go, go.”
We tiptoed up to the doors before realizing our predicament. There was no way to get into the room without alerting Scotty and Ashi to our presence. Ivy pointed to the grate at the bottom of the door. In a more shielded environment, it’d be an ideal eavesdropping tool. But out in the hallway, we were totally exposed. Anyone walking by would have at least one question about why we were crouched up against the door. Ivy dropped down, making the decision for us. I followed suit, keeping one ear tuned to the hallway and the other pressed up against the grate.
I was greeted by an explosion of sneezes. “I can’t do this anymore,” Scotty said, his voice muffled as he struggled to breathe and talk with a head full of snot. “The stress, the hiding, the allergies—it’s too much.”
“I know, I know,” Ashi answered. “It’s getting intense. I want to bring him back, but everyone else said no.”
“Spartacus?” I mouthed at my partner. Ivy’s eyes widened.
“What are they waiting for?” Scotty asked between sneezes.
“They said we have to prove our point, or nothing will change,” the girl said. “We’ll keep him until after the game on Saturday. Can you handle that?”
“No,” Scotty cried. “Look at me. I’m a mess. Listen, I know you can’t take him, but there’s someone who can. Someone we can trust.”
The few beats of silence had me straining closer for Ashi’s reply.
“What are you talking about? What did you do, Scotty?” A chair squeaked across the floor. I squinted through the grate, just able to see Ashi’s legs pacing around the room. “You can’t bring anyone else into this,” she said. “We had a pact to keep us all safe.”
“He understands,” Scotty replied. “He wants to help, and we can’t keep passing you-know-who around. We’re bound to get caught. No one will ask questions at his house.”
“Who is it?”
Scotty’s answer was muffled by the scrape of a chair as Ashi sat back down. Her sigh filled the room. “I don’t know,” she said. “When were you going to make the swap?”
“Today,” Scotty said. “You can come by my house after school and check it out. Ask all the questions you want.”
Her next words were covered up by a loud, wet, trumpeting blast as Scotty blew his nose. “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t wait to be able to breathe again.”
I was up off the ground the instant their footsteps headed toward the door, Ivy lightning-quick beside me. Running down the hall was a far cry from inconspicuous. We needed a quick escape. I glanced around and, decision made, hauled Ivy along with me. Flying three steps forward, I pushed us through the door across the hall, letting it quietly swing shut behind us.
Ivy stared at the urinals and yellow-tinged floor before taking in the sinks dotted with wads of wet toilet paper. She rolled her eyes at me and I shrugged. Wasn’t my fault that the boys’ bathroom was the closest unlocked room. An emergency escape is never perfect.
“Well,” Ivy said, “I understand why we never hold our meetings in here.”
I waved a hand to shush her as I listened to Scotty and Ashi’s retreat. Scotty and Ashi. My mind was whirling. Turning back to Ivy, I shook my head. “What have they gotten themselves into? What are they thinking? How many people are involved in this?”
“Excellent questions,” Ivy said. “Maybe ones we should pose to Scotty and Ashi?”
“No, no,” I said. “We need more information before giving them the opportunity to lie . . . like they have been . . . this whole time.” That was going to take a while to sink in.
“You’re in Drama Club with Ashi. You haven’t heard anything? Noticed anything?”
“Howard, I’m in Drama Club, but I’m not in Drama Club.” Ivy dismissed my question. “I go to the meetings—”
“Sometimes.”
“Unnecessary sass,” she said, pausing midpace to cut me some side-eye. “I go to the meetings, but only for fun. I don’t get involved in the politics. But Ashi does. She’s on the Arts Council too.”
We stood in the bathroom, listening to water gurgle in the drain as we processed this new development. Ivy shook her head. “They must have a good reason. They wouldn’t do something like this without a real reason.”
“Trust me, we’re going to find out what it is, but reason or not, now we’ve got facts. We know who’s got Spartacus and where.” I grinned. “Now we can steal him back.”
“Steal him?” Ivy’s eyes widened. “How do you figure we’ll do that?”
“Luckily,” I said. “We know a thief and he owes us a favor.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scotty lived in an older area of town, full of two-story yellow brick houses and gardens that looked like they didn’t dare put a leaf out of place. Each sidewalk lined up precisely with the front door, and every driveway was banished to the rear, off the alleyway. Asphalt had no place in these picture-perfect yards. The Home and Garden Society enforced that rule with an iron fist.
“Which one is Scotty’s house?” Ivy asked, looking down the row. I pointed out one in the middle, reconsidered, and slid my hand to point at the one on the right. “Really?”
“Ninety percent sure it’s that one,” I said. “No, you know what, ninety-five percent sure.” Blue had been navigating last time we were here, so I couldn’t be faulted for a fuzzy memory. Now that we had our target, it was time to infiltrate. Scoping out the street, I made note of the sole car taking up space three doors over. Our path was clear.
We made our way down the back alley, crouching low to keep our heads below the fence line. I counted off the yards until I realized I’d never checked how many houses in we�
��d need to go before we started. My partner bumped into me as I stopped short.
“Is this it?”
“Yes,” I said, popping my head up to check out the back of the house—looked close enough, anyway.
Ivy took one look at my face and scowled. “You forgot to count, didn’t you?”
“I was testing to see if you were counting,” I said.
“I can see why you called me,” said a voice from the shed behind us. Toby came into view, shaking his head. “You definitely need my help.”
“Hey, Toby,” Ivy said, grabbing on to my sleeve. “Howard, can we talk for a minute? Over here?” She dragged me back up the alley, out of Toby’s hearing. “Why are we using Toby for this? I thought we were supposed to be curbing the criminal element in Grantleyville.”
“We need someone with his skill set if we have to break into Scotty’s house.”
“Break into—we’re not breaking into Scotty’s house,” Ivy hissed.
“If I see Spartacus in there, we are,” I said, waving away the rest of her protests. “Ivy, we’re so close to cracking this case, I can taste it. We use Toby, we’re in, we’re out, problem solved.”
“I don’t like it,” she said. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re the one who wanted to stop trading in favors,” I said. “I’m clearing them off the books. He owes us for not turning him in, and now we’re square. Don’t worry about it.” I walked back over to Toby. “It’s this one here,” I said, pointing to the wooden fence.
“Up and over, eh?” He lugged a garbage can around and scrambled on top. Grabbing onto the top of the fence, he hauled himself onto the narrow edge. “You coming?”
Gritting my teeth, I climbed up on the can and took a deep breath. Sweat pooled down my back. Good thing my lucky coat was extra-absorbent.
“Howard,” Toby whispered, “what’s the holdup?”
“He doesn’t like heights,” Ivy said from behind me.
Toby leapt nimbly off the fence, making a tidy landing in the snow. “Come on,” he said. “It’s, like, four feet.”
