Harper Madigan: Junior High Private Eye (7 page)

I eat lunch in my office, like usual, only today I can’t help but feel it’s because I’m too ashamed to face the world. Maybe that’s because Austin is sitting across from me in an uneven chair he dragged in from the hallway, all judgmental-like. He keeps tipping back and forth so the short leg clunks down hard on the floor, and every couple of clunks he looks up at me and sighs. Great. Not that I care what some stuffed shirt wannabe-journalist thinks about me, or what he might have told Dodge at their meeting this morning, because I really don’t. Even if I’m pretty sure he’s ashamed of me, not to mention disappointed.

I take a bite of my egg salad sandwich and poke a finger at what’s left of Eugene’s pencil, watching the two halves race each other across my desk. Connor got to me today. I shouldn’t have let that happen. Clients come first, grudges second. Even when they overlap. He was just so…

He was
getting away
with yet another crime, rubbing it in my face, and both of us knew it didn’t matter what I did, that he always gets off scot-free. He’s an untouchable, and while I might finagle my way past most of the rules at this school, that’s one that even I apparently can’t break.

The note Austin salvaged from the floor sits in its little Ziploc bag next to the pencil. It’s a list of names with numbers and cryptic symbols by them. I don’t know what any of it means, except that the name at the top is Alexis Briar, and there’s a little note next to it that reads
$500
. That, I get, but the rest of the marks are weird squiggles and triangles and dots—in other words, all nonsense, at least to me. It’s Connor’s own personal shorthand, like he doesn’t want just anyone to find out what he’s taking notes on. I don’t have to be able to read all the symbols to know that can’t be anything good.

I scan the list and notice it’s all girls—Hayley Thompson, Sarah Zalinski, Myra Powers, Sienna Cortese. They’ve all got dollar amounts next to their names, just like Alexis, and they’re all in order, highest dollar amount to lowest, but I don’t think that means anything other than that Connor’s organized.

A knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts and almost makes me choke on my sandwich. “It’s open,” I mumble through the food, wincing at the little bits of it sticking in my throat.

Eugene pokes his head in. Austin slams the feet of his chair onto the floor, or at least the three that actually touch, and sits up so straight you’d think someone replaced his spine with a yardstick.

I cover the broken halves of his pencil with my sandwich.

Eugene makes a face. “Bleuh! It smells like yesterday’s eggs in here.”

I start to indicate the sandwich on my desk, but then I stop myself, too aware of what’s underneath. “Eugene. What can I do for you?”

For an answer, he fishes around in his backpack and pulls out a marked up pop quiz. This time there’s a bright red F at the top. He holds it out to me with two fingers, like it’s diseased. “It’s getting worse.”

But as I read over the quiz, I see it’s so much worse than he thinks, and not just because of the pencil. My stomach twists in a way that makes me wish I hadn’t started lunch yet.

“I know it’s a pop quiz, but I’ve been studying
so hard
,” Eugene says, his voice tight. “I read the chapter about the current state of PTAs
twice
. I thought I had it down.”

I lick my lips, my brain still processing what I’m seeing, the words forming slowly. “Eugene, have you looked at this test?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I couldn’t. I mean, I tried, but… I just couldn’t look my failure in the eye.”

Right. I know what that’s like. My eyes shift to my sandwich, then back to his quiz. “The thing is? Some of these answers aren’t wrong.”

“They’re…
what
?” He flips the page around, his mouth moving silently as he reads over his answers.

“That first question? What does PTA stand for?”

“Parent Teacher Association,” he answers automatically, since it’s been drilled into our heads since Kindergarten. Some kids learn about current events and important dates in history, and we learn about the PTA. Or at least that’s what I gather from TV and from the shocked look on Austin’s face when Eugene spits out the answer like a trained robot.

Austin gapes at him, then at me. “So… you guys weren’t kidding about PTA History? It’s a real class?”

“Let me guess,” I tell him, “they don’t have PTA curriculum where you come from?”

He shakes his head, horrified. “This is so not okay. How can the school allow this? Does Principal Vickers know?”

“Of course she knows—
everyone
knows.” There’s just nothing they can do about it. Maybe Austin hasn’t figured out who calls the shots in this town yet, but he’ll learn. I share an eye roll with Eugene and ignore Austin, getting back to Eugene’s failed quiz. “Look at the second question, give an example of a class created by the PTA? Kind of hard to screw that one up, since you were in one when you took this. And you
didn’t
get it wrong. You didn’t miss either of these, but someone marked them up in red.”

Eugene nods to himself, looking sick as it dawns on him how badly he’s been sabotaged. The quiz crumples a little as he brings his hands up to his head, tugging on his hair and looking like his whole life is over.

Austin shrugs. “I’m sure it’s a mistake. Right?”

Guilt twinges in my stomach, because Austin might be new here, but not me, and I
know
it’s not a mistake. I remember that kid who warned me in the bathroom. This is the work of the PTA. And it means they’re not just going after me—they’re attacking my clients.

“Just my luck,” Eugene mutters, wadding the quiz into a ball and stuffing it into his backpack. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” He takes a Dragon Slayer card out of his pocket and slides it across my desk.

It’s a special circumstances card that lets you trade hit points with your opponent, but only if there’s one of each of the four types of dragons either in play or in the discard pile. It’s a pretty decent card—more than that, really—and I don’t have anything else like it, which just makes me feel even guiltier about this whole case.

“I could only get one this week, so I’ll have to owe you. I made the mistake of looking at it during second period, before we got our tests back. It was almost taken away.”

“It almost got confiscated?” Austin asks.

“No.” Eugene blinks at him before turning to me with his eyebrows raised, probably still wondering why I’ve got someone like Austin hanging around in my office. “Connor Mills saw it.” He shudders just mentioning him. “He’s really into Dragon Slayer, you know? He was eyeing it, said I should be careful about misplacing my things, especially around a better player. Maybe he was talking about in the game, but I didn’t think so. I got so worried he was going to take it that I asked for a hall pass and went to the bathroom and hid it behind one of the toilets.”

“Oh, that’s…” Kind of disgusting. “Eugene, I can’t accept this.”

“It’s clean, don’t worry. I put it in a sandwich bag from my lunch, so—”

“It’s not that.” I swallow down a lump in my throat and exchange a look with Austin. “There’s something I—”

“I know you can help me. Maybe you have doubts, and I know it’s a tough case, but if there’s
anyone
at this school who can get my lucky pencil back, even from the likes of someone like Connor Mills, it’s you.” He nods, more serious than I’ve ever seen him, and for someone like Eugene McAllister, that’s saying something. “He can mess with everyone else at this school, but you’re the one person who can stand up to him. I know it, you know it, and you know what else?
Connor
knows it.”

My mouth slips open. My hands grip the edge of my desk, my heart pounding loud in my ears as I stare at the sandwich sitting in front of me, hiding the evidence of how untrue everything he’s saying is.

Austin’s looking at me expectantly, his expression saying
Go on. Tell him.

“Eugene, the truth is, I…” I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “The truth is, this case is pretty cut and dry, and you’ve been a client for over a semester now. So keep the card and consider it a discount.”

This huge smile spreads across his face. “You really know how to brighten someone’s day. But I can’t keep it—this case means a lot to me, and you deserve that card. You working on this for me is the only reason I can sleep at night, because I know it means I’m going to get my pencil back and all these red letters are going to disappear. So you take it, Harper.”

I grab the card, intending to force it on him this time, but before I can make an attempt he looks at his watch and says, “Gotta go! Let me know when you get my pencil, okay?” He hurries out the door, leaving me with the card and a whole lot of guilt.

Austin’s got that judgmental look on his face again. He stares at me in shock, like he can’t believe what I just did. What I didn’t do. Which makes two of us.

“You can stop staring at me,” I say, picking up my sandwich and shoving it back in my lunch bag, because being dishonest really kills my appetite. I’d throw it away, but my office is too small for a garbage can. Plus it would stink up the place even worse than it already has.

Maybe I can glue the pencil back together. Or tape it. Eugene will notice, but I can tell him it was an accident, a…

“A lie,” Austin says, getting up from his chair so he can tower over me. “You told a
lie
.”

“
Phelps
,” I growl, because this is so not what I need right now.

He ignores me and paces in front of my desk. He can only take about a step and a half before he has to turn around again. “I thought you cared about justice. I thought you cared. Period.”

I hate that he’s right, and I hate even more that he’s acting so high and mighty about it. “I made a judgment call. Sometimes brutal honesty is just that. Brutal. Maybe I thought Eugene was having a bad enough day as it is without me making it any worse.”

“You’re also a hypocrite. You told me over and over how important that pencil was—”

“
Is
,” I correct him, not sure that it matters.

“—and then you not only break it on purpose, but you lie to your client about it?”

I get to my feet, because even if he’s right, he doesn’t get to look down on me at the same time as he criticizes me in
my
office. “Like you’ve never screwed up before. Like you’ve never lied.”

Guilt flashes across his face. He stops pacing, his shoulders hunched.

“That’s what I thought. I don’t know what Dodge told you, but I’m not perfect, Phelps.”

He snorts. “Perfect wasn’t exactly a word he used.”

I’ll bet. “I’m going to fix this.” I think about the pencil, violently cracked in half, and swallow. “Somehow. And then I’ll tell Eugene the truth. He already got his first F—that’s a big enough blow for one day.” He doesn’t need to know that the detective he hired totally botched his case. Or that it was that detective’s fault he got that F in the first place, for messing with the wrong people.

“Harper?” Austin takes a deep breath. “Since we’re being honest, I have a confession to make. You remember how I said I could get my friend to keep Danigail out of the papers?”

I blink. He hasn’t even told me yet, and already I don’t like where this is going. “Sounds familiar.”

“The truth is, I made all that up. I never had a chance of getting her out of the paper—I just thought you’d solve the case before then, and then it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“What about the guy you know? You can’t talk to him?”

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “There’s no guy. I got that preview paper from some kids in journalism club. They were making fun of Danigail, and then they just left the printouts there on the table. I grabbed them, so no one would see, and then I thought maybe you’d be impressed if you thought I had connections. That maybe you’d be more willing to try out this partners thing if you thought I was actually going places. I tried to contact the paper, believe me, I tried. But they’re not going to talk to a nobody like me. So…”

“So you’re a no good liar, like you just accused me of being, and Danigail’s going to be the cover story come Friday. Is
that
what you’re telling me?!”

He winces, then nods.

“It’s already Wednesday, and now if I don’t clear Danigail’s name by Friday, she’s—”

“Thursday afternoon,” he adds, his voice quiet. “That’s when the paper goes to press. You have until Thursday afternoon, about three o’clock.”

“
Thanks
,” I mutter. I sweep the broken pencil and Connor’s note into my desk drawer and make for the door.

“Where are you going?” Austin asks.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Phelps, but no thanks to you I’ve got a deadline to beat. You should know all about that, what with being such a great journalist and all.”

The bell rings, but I grab Danigail’s wrist before she can dart off down the hall. I can tell she doesn’t want to talk to me—I saw the relief flash across her face when the bell went off and she thought she wouldn’t have to answer my questions just because lunch was over.

“Come on, Harper. Not all of us have your
privileges
.” She flicks the white hall pass hanging around my neck, her fingernails snapping against the laminated card.

“You’re not going to have any privileges if you get kicked out of this place. They’re printing a story on you in the paper this Friday.”

I watch as she does the mental math on that, realizing it’s less than two days away.

“You’re the cover story. You, getting expelled. The picture’s not flattering.”

She swallows and leans against the wall. A couple of ninth grade girls come out of the bathroom next to us, talking about the French test they have coming up. All three of them shut up when they see Danigail, not even trying to hide their smirks as they walk by, whispering about what they heard she did to Veronica.

“I have to get to class,” Danigail says, twisting the strap of her backpack around one finger and then letting it unroll again. “You want me to get suspended for missing class?”

“Believe it or not, I really don’t, so you’d better tell me what I need to know
fast
. I don’t know why you’re covering for her, but it’s time to spill whatever secret you and Alexis have been hiding.”

“I
told
you, it has nothing to do with the case.”

“So why don’t I believe you? We’re running out of time, DG, and I’m running out of leads. Something’s going on here, and I’m all you’ve got. I’m the only one who believes you’re innocent.”

“You and Alexis.”

“Oh, yeah? She knows because she committed the crime then?”

“No, because she’s my
friend
.”

“Oliver’s your own brother, and you know what he thinks about all this. His mind’s made up, and me and Alexis thinking you didn’t do it isn’t going to be enough to convince him. It’s going to take cold hard proof, just like it is for the Board.”

“He shouldn’t need convincing,” she mutters, her hands balling into fists. “He should know me better than that.” Her chin trembles and her eyes get a little wet, but then she bites her lip and shakes her head. “You need to know Alexis’ secret? Fine. Don’t tell
anyone
, but Alexis got into this fancy private school for next year. Real big on theater. The only catch is, the snobs in admissions said they’re not going to let her in unless they see her perform. They’ve got to see her dancing and singing.”

She pauses, letting that sink in.

“They’ve got to see her in a
lead
role, otherwise she gets dumped onto a waiting list for who knows how long. Kids go onto a waiting list, they don’t come back off.”

I suck air in through my teeth. “And I’m guessing Veronica’s not the type of girl to just let her have the part for a night.”

“You kidding me? That first class D would never give up the spotlight, especially if she thought Alexis was going to get something out of it. Something she’ll never have.” Danigail snorts in disgust. “Alexis didn’t even ask. She didn’t have to to know the answer. And if Veronica knew what Alexis was in the running for… Alexis wanted to keep it a secret, ’cause what if she got her chance and the admissions people weren’t impressed? She’d never live it down if people knew. Especially Veronica. She’d eat her alive. And then, after Veronica fell off the stage, it would have looked really bad if word got out. It would have looked like she had motive.”

“She
did
have motive. And now she’s got her shot.”

“It’s not like that, Harper.”

“Then what is it like? Alexis had a pretty big reason to do it. She’s got more incentive than anyone else in this case.”

“She wouldn’t. Plus she had track that afternoon. Everybody knows, everybody saw her there. Sienna, Katie, Joanne, Sarah… everyone.”

“Did a little investigating, did you?”

Danigail glares at me. Her face is red and she looks like she’s this close to reaching out and strangling me. “She’s my friend and she’s innocent. Unlike Oliver, I don’t need proof to know that the people close to me aren’t criminals. She wouldn’t hurt
anyone
. Even someone like Veronica, who had it coming.”

“Better be careful what you say. Someone might think you did it.”

She glares at me right as the second bell rings, signaling the start of fourth period. “Wonderful. Now I’m late, ’cause of you. If you’ll excuse me,
Detective
, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

She takes off running, leaving me with a lot to think about.

It’s the middle of fourth period when Austin comes barging into my office. I’m skipping out on English—we’re learning the PTA rules of style right now—to mull over the facts of the case. Austin holds up his hands and takes a deep breath. “Before you say anything, I know I screwed up, okay?”

“Took you a whole thirty minutes to figure that out?” I have my feet up on my desk—helps me think—and my head leaning back, but I sit up and glare at him, folding my hands in front of me. “This better be good, Phelps. I got a lot on my mind right now and I don’t think so good with a reporter in the room.”

“Good thing I’m not one then.” He sighs and lets his shoulders sag. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to you or promised something I couldn’t deliver. I just wanted you to think I was better than I really am—the same reason you didn’t tell Eugene the truth about what happened. That doesn’t make it okay, and I get why you probably don’t want me on the case, but I figure you need me right now.”

“Need you? Phelps, I don’t—”

“You don’t need anyone, right? You can keep telling yourself that, but with the time crunch we’re—you’re—in, we’ve got to work together on this one. What I’m saying is, I want to help.”

“Because it’s your fault I’m in this time crunch?” Or at least that I didn’t know I was working under such a strict deadline until now.

He grits his teeth and surprises me by slamming his fist down on my desk. “Because justice is at stake here and I think you could use someone on your side. I had my doubts, but if you believe Danigail is innocent, then so do I.”

He’s got this look of determination in his eyes, practically burning a hole in the wall. And yeah, I admit it, he’s starting to convince me. He cares about this case, and maybe he even thinks Danigail’s innocent—even if it’s only vicariously through me. If I change my mind, he changes his, but that’s not going to happen, so…

I blink, taking it all in and not wanting to answer too fast. “This job isn’t all peaches and cream, Phelps. It’s—”

“It’s tough. I know. That’s why you need my help.”

Need? He’d better think again. “Let’s not jump to conclusions here. I’ve been doing fine on my own this whole time, and you show up and after only a couple days on the case you think you’re indispensable. I’ve got a few things to say to that—more than a few—but we don’t have time to get into it, because Danigail needs all the help she can get, and fast. So start making yourself useful. We’ve only got until tomorrow afternoon to crack this case.”

His mouth falls open, a stupid smile spreading across his face that kind of makes me regret letting him stay. When he glances around the room for a place to sit, there isn’t one—someone might have purposely ditched the chair he dragged in before, and that someone might have been me—so he leans back against the wall, which sags under his weight. He winces, a twinge of disgust on his face, but otherwise toughs it out and doesn’t react.

There might be hope for him yet.

I lean my head back and rub my temples. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said this job wasn’t all peaches and cream, and it’s especially true for this case. Makes my head hurt just thinking about all the trouble Danigail’s gotten herself into and how I’ve got to find a way to get her back out of it.

“What we have to do,” Austin says, “is ask ourselves why the PTA is so involved in this. Why are they so intent on closing the case?”

“When I said you could help, I meant you could help out
silently
and let me think.”

He acts like he doesn’t hear me. “I know I’m new around here, but it seems to me the PTA’s going through an awful lot of trouble to put Danigail away.”

I shake my head. “Danigail was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A bad girl with a rap sheet so long no one would question one more crime added to the list. The PTA’s been pushing for harsher punishments for kids like her, kids with more than a few detentions under their belt, but other than that she’s got nothing to do with them.” They were the ones behind the Board’s move to the new school policy, the one that means even Danigail’s minor offenses—like running in and out of the boys’ second floor bathroom on a dare, even if there was no real evidence, just a couple of tattletale witnesses—are adding up to extra strikes on her permanent record. But it’s not just her. The PTA’s not too keen on anyone they can classify as a troublemaker. Anyone but their own kids, that is.

Austin shrugs. “So they wanted Veronica out of the way and found themselves a convenient scapegoat.”

I drum my fingers on the edge of my desk. Maybe, but why? So Alexis could get her shot at the spotlight? She’s not one of the untouchables. She’s got no more connection to the PTA than Danigail does. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Austin has a point. There must be a
reason
the PTA is getting so deep in this, why they’re going out of their way to keep people from asking questions.

I think about the kid in the bathroom, the one who tried to save chess club. But I’d have heard if they were trying to shut down the drama department.

“Veronica’s made a lot of people mad,” Austin says. “She could have gone too far and messed with the wrong person. Maybe that’s why the PTA put her on their hit list.”

We’re thinking about this from the wrong angle. I don’t know what the right angle is, only that this isn’t it. I shake my head and slide open my main desk drawer. I wince when I catch sight of Eugene’s broken pencil, then grab the plastic bag with Connor’s note in it. The one that’s got Alexis’ name at the top. With “$500” written next to it. Even if I can’t read the other symbols, I can read the international symbol for motive just fine, and that’s a lot of motive.

Alexis might not be one of the untouchables, but I know who is. There has to be a
reason
her name’s on this list, the same one we took from Connor. A reason that connects her to him, and from him to the PTA. Two and two click together in my brain, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, or the way my heart speeds up. After all this time, I finally have something on him.

“Remember when I promised you a story, Phelps?” I say, getting up from my chair and sliding my way past the edge of the desk. “Well, I sure hope your pen has a lot of ink in it. You’re going to need it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I just solved the case.”