Novel - Half Moon Investigations (16 page)

We stashed the bike behind a neighbor’s wall and crept around the back, where Mrs. Quinn was entertaining her guests on the patio. At least we could hear what was being said. We crawled across the garden on our bellies, hiding below the lip of the deck. I raised my head just enough to spy on the proceedings through the fence uprights.

April, Mercedes, Mr. Devereux, and Sergeant Murt Hourihan were seated around a pine patio table. Mrs. Quinn was pouring tumblers of cloudy lemonade. April and Mercedes were back in pink mode.

“I asked the girls to wait until you arrived, Sergeant,” said Mrs. Quinn. “This is a serious matter. Mr. Devereux thought we needed police presence and Francis is away at a conference. How do you like the lemonade?”

Murt had been trying to avoid drinking what was in his tumbler. He took a swig, and coughed most of it back into the glass.

“Aagh, hurup,”
he spluttered. “God, that tastes like . . . I mean, oh, that went down the wrong way. Lovely, a bit tart, but lovely. Thanks.”

Mrs. Quinn swilled the mixture around in the base of the jug. There were lumps floating in the hazy liquid.

“Another drop, Sergeant?”

“Ah, no. I’m on duty. Anyway, I have a code forty-three dash seven waiting for me in the station, so if we could get on . . .”

I happened to know that a forty-three dash seven was a maternity leave request form.

“Of course, Sergeant. Criminals never sleep, eh? Well, you know Mr. Devereux?”

“Evening, sir.”

“Sergeant.”

“Mr. Devereux brought the girls over. It seems they were afraid to come to me at school, in case Roddy Sharkey would see them.”

“Red?”

“No, his brother Roddy. Herod, if you can believe it.”

Murt took out his notebook. “Oh, I can believe just about anything of Master Herod Sharkey. We’ve had words.”

“His mind is already made up,” whispered Red. “We have to go in there. Give ourselves up, tell Hourihan what really happened.”

I tugged Red’s sleeve. “Wait. That won’t help anyone.”

Red shrugged me off. “Maybe not. But I have to try. I promised.”

“One minute,” I said desperately. “Give me a minute. If I don’t come up with something, then we’ll go in.”

Red settled back down reluctantly. “One minute. And I hope this plan is better than the magnetism one.”

I had a feeling that I would be hearing about the magnetized unicorn’s horn for quite some time.

I returned my attention to the patio. April was giving Murt the big round angel eyes.

“Mercedes was crying at our sleepover, Sergeant. It was pink night. We’re all in pink, because that’s what girls do, and we’re just like any other girls.”

Murt cleared his throat. “Pink night? Is that why I came over here? I have better things to be doing. I promised Art Fowler I’d check his vending warehouse for that prowler that’s been spotted. So I do have somewhere to go tonight.”

“Ah now, Sergeant,” objected Mr. Devereux. “Be patient. They’re only kids.”

Murt had heard too many sob stories to be a soft touch. “I’m a busy man, sir. Let’s hear what the girls have to say, and see what has to be done about it. April?”

“Well, it’s not me, really. It’s Mercedes who has the problem. I’ll let her tell you. Mercedes?”

Mercedes stood, walking with slow deliberate steps to a better vantage point. She cleared her throat and flicked her hair. Preparing herself to repeat the performance we had seen in the Unicorn Room.

The performance!

I pulled my notebook out, flipping to my Unicorn Room notes. I had written down Mercedes’s entire routine.

I scrawled a cell phone number on the notebook, then passed it to Red. “Text this page to that number.

Quickly.”

“Why am I . . .”

“Quickly,” I hissed. “No time.”

Mercedes was shaking out her fingers. “Shake shake shake silly supper sausages,” she said automatically.

This surprised the adults somewhat.

“Excuse me?” said Murt.

“She’s nervous,” said April hurriedly. “And upset, too. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” agreed Mercedes, with tears in her eyes. “My puppy got eaten by a wolf.”

Murt rolled his eyes. “Right, I’m off. Thanks for the wild goose chase, Mrs. Quinn.”

“No, Sergeant. I’m ready now. Please.”

“One more chance. And I don’t want to hear the words
pink
,
sausages
, or
wolf
.”

Mercedes took a deep breath to speak, and Murt’s phone beeped.

“That was quick,” I said, startled.

“First sentence only,” said Red, without looking up from his screen. “I’m going to send it in bursts.”

Murt took out his phone. “Keep going there, Mercedes. I’m a trained professional; I can read texts and listen to sausage stories at the same time.”

“Oh, Principal,” gushed Mercedes. “I can’t tell. My good and responsible friend April made me come here. But
he
will kill me if I tell.”

“I suppose you mean Herod Sharkey?” said Mrs. Quinn, straying from the script.

Murt was absently reading his text message, when Mercedes’s words penetrated. He suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair.

“What did you just say?” said the policeman, then caught himself. “Nothing. Go on, keep going.”

Mercedes dragged at her cheeks, leaving red finger marks. “Herod Sharkey . . . Oh, no, I’ve said his name! He’ll know. That boy is the devil.”

“I know who it is, Mercedes. You told me that already.”

Murt opened another text. Mercedes continued with the prepared monologue. “Please, Principal Quinn. You’re a woman. You understand how it is in this man’s world. We suffer in silence.”

Mrs. Quinn was confused. “What are you talking about, girl? We suffer in silence?”

Mercedes, dramatically, and again with much wincing, revealed the bruises on her arm.

“He gave me a skin burn, Principal Quinn.
He
thinks it’s funny.”

There were tears rolling down Mercedes’s cheeks as she said this, but Murt was not impressed, as he was reading the exact same words on his screen. This was obviously an act.

He nailed Mercedes with his best bad-cop stare. “What is going on here? One chance. Start talking.”

Mr. Devereux rose to his feet, knocking a glass of congealing lemonade. “Sergeant Hourihan. How dare you talk to this poor girl in that tone!”

“I dare, sir,” retorted Murt, very theatrically, “because this girl is reading from a script. The same script that someone has just texted to me. Someone with my cell number . . .” Murt paused. He was no fool. “Someone who can’t show himself for some reason.” He looked around. “Someone who’s running his own investigation.”

Red and I ducked low, wriggling into the mud.

Mr. Devereux climbed up on his high horse. “Just what are you suggesting, Sergeant? You’re not saying that somehow my little girl is involved in this deception?”

Murt’s phone beeped a final time. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, sir. And my source informs me that this isn’t the first time. My text buddy advises me to take a look at April’s clipboard, which is hidden behind the headboard of her bed.”

“So now April is the ringleader? Ridiculous! You can search behind any headboard you like. Trust me, my little girl does not hide clipboards. She has no need to; we’re a very open family.”

Mercedes’s lip was quivering. “Bouffy!” she blurted.

April pinched her friend’s arm cruelly. “Quiet!”

“Bouffy threw me,” sobbed Mercedes.

“You total idiot,” snapped April. “You are soooo like a boy. They have nothing. Nothing!”

Mercedes was on a blubbery roll. “I didn’t want to do it. Mademoiselle President, I mean April, said we could get rid of Herod the way we got rid of Ernie and Jimín and Kamal. April said that Bouffy wouldn’t get in trouble.”

Murt was puzzled. “Who is this Bouffy person?”

“My pony. She threw me and I bruised my arm.”

Now Mrs. Quinn was involved. “You got rid of Ernie? And Jimín?”

Mercedes folded completely. “April did it. She made us swear not to say anything. April made me take the iPod, and then she planted the money on Ernie.”

“What about Jimín? You couldn’t have done that. It was his voice on the school loudspeaker.”

April couldn’t resist explaining. “Jimín is so stupid he couldn’t give you a rhyme for cat. We simply had him read a long passage into a computer microphone, then edited it down. He was happy to do it for a minute’s attention.”

Mrs. Quinn was looking less like a gracious host now, and more like an irate headmistress.

“And Kamal’s little present on my doorstep?”

Mercedes blushed. “Bouffy did that.”

April crossed her legs at the knee. “This is so frustrating.” Her moment of anger was over, and now she had to talk her way out of this situation. “Surely you understand, Mrs. Quinn. I had to get rid of the boys; they were interfering with our education.”

Mr. Devereux slumped against the wall. “Oh my God, my mother was right. She’s become a spoiled monster.” He straightened. “Right, young lady. This is the final straw. You are going to do whatever it takes to undo whatever it is that you have done.”

April actually sneered. “Oh really, Daddy? Shouldn’t you check with Mommy before handing out punishments?”

Murt slammed his palms on the table. “Quiet! All of you. It seems as though a crime has been committed here, so this is a police matter. I need to see that clipboard, Mr. Devereux. Any objections?”

April stuck out her lip. “You need to check with Mommy before answering.”

“I do not need to check anything!” shouted her father. “You have my full permission to see whatever you like, Sergeant. No warrant necessary.”

Murt pocketed his phone. “Excellent. I’ll be around early tomorrow, about eight-thirty.” He turned to Mrs. Quinn. “And if I were you, I’d be begging those boys you expelled to come back before their parents get themselves a lawyer.”

April was dumbstruck. For about half a second.

“I just do not
believe
this,” she shrieked. “You should be thanking me. You
should
be giving me a medal. I have made your jobs easier by a
million
percent.”

Murt was not in the mood. “If I was you, missy, I’d shut my trap before my blood pressure gets any more elevated.”

April paled, as though physically slapped. “Did you hear that, Daddy? He told me to shut my trap. Are you going to let a mere sergeant speak to me that way? Don’t you play golf with Chief Quinn?”

April’s dad wagged a finger at Murt. “Really, Officer. She’s just a child, a baby, really. I hardly think . . .” Then his resolve returned. He took a cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and waited.

“Hello, it’s me,” he said when the person on the other end picked up. “How would you like a visitor? Yes. What we talked about. I’d say a month. Oh, right away. The sooner the better.”

Mr. Devereux pocketed his phone. “Right, missy,” he said, trying for the same impatient tone that Murt had used. Trying but not succeeding. Mr. Devereux sounded a note below terrified. “After Sergeant Hourihan has finished with you, provided you are not in a jail cell somewhere . . .”

April cupped her mouth. “Hello, Earth calling Father,” she said brazenly. “I’m a minor, remember?”

This latest insult gave April’s dad courage. “Well, good, we won’t have the jail problem, then. Which is just as well, because you’ll be away. On a vacation. For a month.”

April’s brazen look fell away. “Where?”

Mr. Devereux squared his shoulders resolutely. “Your grandmother’s.”

April screamed long and shrill. “Granny’s! The farm! But they give me chores! There’s no TV or Internet!”

“Good,” said Mr. Devereux, a bit shakily.

I felt the sooner April got on that bus the better, before her dad lost his resolve. “You don’t mind if April misses some school, do you, Headmistress?”

Mrs. Quinn seemed preoccupied. “Now I’ll have to change those boys’ pictures in their files. April’s too. I had her down as a little angel, but that was all wrong. I’ve never had to change a picture before.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Mercedes patted April’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll chair the meetings. And I’ll tape
Question Time
for you.”

April slapped away her friend’s hand.

“I am the president. Nobody chairs the meetings but me.” She stood, straightening her pink corduroy skirt. “I’m just going to leave now. You grown-ups need a while to think about your decision.”

Mr. Devereux’s nostrils flared. “You are going nowhere. I’m putting my foot down this time.”

April walked off the patio. “Of course you are, like the last million times.”

“You get back here!” shouted Mr. Devereux, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “You are not in control here, April!”

Murt was losing patience fast. “I have somewhere else to be, sir. So either you control your little girl, or I will.”

The adults followed April around the side of the house to where the cars were parked. Red and I crept out from behind the decking to watch the action.

April had climbed into the family car and locked the door behind her. Her little face was wrinkled with determined fury.

Her father rapped on the window. “Open the door, April. Right now!”

April wrapped her thin fingers around the wheel. “I’m going home, Daddy. You can come when you’ve calmed down.”

This statement did nothing to calm
Daddy
down.

“You’re what? In my car? You don’t even know how to drive! I swear, if you put so much as a fingerprint on my baby, you’ll spend the next
year
at my mother’s.”

Obviously the car was Mr. Devereux’s weak spot.

April was not impressed.

“Oh, grow up, Daddy. It’s just a hunk of metal.”

“But you don’t know how to drive!” shouted Mr. Devereux, the tendons taut in his neck.

“How hard can it be?” said April, turning the key, which her father had thoughtfully left in the ignition. “I’ve watched you a thousand times.”

“April! Turn off the engine!”

Murt thought all of this was hilarious, until he noticed the squad car was directly in April’s path.

“Now listen here, missy,” he said sternly.