Chapter Thirteen

From an investigative standpoint, the cafeteria had its fair share of strengths and weaknesses. The noise and general chaos provided ample coverage for a stealth chat. But when you crossed social boundary lines to have that chat, stealth went out the window.

Stares dogged our every move as we met up with Miles by the bake sale table. Ashi looked more than a little curious, and she wasn’t alone.

“People are looking at us,” Miles murmured.

“Feel free to leave,” Ivy said.

“No.” He squared his shoulders. “We’re doing this. Come on.” Miles led the way over to the basketball team’s table, ignoring the whispers as he dodged a few pointed looks.

The team was crowded around their table, with Oscar reigning from the end. His rangy limbs were draped over his seat as he studiously ignored our approach.

Miles stepped up first and whispered a few words to him. Oscar frowned and shook his head.

“Oh, yes, he’s very helpful,” Ivy said to me. Miles kept talking, and I made a mental note to add lipreading to our training manual. My partner was right: this wasn’t working. I moved forward just as Miles straightened up.

“For Carl,” he said, and Oscar nodded. Miles waved us over. Ivy and I slid out a couple of extra chairs along the way and pulled up the seats beside the captain. Miles clapped him on the shoulder and left to go buy lunch. The rest of the players inched their chairs away from us, and Oscar scoffed. “Thanks, guys.”

“Didn’t get a chance to talk with you yesterday, Oscar,” I said, pulling out my notes from the day before.

Oscar glanced at us and then concentrated on his sandwich. “You seemed busy,” he said. “Bleeding all over our court.”

“That did actually take up a lot of time,” Ivy agreed.

“You’re the captain,” I said. “You know your guys better than anyone. Think any of them could’ve taken Spartacus?”

Oscar’s sharp eyes cut down the line at the table. “No,” he said. “No way.”

“Really.” I tapped my pen again my notebook. “Not even someone like, for instance, Miles?”

“What?” Oscar snapped his head up and scowled.

“Wanted to make sure you were listening,” I said.

Ivy leaned in, whisper-singing in my ear, “Focus.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, waving her away. “None of your teammates. Let’s look at the next logical option: the Stoverton Stallions.”

“The Stallions?” Oscar looked warily at us, and Ivy bounced in her seat.

“You didn’t do the thing,” she said.

“What thing?”

“The spitting thing everyone does,” Ivy said, pointing at the team who were, in fact, midspit. She set her elbows on the table and squinted at Oscar. “Got some warm fuzzies for Stoverton, buddy?”

“I think it’s dumb to hate a whole town, if that’s what you mean,” Oscar said, hunched over in his chair. “I have friends who live in Stoverton.”

Now we were getting to it. “Yes,” I said. “Captain of the Stoverton Stallions–type friends.”

Oscar sighed. “Jake and I’ve been friends for a lot longer than we’ve been on opposite teams. What’s your point?”

“Heard you’re thinking about making a switch,” Ivy said. She was met with silence.

“If you’re going to play for a new team,” I said, “might as well be the one with the bragging rights. Isn’t Stoverton having a pretty good season this year?”

“I wouldn’t do that to the guys.” Oscar set his jaw and doubled down on his sandwich.

We were losing him. Time to barrel through the rest of the questions before we were forcibly relocated back to our natural habitat in the undesirable sector of the cafeteria.

“You know Stoverton—you hang with their team,” I said. “Any of them recently acquire a dog?”

“You think I wouldn’t recognize if one of them started walking around with Spartacus?” Oscar paused mid-drink, nostrils flaring. “These are the kinds of questions you ask? How do you solve any cases?”

“What about Captain Jake? He planning anything extra special for the Grudge Game?”

“He’s not like that,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “I’ve known Jake since we were five. He’s like my brother.”

“A long history isn’t exactly a solid alibi,” Ivy said.

“We were hanging out on Tuesday,” Oscar said. “There’s no way it was him.”

“Maybe he was distracting you,” I said. “Did he say anything strange or—”

An odd look crossed Oscar’s face.

“What? What did you think of?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“If you thought of it,” Ivy said. “It’s not nothing.”

Oscar leaned down, lowering his voice. “Jake was talking about a kid on his team,” he said. “He’s into pranks, and he drives Jake crazy. He kept talking to everyone on the team about pulling something for the Grudge Game, but Jake said they talked him out of it.”

Very successfully, it looked like.

“When do the Stallions practice?”

“Usually a couple of times a week, but they’re practicing every day to get ready for Saturday.” Oscar narrowed his eyes at us. “Why?”

“Gathering the facts,” I said. We thanked Oscar for the chat and started back across the cafeteria.

“Stoverton,” Ivy said.

“Stoverton.” I nodded. “Motive, opportunity, means—they’ve got it all. It’s definitely an ideal Grudge Game prank.”

“Okay, so they tick all the boxes, but we need more than that,” Ivy said, plopping down at an empty table.

I sat beside her and we pulled out our lunches, chewing in silence.

“We have to go there,” I said, a plan already forming.

“To Stoverton?”

“Yes. We have to go look for clues. Find Spartacus, if we’re really lucky.”

“We’re never that lucky,” Ivy said. “How do you plan on getting there?”

That was an excellent question. Our parents were out. We couldn’t ask for help without inviting scrutiny and having to confess to violating our strict operating hours. Grantleyville had no public bus system. A cab would cost an arm and a leg. Options, Howard, options.

Zeroing in on the back corner, I spotted Carl sitting with Miles at a lonely table.

“I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder to Ivy. I swerved around the packed room and made my way to their spot. Despite the crowd, they had a bubble of empty chairs around them. No one wanted to associate with a suspected dognapper—aside from Miles, and I still didn’t know what to make of that. Tamping down on a flare of—jealousy?—I pulled up a seat beside Carl and plopped down.

“What happened to being subtle?” he muttered around his sandwich.

“There’s no time for that,” I said, holding out a hand. “We’ve got more important things to take care of. Do you have your phone?”

“Why?” Carl frowned. Part of me admired his level of suspicion. He’d make a good P.I.

Straight shooting seemed like my best bet. “Because,” I said, sitting up and looking Carl dead in the eye, “I need a ride.”