Chapter Twenty-Four

My own partner had just pooched our case. I ran out to the driveway, water sloshing over the sides of the bowl. “Ivy!” The streetlights were popping on one by one, illuminating a distinct lack of Ivy in the area. She and Spartacus must have been hoofing it to make it off our street so quickly. “Ivy!” Ineffective as it was, yelling provided slight relief to my predicament.

I hurled the water out onto the lawn on my way back into the garage. We never should have taken this case. It’d started out hinky and gone downhill from there. Now, with Ivy gone rogue, taking Spartacus with her, I was left with nothing to offer Carl and Marvin but a shoddy excuse for poor workmanship.

Cursing, I slammed a hand down on the desk. Blue creaked in her corner, and I sighed. “Language, yourself,” I said. Ignoring the baleful stare of her headlight, I sunk into my chair. Serious thinking was required.

First step was to get Spartacus back. Again.

No.

First step was to ask my partner what on earth she was thinking. Then get Spartacus back. Then get him to the coach. Then clear Carl’s name and be rid of this case.

A folded piece of paper on the desk caught my eye. I flipped it open to find Ivy’s fierce print scrawled across the page.

This is the right thing to do. Trust me.

Trust her. How was I supposed to trust the person going behind my back?

I crumpled up the note and tossed it on the floor. “I’ll clean it up later,” I hollered at Blue on my way out the door. Striding up to the house, I kicked at piles of snow as I went. The door slammed behind me, and Pops stuck his head around the corner from the hallway. “Hey, bud, what did that door do to you?”

Mumbling an apology, I yanked off my coat and tossed it over a hook. I grabbed the house phone from the kitchen and punched in Ivy’s number. No answer. A second try took me straight to voicemail. Trying not to tip off Pops, I whisper-yelled a message into the phone. “I know you think you know what you’re doing, Ivy, but you don’t know, and what you’re doing is ruining our case.” I paused for a breath. “Call me back.”

“Howard,” Pops said, coming up behind me, dropping a hand on my shoulder, “let’s talk.” He steered me toward the kitchen table and plunked me in a chair. He pulled one up in front of me. Hands on his knees, he leaned forward. “You first.”

The man had terrible timing. I was in the middle of a crisis and he wanted to shoot the breeze. “What are we talking about, Pops?”

“What’s going on with you, for starters,” he said, crossing a leg and getting way too comfortable for my liking. “Sounds like you and Ivy are having a spot of trouble.”

“We’re having a difference of opinion,” I said. “We’re working on a—” I remembered the no-working-cases-during-the-week rule right on time. “Working on a project and we’re having a difference of opinion. She won’t listen. And now, she seems to think sabotaging it is the better plan.”

Pops nodded. “And by project, you mean case.”

I stumbled over a response and he swatted away my protests. “I’m not an idiot, Howard. And you’re not as subtle as you think.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since you and Ivy came home on Sunday and locked yourselves in the garage office. What’s happening?”

I filled him in on everything, starting with Marvin calling in his favor, through Coach’s involvement, the Miles factor, Ivy’s weird behavior, and ending with her very recent betrayal. He sat back and digested it all. “I think,” he said, finally, “you’ve forgotten about rule number two.”

Unlikely. They were etched into my detective DNA. “Ask the right questions,” I replied.

“Your problem isn’t the case; it’s with Ivy. You guys aren’t working together like you should. You’ve been asking where she is and what she’s doing, but not why. Not why would she take Spartacus, but why is she so upset?”

This was the last thing I needed right now. “Or,” I said, sitting up in my chair, “why is my partner acting like a lunatic and destroying our reputations?”

Pops leveled a look at me. “It sounds like Ivy has a lot going on. I think she could use a friend, not a partner.”

“We’re supposed to be both,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” Pops said. “Maybe another good question to ask yourself is why you’ve been neither.”

I flinched. “Whose side are you on?”

“Ivy’s,” he said. “One hundred percent.”

“Thanks, Pops.”

“Listen, Howard,” he said, propping an elbow up on the table. “There comes a time in every friendship where you hit a rocky patch and either you forge ahead or you fall apart.” He waited a beat until I looked up and made eye contact. “Do you want things with Ivy to fall apart?”

If the current state of things was anything to judge by, they already were. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“You have to learn to see outside your own bubble,” he continued. “You have a partnership. It’s not solely about what you feel and what you want anymore. If you want to fix things, you have to go talk to her.”

“I was planning on doing that, anyway.”

“Not about Spartacus.” Pops shook his head. “Ivy’s your case now. Figure out what you missed.”