Novel - Half Moon Investigations

  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!”

&n
bsp; 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.

  But April couldn’t see or hear him. The engine noise smothered his words. April wrestled the automatic gear stick to DRIVE and let off the hand brake. Two seconds later, the Devereux four-wheel drive rolled into Murt’s squad car at ten miles an hour. Plenty fast enough to do almost twelve thousand euros worth of damage.

  April had just enough time to see the looks on the adults’ faces before the air bag wrapped itself around her.

  THE PROMISE

  WE RETURNED TO Chez Sharkey flushed with victory. Though Red may have been flushed from carrying me on the back of his bike all day. Genie was at my computer again, downloading songs from an Internet pirate site.

  “That’s illegal,” I said.

  “So are you,” she said. A good point.

  “Where’s Papa?” asked Red a little nervously. He had gotten himself all psyched up to talk about the promise he had made to his mother.

  Genie slipped a recordable CD into the drive. “He’s out. Working.”

  “Where?”

  “I can’t talk in front of the N-E-R-D.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can spell, you know.”

  “Really? Then G-E-T L-O-S-T.”

  Red squeezed his head between Genie and the screen. “Where is he? I need to know.”

  Genie sighed. “Very well, my annoying little brother. He’s at the vending machine warehouse. Papa’s been scoping it for a few days now.”

  Vending. That was the second time I had heard that word recently. It was unusual to hear such an uncommon word twice. Murt had said it earlier tonight. He had promised to check the vending warehouse. Someone had been hanging around. A prowler. Murt could very well catch Papa in the act.

  “We have to stop them.” Should I have said that? Papa was committing a crime. I was on the side of law and order, wasn’t I? But Red was my friend. And his family was in danger.

  I tugged Red’s sleeve. “We need to go now and stop him.”

  Genie folded her arms. “Here we go. Time for the piglet detective to deliver a lecture. The world is not black and white, Half Moon. Some of us do just fine in the gray areas.”

  “Murt Hourihan. Sergeant Murt Hourihan is on his way to check out the vending warehouse right now. Remember?”

  Suddenly Red did remember. The memory turned him whiter than a nervous ghost. “We have to go,” he said. “Right now.”

  The quickest route to the Lock Industrial Estate was cross country. We sprinted through several gardens and across a wasteland of discarded machine parts, heading for the orange glow of the estate’s streetlamps. The farther we went, the farther Red pulled away from me. He was in good shape, a sportsman. Running flat out for a mile didn’t seem to bother him. Me, I thought I was going to die. And after I died, possibly throw up. I didn’t call Red back, though; speed was more important than brains in this instance.

  The estate was U-shaped. Three rows of buildings with an entrance on to the main road. The entire place was lit up like a flying-saucer landing site. I imagine they would light those up pretty well. I saw Red tearing across a parking lot, surrounded by several of his own shadows.

  By the time I caught up, he had located Papa behind the vending machine warehouse. He was wedged into a ditch overlooking the loading yard.

  “Would you like to tell me why I shouldn’t go in there?” Papa was saying. It was obvious that he was not happy with Red’s sudden appearance. Then he noticed me.

  “You brought Half Moon? On a job? I know you don’t exactly think like the rest of us, Red, but you’re still family.”

  Red’s bottom lip jutted out. “You just can’t go in there,” he said stubbornly. “That’s all.”

  Papa emerged from the bush. Quite a bit of it stayed in his hair. With the orange glow behind him, Papa looked like a caveman emerging from a hole in time.

  “Listen, son. We all know how you feel. But I’m the way I am. Stop fighting it. Just accept it. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ve never been caught. You know that. I’m too clever for the police.”

  “Can’t we talk about this at home?” asked Red. “We need to go home.”

  “Why do we have to go home tonight?” asked Papa suspiciously. “You never came after me before.”

  I thought I would fill in the details. “Murt Hourihan is on his way. . . .”

  That was as far as I got because Papa eyes were wide and his voice grew loud. “Murt Hourihan. Sergeant Hourihan? You’ve gone over to the other side, then, Red. Did you turn me in?”

  Red rolled his eyes at me. Well done, Half Moon, said the eyes. “No. Of course not. I would never do that. We’re here to save you.” Red stood his ground. “Don’t do it, Papa. Trust me. You go in there, and you’re in prison and we’re in care. Is that what you want? It’s not what Mom wanted.”

  Papa was quietly furious. “That’s it!” he said, pointing a finger bigger than a hot dog. “The line is crossed. Don’t you throw your mother at me. You were barely five.”

  “I know what she wanted,” insisted Red.

  “You know nothing!” shouted Papa. “This is me, Red. In front of you. I am your family. Not our unwelcome guest. No offense, Half Moon.”

  “None taken,” I mumbled.

  “This is my life,” said Papa, spreading his arms. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Red said nothing. He simply pointed toward the main road. A solitary pair of headlights bobbed through the darkness, then turned in to the industrial estate. The car materialized under the street-lamp glow. It was a squad car with a crumpled rear bumper. The car disappeared from view around the front of the warehouse. It did not reappear at the other side.

  Papa stuffed a tool kit under his arm.

  “Home,” he ordered. “This conversation is not over.”

  Back to Chez Sharkey for the final time. There wasn’t much said on the way. This would be my last night here, one way or the other. Even if we hadn’t steered Murt to the clipboard, the twenty-four hours that Papa had given us to break the case were almost up. As it turned out, it hadn’t even taken us that long.

  The police watch hadn’t stretched to another shift, so we were able to walk through the front yard. Red and I dawdled at the door, reluctant to face Papa again.

  “I have to sort out this family thing,” Red said. “It could be loud, Half Moon. So why don’t you go home now?”

  I had asked myself that same question. I was desperate to see my parents and sister, but I needed to be strong for a few more hours. Until Murt had sewn it all up. It would be fascinating to see how i
t all tied together.

  “Because it’s not a hundred percent yet. It may take the night for Murt to trace everything we’ve been accused of back to April and her gang. I want all the loose ends tied up before I turn myself in.”

  Papa was waiting for us in the kitchen. The trip home had given him the opportunity to calm down, but he hadn’t taken it.

  “In here, the two of you,” he roared.

  We considered disobeying, but not for long.

  Papa’s eyes sparkled with annoyance from below brows that could have taken a few braids. All the man needed was a helmet with horns and he could have been a Viking.

  “Right, Red. Start talking. What exactly is going on in that head of yours?”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” Red whispered, his eyes on the floor. “You’ve made your choice, and so has Genie. But me and Roddy don’t have to have the same life.”

  Herod laughed. “I want to do it. I have every video game in the charts in my bedroom. I don’t need friends. I just need my console and a bag of candy!”

  Papa was taken aback. “You have us, too, Roddy boy.”

  “For now,” said Red, louder now. “Until you go to jail along with Arthur and Uncle Pete and Mad Mary and Eileen. There’ll be a whole wing of Sharkeys soon. If it wasn’t for Half Moon, you’d be in a cell right now.”

  Herod spoke quietly. “Are you going to jail, Papa? When?”

  Papa frowned. “No, I’m not going to jail.”

  “Me neither,” added Genie. “I’m too fashionable for those orange jumpsuits.”

  Red was determined to make his point. “Tell him the truth. Before you drag him into a life of robbing and thieving.”

  Papa was flabbergasted. I got the impression that this was the first time one of his children had ever pressed him on this subject. He recovered, and tried to joke his way out.

  “Ah, now, Red boy,” he sang, dancing his way past the kitchen table. “We’re hardly master criminals, just shave a bit off here, skim a bit off there.” He took Red in his arms, waltzing him around the kitchen. “Relax, little man. Aren’t we happy? Don’t we get along just fine?”

  Genie and Herod were dancing, too.