Novel - Half Moon Investigations (20 page)

I suspected they had made up this exercise themselves.

“Come on,” said Red.

“We’re not warmed up,” protested Genie. “Just two more dogs.”

“And two more poos,” added Herod, adjusting his sideburns.

Red propelled them both onstage, dragging me along.

A folk-singing trio had just finished a version of “Country Roads” and were in the middle of their bow when we tumbled onto the stage. Behind us, the other acts swarmed into the wings. My name was on everyone’s lips.

Moon the lunatic is here. In disguise.

Principal Quinn arrived onstage from the opposite wing, shooting Red a look that would have petrified a minotaur.
You will pay for this later
, the look promised.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she announced through a whistling microphone. “In a change to the advertised program, it seems as though Red Sharkey is next, with his version of the Elvis classic ‘Love Me Tender.’ The stage is yours, Red, and I look forward to discussing your performance later.”

Principal Quinn bowed slightly. Mockingly.

Red grinned feebly and stepped up to the microphone to a slight smattering of applause. The clapping was almost drowned out by a sea of buzzing, as muted cell phones received text messages. The word of my presence was spreading.

Red struck a pose, waiting for Genie to cue the mini-disk player on the stool behind her. A moment later, the sound of an Elvis backing track filled the hall.

“Love me tender . . .”
he sang in a beautiful sultry tenor.

Genie and Herod swayed in unison behind the second mike, bumping me on both sides.

“Ooh ooh ooh,”
they sang.

“Oops,
ooh,
sorry,” I moaned.

“Love me sweet . . .”

He never got past the second line, because hundreds of students were pulling out their cell phones. The text jumped cricket-like from phone to phone as everybody read, then passed it on to everyone in their phone book. May’s words had spread through the audience like a virus.

U R not gng 2 Blve ds. 1/2 Moon is here.

I knew what was happening. I felt as though my disguise was becoming slowly transparent. Students were staring at me. Initially in disbelief, then with dawning realization as their brains ran a profile on my features. One little first-grade girl put her finger on it.

She stood slowly, still deciphering the message on her phone screen. I have always thought that six was too young for a cell phone. Now I was certain of it.

“That ugly boy,” she said, pointing to me in case anyone was in doubt as to who exactly the ugly boy was. “My phone says he’s Half Moon.”

I expected instant chaos. I was wrong. This was such a fantastic situation—so unusual, so exciting, that no one wanted it to end. My audience froze, willing me to speak. Principal Quinn and Officer Cassidy were the exceptions, but they were being held back by the throngs in the wings. They wouldn’t be held back forever. I had ten seconds to solve this case.

The clues whirled in my head. Red was right. There was no denying it. Only one person had benefited from each and every incident, and I had been blind not to see it. The truth hit me like a series of fireworks inside my brain. Emotions and allegiances became unimportant. Truth was truth. This is the burden of the detective.

I stepped forward in a daze. Knowing something, and making others believe it are two different things. My words would mean nothing, unless they could be confirmed by the guilty party. I had to force a confession. Nothing else would save me.

I turned quickly to Herod. “I need your help,” I whispered, covering the mike. “Red needs it, too.”

Herod squinted at me, and the desperation in my eyes told him that this was not the time to argue.

He nodded briefly, and I whispered to him what might need to be done.

A smile lit up his little face. “It’s the opposite of what I generally do.”

I pulled the microphone from its stand. It came away, trailing a ribbon of duct tape. Time to face my public.

“Hello, Lock,” I said, smiling a watery smile.

Beside me Herod groaned, and Genie covered her face. I glanced across at Red. He bowed, yielding the stage to me. If I didn’t pull this off, all the Sharkeys were in for it, including the fake one.

Someone called from the back rows. “Is it really you, Half Moon? Are you really an obsessive-compulsive schizophrenic?”

Some people should not be allowed to watch television after nine.

“Yes, it is really me,” I replied, my voice booming and hollow through the hall’s speakers. “I’ve come here because I am innocent, and I can prove it.”

The statement was met with a wall of cynicism. I felt like a lone archer trying to breach the walls of Troy. Still, no one rushed the stage. It was the kind of real-life adventure that people would never forget.

Even Principal Quinn and Officer Cassidy were hooked. They were no longer struggling to get onstage, instead they elbowed their way to a decent viewing spot. I had better deliver, and fast.

“I know you all think I’m crazy,” I began, easing into it.

“Boo!” shouted an audience member.

“Get on with it!” called another.

“When is the magician coming on?” whined an elderly man in the front row. “I heard there was a magician.”

Okay. Maybe a warm-up was a bad idea. Cut to the chase.

“It was all about the talent show,” I proclaimed, spreading my arms wide. It was good theater. “That’s why I came here tonight, to protect a particular performer from danger.”

A rustle of whispers spread through the crowd. Someone was in
danger
? This just got better and better.

“It all started twelve months ago on this very stage.
Someone
got beaten very badly in this competition, and
someone
didn’t like it.”

I moved across the stage, and hundreds of heads swiveled to follow.

“So, let’s see who was in that competition. There was Red Sharkey, the overall winner. Red shouldn’t be here tonight, because he got himself suspended for supposedly assaulting me. So, as far as our criminal was concerned, Red was out of the picture.”

“Which is a shame, Mama,” interjected Red. “’Cause I’m purty good at whut I do.”

This got a big laugh. Everyone loves a comedian.

I shot Red a disapproving look, which he naturally ignored.

“Second place went to Mercedes Sharp, for her Britney act. But someone stole Mercedes’s karaoke mini-disk, so she pulled out, presumably to concentrate on being the town gossip.”

Not strictly relevant, I know. But Mercedes had been poking fun at me for years. Judging by the round of applause, I wasn’t the only one she’d poked fun at.

“Johnny Riordan and Pierce Bent were third. They didn’t enter this year because their DJ friend’s needles were stolen. No turntables, no act.”

I was making inroads. I could see a few thoughtful faces in the audience. Not many, but a few.

“Fourth place went to SeeSaw Halpin.”

“SeeSaw,” howled the fifth grade as one. This happened every time his name was mentioned, which was very frustrating for his teachers, and his parents, who would really prefer that everyone call him Raymond.

“But unfortunately, SeeSa . . . eh, Raymond’s sister was injured this year and he was unable to continue his dance lessons. So Seesaw is out.”

“SEESAW!”

“Fifth place went to Gretel Bannon. She didn’t enter this year, because her babysitter, Maura Murnane, was tricked into overeating and hasn’t been herself. Without Maura, Gretel has had no one to take her to recorder class.”

It was starting to click with people now that what I was saying made real sense.

“Fifth was Julie Kennedy, who was not allowed to enter this year because her grades fell. Her grades fell because her after-school tutor received something nasty in the mail and left town. Seven entrants for this competition, all taken out by apparently unconnected situations. Too many coincidences. Entirely too many.”

“So who came next?” called a voice from the back of the hall.

The obvious question. I was hoping someone would ask it. I paused before answering. Whatever I said next would change my life. Someone I liked a lot would be hurt. Forever. For there was no chance that I was wrong. I knew who the guilty party was.

“May Devereux,” I whispered into the wire mesh of the microphone head.

A collective
oooh
rose from the audience. I didn’t blame them. This was good stuff for five euros.

“Fletcher, what are you saying?” May had pushed her way on to the stage. With her dance costume, blond hair, and wobbling lip, she looked the picture of innocence. I would have less trouble convincing a trekkie that Spock was an impulsive hothead. Still, I only needed to convince one person.

“Are you saying that I did all those things? Is that what you mean?”

I turned, blocking the sparkle of her costume from my vision. What I was doing was cruel, but it had to be done. This had to stop tonight.

“That’s exactly what I mean, May.”

She took a step to the left, her sequins glinting. “Why can’t you look at me, Fletcher? Is it because you know I’m innocent?”

“Innocent?” I scoffed. “Not too innocent to set up everyone who beat you in last year’s show.”

“But they got me, too. My lucky costume.”

“Maybe,” I countered. “But you’re still here.”

She didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t have an answer, but because she was going for the innocent, hurt look.

I plowed on. May’s credibility had to be torn to shreds. It was the only way this could work.

“Take a look, everyone. Lovely May Devereux. As pretty as her name. The perfect student and a doting daughter. But behind this facade is someone who will do anything to get her way. Being seventh in a competition was never going to be enough for May. After last year’s humiliation, she plotted her strategy for months. It was a simple enough plan: take out everyone who finished higher than her.”

May had turned so pale that she seemed almost translucent.

“So Mercedes’s mini-disk is stolen, Johnny and Pierce lose their decks, the chocolate phantom visits Maura Murnane. The list goes on. But there was one problem: Master Red Sharkey. Red has already been in more trouble than May can throw at him. Red has backbone and will not be broken; his family can’t be used against him. May is getting desperate, she’s running out of ideas. Then one day her cousin April, who has her own scheme, hires me to track down a fictitious lock of Shona Biederbeck’s hair. It was perfect.”

I paused for breath. You could have heard a potato chip crunch—but didn’t because this drama was more absorbing than any snack. Which is saying a lot for school kids.

“April and May set me on Red’s trail like a good doggy. I get assaulted, Red gets blamed, and May is the least-likely suspect. Perfect.”

May found the resolve to step forward under the lights. Her costume shimmered like a disco ball.

“You do know I’m only ten, don’t you, Fletcher? And anyway, you can’t prove any of this,” she said with some steel behind her trembling voice.

Proof.
The hole in my case. A rather significant hole. But this was all part of the plan.

“I don’t need proof, because everyone in this hall knows it’s true. Your life as the popular princess is over.”

What I was doing was cruel. Terrible. I hated myself. I wished there was another way.

May retreated in the face of this onslaught. She mouthed my name, but no sound came out.

“You had more than most, May, but it wasn’t enough. You had to have the talent show crown as well, even if it meant climbing over your own schoolmates. Some of your victims have been friends since kindergarten. How could you?”

“She didn’t!” said a voice from the crowd. The outburst I had been praying for. The sound of that simple sentence was like the clanging of a victory bell. I knew, with absolute certainty, that my theory had been correct. It was as if a ghost had taken on flesh and revealed himself to the world.

“No,” I said, turning to face the man who had left his seat and was standing red faced in the aisle. “She didn’t. You did. Isn’t that right, Mr. Devereux?”

May’s father, Gregor Devereux, looked back at his seat as if he had no idea why he wasn’t still in it. His eyes swiveled to meet mine, and they were the eyes of a guilty man. Everything slotted into place with the precision of a laser-cut jigsaw, and the true thrill of detection sent a shiver through my senses. For a moment everything dissolved but the truth.

Devereux pointed a finger at me. “You just . . . You just leave my little girl . . . You just shut up, you little . . .”

“Unfinished sentences,” I said. “A sure sign of guilt.”

No one moved. No one spoke. Mothers clamped their hands over infants’ mouths.

“It took me a long time to see it,” I said, stepping to the lip of the stage. “I was so stupid, for so long. It had to be you, Mr. Devereux.”

“Call me Gregor,” said May’s father automatically.

“Everything pointed to May, because she was the one to benefit. But if she didn’t do it herself, and I never for a moment believed that she did, then who would want her to benefit.
Who?
Her father, of course.”

Gregor Devereux tried to laugh, but no sound came from his mouth.

“Fletcher, you’re disturbed. Everybody knows it. You’re a fugitive, for heaven’s sake.”

Reasonable enough words, but the delivery was hollow.

I pointed a rigid finger straight at his heart. “You stole the needles. You sent the package. You left the chocolate. It was all you. On a crusade to prove to the wife that walked out on you that you could raise May on your own. A pushy father who refused to accept the fact that his daughter could not dance.”

“She
can
dance!” blurted Devereux. “She can. Like her mother used to. All May needs is some encouragement. A confidence booster.”

“Daddy?” May was center stage now, eyes wide and wet. “Tell them it’s not true. Tell me.”

Gregor Devereux realized what he was saying. How close he was to a confession. He closed his eyes for a second, collecting himself. When he reopened them, they were sincere and almost merry.