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Howard Wallace, P.I.

“What’s with the get-up? Is that the company uniform or something?”

“This? All P.I.s wear a trench coat.”

“Dude, that’s a brown bathrobe.”

I shrugged and straightened out my sleeves. “First rule of private investigation, Ivy: work with what you’ve got.”  

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Howard Wallace, P.I.

shadow of a pug

My partner scanned the message and a slow grin took over her face as she said our four favorite words: “We have a case.”  

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Howard Wallace, P.I.

sabotage stage left

"Is that our twelve o'clock I see lurking over there?" Ivy rolled up on her tiptoes to peer over my shoulder. "They look twitchy."

"Waiting's good," I said. "Builds character."

"What?" Ivy slid me a sideways look. "Are we billing by the hour now?"

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gnome is where your
heart is

The golden rule of Shady Elms Retirement Home was listed clearly on the front door:

No unaccompanied minors after six p.m.

Which was why I was not using the front door.


Bringing people back to life was an unusual service for a funeral home, but it was one my family did with great pride.

Unless the deceased in question was my grandmother's mortal enemy.

Apparently, then, we got a little cranky about it.

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