forehead. The other boy was shorter, with carroty red hair and a light smattering of acne over his pale face. He stared around the room in mutinous silence.
“You can’t do this to us,” the first boy said.
“Excellent,” said Veronica, pushing up off the copy machine. “My assistants have arrived.”
Mac looked at Veronica, one eyebrow raised. “Your what?”
“This one tried to bolt while we were coming up the stairs,” Wallace said, jerking his head toward the first boy. “You’ll have to keep an eye on him. Hey, Mac.”
“Hi, Wallace. Why are you delivering urchins to our door?”
“Because I’m a helpful guy. Veronica Mars says she needs boots on the ground, I find her some boots.” Wallace gave a lopsided grin, running a hand over the stubble of his goatee. “See, Coach Fennel knows all and sees all. I caught two of my best players in the Cabo Cantina with the worst excuses for fake IDs I’ve ever seen. In exchange for my clemency they’re gonna help you out this afternoon.”
The kid in the hat turned around to scowl at Wallace. “It’s no fair. You can’t give us detention for something that happened during spring break. We weren’t even at school, Coach!”
Wallace gave him a pleasant smile. “You’re right, T.J. I can’t give you detention. But I
can
bench you for the rest of the season. Or—now, here’s an idea—I could call your mom.” A look of horror flitted over the kid’s face. Wallace pretended to pick up a phone. “Ring ring. Well, hello, Mrs. Wiggins. I just wanted to make sure that T.J.’s allowed to drink three-foot piña coladas, right?” Wallace dropped his hand. “But see, I want to keep my point guard
alive
. So instead, I’m giving you the option of a few hours’ work to pay your debt to society. Sound fair?”
The kid nodded, eyes wide.
“How about you, Quinton?” He turned to the redhead, who nodded too.
Veronica grabbed the stack of flyers off the copier and held one up. She’d arranged two pictures of Hayley on the page, both of them from the night Hayley went missing. One showed her on the dance floor, her hair suspended in midair as she moved. The other showed her curled up on a couch with the handsome stranger. Instead of the tip line, she’dput the number of one of Mars Investigations’ dedicated phone lines across the flyer.
“I need you guys to hit the pavement for me. Put these up on lampposts, hand them out on the boardwalk, see if you can get them in shop windows. Especially in places where there are lots of spring breakers.”
They both took stacks of flyers from her, their eyes darting over the pictures. They exchanged glances, and then T.J. looked up with an earnest and helpful expression on his face.
“Do you need us to interview people too? We can ask around, see if anyone wants to talk to us. You know, on the beach?”
Veronica gave him a piercing look before she answered. “You have my permission to talk to any bikini babe you want, as long as you get the flyers circulating.”
“And as long as you are perfect gentlemen who do not make your coach or your team look bad,” interjected Wallace pointedly. “Because your next not-detention isn’t going to be this easy. Got it?”
T.J. looked insulted. “Hey, I don’t need lessons on how to respect the ladies. I respect
all
the ladies. Skinny ones, medium ones—”
“Boys.” Veronica clapped her hands. “Let’s focus here. I need these to get out as quickly as possible. As an added incentive, if I
do
find Hayley, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
Both boys looked suddenly alert.
“Each?” asked T.J.
“Each,” said Veronica. “So make sure you get these flyers posted in as many places as you can. This will only work if they get seen.”
T.J. and Quinton turned to each other, strategizing in low voices—deciding where they could get the most flyers seen by the most people, versus where the hottest and least-dressed girls hung out. It seemed to be mostly
“You can’t do this to us,” the first boy said.
“Excellent,” said Veronica, pushing up off the copy machine. “My assistants have arrived.”
Mac looked at Veronica, one eyebrow raised. “Your what?”
“This one tried to bolt while we were coming up the stairs,” Wallace said, jerking his head toward the first boy. “You’ll have to keep an eye on him. Hey, Mac.”
“Hi, Wallace. Why are you delivering urchins to our door?”
“Because I’m a helpful guy. Veronica Mars says she needs boots on the ground, I find her some boots.” Wallace gave a lopsided grin, running a hand over the stubble of his goatee. “See, Coach Fennel knows all and sees all. I caught two of my best players in the Cabo Cantina with the worst excuses for fake IDs I’ve ever seen. In exchange for my clemency they’re gonna help you out this afternoon.”
The kid in the hat turned around to scowl at Wallace. “It’s no fair. You can’t give us detention for something that happened during spring break. We weren’t even at school, Coach!”
Wallace gave him a pleasant smile. “You’re right, T.J. I can’t give you detention. But I
can
bench you for the rest of the season. Or—now, here’s an idea—I could call your mom.” A look of horror flitted over the kid’s face. Wallace pretended to pick up a phone. “Ring ring. Well, hello, Mrs. Wiggins. I just wanted to make sure that T.J.’s allowed to drink three-foot piña coladas, right?” Wallace dropped his hand. “But see, I want to keep my point guard
alive
. So instead, I’m giving you the option of a few hours’ work to pay your debt to society. Sound fair?”
The kid nodded, eyes wide.
“How about you, Quinton?” He turned to the redhead, who nodded too.
Veronica grabbed the stack of flyers off the copier and held one up. She’d arranged two pictures of Hayley on the page, both of them from the night Hayley went missing. One showed her on the dance floor, her hair suspended in midair as she moved. The other showed her curled up on a couch with the handsome stranger. Instead of the tip line, she’dput the number of one of Mars Investigations’ dedicated phone lines across the flyer.
“I need you guys to hit the pavement for me. Put these up on lampposts, hand them out on the boardwalk, see if you can get them in shop windows. Especially in places where there are lots of spring breakers.”
They both took stacks of flyers from her, their eyes darting over the pictures. They exchanged glances, and then T.J. looked up with an earnest and helpful expression on his face.
“Do you need us to interview people too? We can ask around, see if anyone wants to talk to us. You know, on the beach?”
Veronica gave him a piercing look before she answered. “You have my permission to talk to any bikini babe you want, as long as you get the flyers circulating.”
“And as long as you are perfect gentlemen who do not make your coach or your team look bad,” interjected Wallace pointedly. “Because your next not-detention isn’t going to be this easy. Got it?”
T.J. looked insulted. “Hey, I don’t need lessons on how to respect the ladies. I respect
all
the ladies. Skinny ones, medium ones—”
“Boys.” Veronica clapped her hands. “Let’s focus here. I need these to get out as quickly as possible. As an added incentive, if I
do
find Hayley, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
Both boys looked suddenly alert.
“Each?” asked T.J.
“Each,” said Veronica. “So make sure you get these flyers posted in as many places as you can. This will only work if they get seen.”
T.J. and Quinton turned to each other, strategizing in low voices—deciding where they could get the most flyers seen by the most people, versus where the hottest and least-dressed girls hung out. It seemed to be mostly
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