Текст книги "Alibi High"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Alibi High

By Jeff Shelby

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALIBI HIGH

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2014

cover design by Eden Crane Designs

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

THREAD OF SUSPICION

THREAD OF BETRAYAL

THREAD OF INNOCENCE

The Noah Braddock Novels

KILLER SWELL

WICKED BREAK

LIQUID SMOKE

DRIFT AWAY

The Moose River Mysteries

THE MURDER PIT

LAST RESORT

ALIBI HIGH

FOUL PLAY (JANUARY 2015)

The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

STAY AT HOME DEAD

POPPED OFF

FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

 

 

Short Story Collections

OUT OF TIME

ONE

“I have amazing news,” I said to my eldest daughter Emily as she walked through the door from school.

She dropped her backpack on to one of the dining room chairs. “You're finally buying me a car?”

“More amazing than that,” I lied with a smile .

She kicked off the black flats she was wearing. “We're moving to Hawaii to avoid another Minnesota winter?”

“More amazing.”

“Mom. There's nothing that would be more amazing than either of those two things, okay?” she said, leveling her gaze at me. “So now just tell me what you think is so amazing so I can be disappointed.”

A cynic at fifteen. Definitely my daughter.

I ran the washcloth across the top of the table, wiping up the forgotten crumbs from lunch. “We're going to get to spend a lot more time together next week ,” I said, smiling. .”

Her pretty face screwed up in confusion. “What? School just started.”

“I know,” I said, upping the wattage of my smile. “I'm going to school with you.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “What?”

“I'm going to school with you,” I repeated, still grinning. “For a whole week.”

Emily was the only one of our four kids who went to a traditional school. I homeschooled the younger three. But Emily had asked to attend Prism, the local charter school and was now in her second year there. Jake and I weren't always so sure about what went on there, but for Emily, it was exactly what she'd been looking for. She loved the structure, had a great group of girlfriends and was doing very well in her classes. She looked forward to going every morning.

Except, apparently, when her mother was going to go with her.

Her eyes bore into me. “No. That can't be true.” She looked around. “Is Jake filming this? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No,” I said. I scooped the crumbs into my hand and walked them to the sink. “I'm getting all of our volunteer hours out of the way in one week. Isn't that exciting?”

Emily followed me into the kitchen. “What?” she asked, her face a mask of pain and fear and anger. “No. Why? Why?”

“Well, we have to do all of those volunteer hours,” I explained. “You know that.”

Each year, the school required Prism families to do a certain amount of volunteer hours within the school, both to help keep costs down and to promote a sense of community. Her freshman year, we'd worked concession stands and ticket booths to complete our hours, but scheduling them had always been a hassle, trying to coordinate our calendars and figuring out which events we could bring the younger kids to. When I'd gotten the email that the school was looking for extra general help during school hours the following week, I'd made a couple of phone calls to arrange care for the younger kids – which was going to be a whole 'nother story – and contacted the school to let them know I was available. They couldn't have been happier to hear I was coming.

Far happier than Emily was.

“Oh my God,” she said. We were back in the dining room kitchen and she dropped into a chair and put her head in her hands. “What are you going to be doing? Will I see you? Will you be in my classes? Oh my God. Do not talk to me, whatever you do.”

A normal mother would've been offended, perhaps even hurt by her words. But I'd become accustomed to her dramatics as well as her abhorrence of having either me or Jake come within twenty feet of her when she was with friends. I suppressed a smile. I viewed this what I was doing as just another example of the universe evening things out for parents who were mistreated by their moody, grumpy teenagers.

“I have no idea what I'll be doing,” I explained to my now terrified, mortified daughter. “I won't know until I get there. But I do know we'll get to ride together in the mornings and come home together at the end of—”

“I'm still riding the bus,” she said fiercely, shaking her head. “I'm riding the bus.”

“Hmm. We'll see.” I patted her on the back. “I can't wait to spend more time at this school you love so much. Maybe we can even have lunch together.”

She launched herself from the chair, ready to either scream at me or rip my throat out, but was distracted by Jake coming in the door.

“Jake,” she said, marching over to her step-father. “You can't let her do this.”

“She usually doesn't ask for permission,” he said, smiling first at her, then me as he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. “And I can't let her do what?”

“She's coming to my school,” she said, enunciating each syllable of each word. “For the whole week. She's going to... to talk to me and stuff!”

“The horror,” Jake said, arching his eyebrows. He looked at me. “Is this true?”

“Will I talk to her? Duh. Of course I will.” I smiled at Em. “I'll probably try to sneak in a hug in the hallways between classes.”

“Oh my God!” Emily let out a strangled scream, grabbed her bag, stomped into her room and slammed her door. I was pretty sure she was already plotting ways to execute me – or, at the very least, find a way to take me out of commission for the next week.

“Being a parent shouldn't be this much fun,” I said to Jake. “I mean, can you imagine what's going to happen when I really do try to hug her at her locker? I think I should wear one of those Go-Pro cameras to film the week.”

He slipped out of his shoes and set them by the door. “And how exactly has this opportunity arisen for you to torture the crap out of our eldest child?”

I recounted getting the email, my phone calls and my glee at surprising Emily with the news.

“Hold on,” Jake said, raising his hand. “Back up a second. Brenda is going to watch the kids all week?”

Brenda Witt, my best friend and fellow homeschool mom, had agreed to take the younger three in a sort of kid swap. “Yep.”

“And what exactly do we have to do in return?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, nothing really,” I said, knowing this was going to be the trickiest part of the arrangement. “She's going to watch our three for five days. All we have to do in return is watch her kids for five date nights for her and Johnny.”

“How is that fair?” Jake said, taking on nearly the same panicked tone as Emily. “They have, like, seventy-three kids. And that one...”

“They have five,” I corrected him. “And it's more than fair. She's taking ours for five whole days. We'll only watch hers for five nights. We're getting the better end of the deal.”

“Not if we have to watch that one,” he muttered. There was a bag of chips still sitting on the table and he grabbed a handful.

“Who? Derek?”

“Yes!” he said, pointing at me. “I can never keep them all straight. That one.”

Derek was Brenda and Johnny's fourth child, a two year old who was a bit...spirited.

“Oh, Derek is fine,” I said, waving him off. “He's two.”

“So that explains why he hit me in the shins with a hammer the last time he was here?” he asked “Or why he stole the car keys? It took us three days to figure out the kid had taken them!”

“I'm sure the hammer was an accident,” I said. “And he didn't steal the keys ; . h H e was playing with them. He'll be fine.”

Jake grunted and popped a chip in his mouth. “I'll need to check both our life insurance and health insurance policies if that kid's coming over. And she better not be doing any of that woo-woo organic, save-the-Earth crap with our kids next week.”

Brenda prided herself on never going to the grocery store, buying food from local farms and keeping her home free of dangerous chemicals and toxins, which sometimes meant making her own soap, deodorant and sunscreen. She'd thrown out her microwave oven last year and mounted a food dehydrator in the empty space above the stove.

“It will be fine,” I assured him. “And here's the best part. You won't have to do a single hour of volunteer work at Prism. I can take care of all of our hours next week and we won't have to give it another thought after I'm done.”

The irritated expression on his face softened. “Really?”

I nodded. “Really. It'll all be done and you won't have to spend a second counting change or tearing tickets.”

He considered that. “Okay. I like that. But still. Derek.”

“Derek will be fine,” I repeated. I stepped closer and hugged him. “And the kids will be able to use the microwave to their heart's content when they come home in the evenings. It's all going to be great.”

“Hmm,” he said, looping his arms around me. “Maybe. But I still feel like we shouldn't have to watch all seventy-three of their kids when we're only giving her three.”

“I'll talk to her,” I assured him. “We'll get it worked out.” I squeezed him, then grabbed him by the hand. “Now come on. You have to help me.”

“With what?”

I grinned at him, pulling him toward the stairs. “I wanna go through my closet and find the outfits that will embarrass Emily the most next week when her friends see me.”

TWO

“Okay, so that Friday night works,” I said, making a note on the massive wall calendar I used to keep my life semi-organized. I'd pulled it off the kitchen wall and plunked it down in the middle of the dining room table. “So I think that's five.”

“It is,” Brenda said, tapping away at her phone. “So we're all set.”

It was the Sunday night before my volunteer week and I'd invited her and her family over for dinner so we could get all of the arrangements for the week in place, as well as get her date nights on my calendar for when she and Johnny would be leaving us with her kids. We'd managed to figure everything out and the Kid Swap was complete. The kids were out in the yard, running around, and Jake and Johnny were supervising them.

“Is Emily super-thrilled that you'll be at school all week with her?” she asked with a smile. Her dark hair was clipped back and her brown eyes were lit with amusement.

“Like you can't even believe,” I said. “She's barely spoken to me in two days. I'm trying to decide how miserable I should make her life this week.”

“We drove by Prism on the way over,” Brenda said, raising an eyebrow. “Derek said he saw a police car.”

“At the school?”

“No idea,” she said, shrugging. “For all I know, he could have found a toy police car in his car seat. I wasn't paying attention. He just yelled police car and I looked up a couple seconds later. So no clue.”

The school was in an industrial complex, just behind the main highway that bisected Moose River. They'd purchased the building a couple of years earlier and retrofitted it from an office building into a two-story school. It wasn't the pretties t place to put a school, but my understanding was the building had come cheaply and the location was good for the bus s es.

“Emily is always complaining about all of the safety checks they have in place there,” I said. “Sweeping lockers, banning websites, that sort of thing. For all I know, it could've been some security patrol they hired.”

“Probably so,” Brenda said. “Has Will made any noise about going?”

I shook my head. “No way, no how. I think he looks at school much the same way he looks at going to the doctor. He'll do anything to stay away.”

In fact, the younger girls hadn't shown much interest, either and, if I was being honest, I was glad about that. I'd had this horrible fear that as soon as they saw Emily having fun at school, they'd ditch me for homework, crummy lunches and more homework. I loved having them at home and while I wouldn't prevent any of them from going to school if that was what they decided they wanted, I hoped they'd want to homeschool for at least a little longer.

“Yeah, I asked Melinda if she had any interest in going,” Brenda said, speaking of her oldest daughter. She shifted in the chair and glanced out the window toward the backyard. “Since Emily had such a good first year. She looked at me like I was asking if she wanted to get hit by a car.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I'm not sure what it is about it that Emily loves so much, but I'm glad she likes it. She's happy.”

Brenda nodded. “Good.” The kids' shrieks of laughter wafted through the yard and she gave me a sympathetic look. “I can't imagine what it's going to be like for you next week, spending all that time without the kids.”

“There will be several hundred kids.”

“Yeah, but they won't be hanging on your pant legs, asking for breakfast or to go to the park.”

I nodded, laughing again. It was going to be a different experience, for sure. But I thought it was important that I spend some time in Emily's world, even if she didn't want me to. I wanted to put names with faces and get a better sense of what her day was like. And I also wanted to show her that I wasn't anti-school since it was something she loved. I didn't plan to make her life miserable, no matter what she thought.

I just wanted to understand it a little better.

“Is there anything you want me to do with them next week?” Brenda asked. “I've got a few things planned. We're going to start a compost pile near our garden and I thought we'd make some flour-free muffins, too. And I really want to see about making that n atural ew sunscreen I was telling you about. I think they can all help with that. But if there are any specific things you want me to do, I can.”

I tried not to laugh out loud. Jake had called it perfectly. I had no problem with the kids doing any of those things because they would be learning. But I found it hilarious that Jake had predicted what they'd be doing.

“No, that's perfect,” I said. “Whatever you want to do is fine. They'll be into it.”

Footsteps clamored on the steps to the back porch and the kitchen door opened.

Johnny looked at each of us, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. “You have any Band-aids?”

“Of course,” I said, standing and heading for the bathroom. “Just one?”

“Better make it two,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

I grabbed two from the bathroom and walked back out to the dining room. “Someone bleeding out?” I asked, han g d ing him the wrapped bandages.

He took them. “Derek got into your garage and found the hedge clippers.” He didn't sound alarmed.

Brenda sighed and shook her head, the resigned response of a mother with a two-year-old who, at times, despite being cuter than a button, possessed some demon-like qualities.

I winced. “Oh, gosh. Is he alright?”

“Oh, yeah, he's fine,” Johnny said as he headed back outside. “But he poked Jake in the back of the calf with them.”

THREE

I was more nervous than I thought I'd be on Monday morning.

It had been close to twenty years since I'd attended a day of school and, as it turned out, the old anxieties hadn't left me – they'd just gone into hibernation. I had trouble sleeping and was up earlier than usual. Emily frowned at me as she moved through the house – from her bedroom to the bathroom and back to her room – getting ready. I'd decided to let her ride the bus and keep her usual routine. She was already wigged out enough by my presence at the school and I didn't want to make it worse than it already was. My stomach wasn't much for breakfast and I spent the better part of the early morning, getting the other three out of bed, dressed and fed so that Jake could get them to Brenda's on his way to work. By the time they finally left, I was rushing around to get myself ready and make sure I was at Prism by nine.

The street around Prism was lined with cars, a product of a small parking lot and too many drivers. Most of the area businesses had signs warning non-customers who used their lots would be dealt with swiftly. Most had not been happy about being so near a school, simply because of the traffic hassles it created . a a nd they did everything in their power to make sure their territory was not impeded upon.

I found a spot about a block away and hustled into the the two-story brown building.

“I need to use the lab,” an irritated boy of about seventeen was saying to the woman behind the desk in the main office. “Our teacher promised that we could use it this morning to print out our projects but the door is locked and the lights are out. I have to use it before third hour.”

The woman he was complaining to – string-bean thin with a brown head of curls and a beak-like nose – looked sternly at him. Or at least she tried to. “Benjamin, I've already told you it's not open today.”

“But I have to use it.”

“But you can't and I'm sorry,” she said. She pushed the sleeves of her thin red sweater up to her elbows and gave him a sympathetic look. “There's nothing I can do about it.”

“Who can do something about it?” he asked, cutting loose with a disgusted sigh. His blue eyes narrowed. “Or should I just call my dad and tell him that once again nothing works at this place?”

It was a complaint that I'd heard often from Emily. Prism billed itself as the most technologically advanced school in central Minnesota – it was on their letterhead, their website and their brochures – but yet the computers never seemed to work, the Internet connection always conked out and the website was down more often than it was up. She'd taken to always printing things at home because she knew she could never count on working printers or even the computer lab being open.

“Benjamin, you can call your father and tell him anything you'd like,” the woman told the boy. “But it won't change the fact that the lab is not – and will not be – open this morning.”

Benjamin made the same disgusted sigh, muttered something under his breath, and trudged past me out of the office.

The woman took a deep breath and refocused on me, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Good morning. How can I help you?” Then something flashed through her green eyes and she snapped her fingers, taking a closer look at me. “Wait a moment. Mrs. Savage, correct? You're here to volunteer, I believe?”

I nodded. “Yes, that's right. I'm Daisy.”

“Emily's mother,” she said, smiling and it seemed more genuine than the one she'd had to dig for when she'd first said hello. “She's a lovely girl. I'm Ellen Peterson. Thank you so much for coming in this week. We can really use the help.”

“I'm happy to be here.”

“Well, come on back, and we'll get you situated,” she said, motioning for me to come around her desk.

I followed her to a small conference room and she had me take a seat in one of the oversized chairs. She brought me a small stack of papers that I had to fill out, mainly agreeing that I was there to volunteer and so that they could record the hours I was there. She also had to take my picture for my I.D. It took me fifteen minutes to fill out the papers and when I was done, she returned with a laminated badge on a lanyard that had both my name and picture on it.

“Here you go,” she said, handing it to me. “Make sure you wear this each day that you're here. It will also function as a keycard for any rooms that are locked.”

I slipped it over my head. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling again. “For agreeing to give so much of your time. Things are a bit...busy, this week, so as I said, we really appreciate you coming in. Not everything will be terribly exciting, but I'm sure we'll come up with a few things for you to do that won't put you to sleep.”

“I'll be fine with whatever you'd like me to do,” I said.

She seemed relieved by this. “Excellent. I think what I'd like to start you with is sorting a back log of mail. Would that be alright?”

“Whatever you'd like,” I said, relieved that the task sounded relatively easy.

I followed her back out to the main area and a girl about Emily's age was standing at the desk, chomping on a piece of gum and looking annoyed.

“Is, like, the computer lab, ever going to be open?” she asked, in the way only an entitled teenager can speak. “I have to print out my paper for Mr. Ledger's class or else I'm gonna, like, fail.”

“The lab is closed this morning, Deirdre,” Ellen told her calmly. “It will not be open today.”

Deirdre raised a thin eyebrow and chomped harder on the gum. “So I'm gonna have to, like, fail?”

“That's for you and your teacher to work out, dear,” Ellen explained. The sleeves of her sweater had fallen and she pushed them back up to her elbows. “But it will not be open today and I can't tell you when it will be open again.” She paused. “And remember, we don't allow gum-chewing in class.”

“Well, that's just awesome,” Deirdre said. She made a big show of taking out her wad pf pink gum and dropping it into the wastebasket by the door. “Such a joke.” She snorted, turned on her heel and stomped away.

Ellen took another long, deep breath and forced the earlier smile I'd seen back onto her lips. “As I said, things are a bit crazy at the moment.”

“It's Monday,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic. “Mondays are always long days.”

“And then some,” she said. “Now, let's get you that mail so we don't waste any more of your time.”

She reached under her desk and pulled out a giant plastic bin overflowing with envelopes, magazines and advertisements. “This is it. If you could just sort it into piles by the names they're addressed to, that would be great. I can show you where the mailboxes are.”

“Okay.” I looked around the cramped office. “Any specific place I should do this?”

She thought for a minute. “You can use the conference room to spread out.”

“Sounds good,” I said, picking up the crate and following Ellen into the conference room.

I stood at the long table in the middle of the room and started pulling out handfuls of mail. It wasn't the most glamorous job, but I told myself I'd rather be overqualified for a volunteer job than under-qualified and scrambling.. I set the crate on the middle of the table, and ninety minutes later, I had about sixty different piles spread out on the table and the crate was empty. Most of it was catalogs and junk mail, trying to get teachers to purchase materials to use in their classrooms, stuff I imagined they would probably just end up tossing. It wasn't hard to see why it had been set aside.

I walked back out to the office to tell Ellen that I'd finished. With any luck, I could find out where the teacher mailboxes were and get the mail delivered to the appropriate boxes before lunch.

I turned the corner and saw Ellen seated behind her desk, a nervous smile on her face, pushing at the sleeves of her sweater.

It looked like I would have to wait my turn to talk to her because she was already speaking with someone else.

A Moose River police officer.