Текст книги "Alibi High"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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FOUR

“Every single one?” the officer asked.

He was a short, thick guy with bushy eyebrows, someone I'd never seen before. Considering my past run-ins with the Moose River police department, I was slightly surprised there was an officer on the force I didn't recognize.

Ellen nodded. “Our maintenance man came in this morning and noticed it first. He called our pr incipal esident . She came in, verified his story, then called several of our office staff members, including myself. She asked me to call you so that we could file a report.”

The officer made a few more notes on the notepad he was holding, nodding his head. “Alright. May I take a look at the room?”

“Of course,” Ellen said. She glanced in my direction and her cheeks immediately colored. “Daisy, I'll be back in just a minute, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, already wondering what the police officer was doing at Prism and what the maintenance man had noticed.

I walked back into the conference room and sat back down in my chair. I was scrolling through my phone when I heard footsteps in the door way and looked up.

“Oh,” a woman in a yellow business suit said. Giant seashell-shaped earring dangled from her ears and her face was covered with a thick coat of makeup. “I'm sorry. I was looking for Ellen.” She extended her hand. “I'm Evelyn Bingledorf, the pr incipal esident here at Prism.”

I knew who she was. I'd met her once before, during an open house last year. She'd been friendly, outgoing and boastful of the school. She was very charismatic, but I wasn't sold that she knew a ton about education. Nonetheless, the school was thriving and she'd proven to be a very visible figure in Moose River.

“Daisy Savage,” I said, shaking her perfectly manicured hand. “I'm volunteering this week.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, bestowing a million watt smile on me. “Ellen mentioned she'd have some help this week. If I recall correctly, you have a son in twelfth grade?”

“Uh, no. A daughter in tenth.”

“Ah, yes, yes, that's right,” she said, undeterred by the mistake. “So many children here, so hard to keep all of their names and faces separate, much less their parents. Well, let me be the first to thank you for donating your time to Prism this week. It is so very much appreciated.”

I just nodded. I was beginning to wonder, based on the two enthusiastic thank yous I'd received regarding my volunteer service, if my family was the only one who took the school's “requirement” seriously.

Mrs. Bingeldorf fingered one of her earrings. “Would you by chance know where Ellen is?” she asked.

“I think she just went down the hall,” I said. I paused, then added, “With a police officer.”

“Oh, that was fast,” she said, glancing toward the hallway. “Alright, very good. I'm sure she'll be back momentarily. Anyway, if I can help you at all or if you have questions, please don't hesitate to come and find me. My office is just down the hall. Again, thank you and we're so glad to have you.”

She was gone before I could tell her thank you.

I sat there for a minute, wondering if I should try to find the mailboxes on my own or if I should wait for Ellen to return. She already seemed to be overwhelmed that morning and I didn't want to burden her by asking a million questions and waiting for her to direct me all the time. I was arranging the piles in alphabetical order, though, when she returned to the conference room.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. Her face was flushed and the smile she'd struggled to maintain all morning didn't materialize. “I didn't mean to leave you on your own like that.”

“That's alright,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said. Then she sighed. “Well, no, not really.”

I waited for her to respond.

She glanced over her shoulder. “We have a small problem.” She held up a hand when she saw my eyes widen in alarm. “No one's in danger or anything like that. It's not that kind of problem. The kids are fine. It's just that, well, we've lost some things.”

“Lost?”

“Well, actually they appear to have been stolen,” she said. She took a deep breath, then swallowed. “All of our computers were stolen this weekend.”

I covered my hand with my mouth. “Oh my gosh. That's terrible.”

Ellen nodded. “Yes, it is. We're still trying to figure it out. That's why the lab isn't open this morning. Because the computers literally aren't there.”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “That...isn't good.”

“No, it's not,” Ellen said. “And I think, if you don't mind, I'm going to have you switch tasks.” She glanced at the table. “My goodness, you worked quickly.”

“They still need to go in the mailboxes,” I told her.

“Yes, certainly,” she said, nodding distractedly. “Perhaps we can get to that later. Right now, though, I'm wondering if I could have you do something else.”

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“Oh, Daisy,” she said, shaking her head. “You may regret saying that by the end of the week.”

I was used to regretting things. “How can I help?”

“Would you mind heading down to the computer lab?” she asked. “We need to do a full inventory of everything that's missing and Mr. Riggler could probably use the help compiling a list of what's been stolen.”

“Sure,” I said. I turned to leave, then remembered something. “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Bingledorf came looking for you.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, smiling at me. “She was the one who suggested you might be able to help with the inventory.” She paused. “So if you might check with her first and then head down to the room to meet Mr. Riggler? She can tell you exactly what she'd like you to do.”

“No problem,” I said. “Just point me to her office.”

Maybe I would get to do some fun stuff after all.

FIVE

“We do appreciate your assistance,” Mrs. Bingledorf said, now sitting behind her desk. “And, of course, your discretion.”

She'd offered me the seat on the other side of the desk. Her office was twice as large as the conference room, the walls adorned with her certificates of achievement and merits given to her by the town of Moose River. Her walnut desktop was immaculate, one small stack of papers neatly laid next to the laptop computer, which was next to her phone, which was next to an old-fashioned desk light. If there had ever been a speck of dust on anything, it had been properly eradicated – and probably warned never to return again.

“I've printed out a blank spread sheet for you,” she said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to me. “I'm not sure if Mr. Riggler will have one, so I thought I'd prepare one just in case.”

“Okay,” I said, taking it. “Thanks.”

“Mr. Riggler should have a good handle on what's missing,” she said. She folded her hands together and set them on the desk. “If you would just be kind enough to record everything, then we'll be able to hand over a proper inventory list to the authorities so that we'll know exactly what was taken.”

“I assume you need it for the insurance company, too,” I said, scanning the columns she'd set it up in the worksheet.

“Pardon me?”

I looked at her. “For the insurance company. Won't they need an inventory report, too, so they can assess what you're owed under your policy?”

“Right,” she said, a frown marring her perfectly made-up face. “The insurance company. Yes, you're absolutely right. We'll make sure we make a duplicate so that we can get that sent to our agent immediately.”

I shrugged. “I'd just think that there's a better chance that you'll see an insurance check before you see the computers.”

“Right.” She nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, that's probably true. But we'll hope the Moose River authorities can locate the computers soon.”

“Are there surveillance cameras?” I asked. “For your security system?”

“Funny you should ask,” she said. She unfolded her hands and lay them flat on the desk top. “I just sent an email to our security people asking the same thing.” She winked at me. “Great minds think alike, I suppose.”

“Uh, yes, I suppose so,” I said.

“Tell me again your son's name?” she asked.

“Daughter,” I corrected. “And it's Emily. She's a tenth grader.”

“Ah, yes, I believe I know who she is,” she said, though I wasn't quite sure why when she couldn't even get the gender correct. “A lovely girl, one of our best. : ”

It was an odd statement; did they rank the kids from best to worst? What sort of assessment did they use?

“And she enjoys attending Prism?” Mrs. Bingledorf asked.

“Yes,” I told her. “She was homeschooled through eighth grade and chose to come here last year. She likes it very much.”

“Excellent,” Bingledorf said, nodding. “That's our goal – for the students to want to come here each day and expand their horizons.”

It sounded like something you'd put on an advertising brochure, but I understood the sentiment. And it made me think of the advertising already out there for Prism, the thing they prided themselves on: technology.

“Can I ask a question?”

The principal president smiled. “But of course. Anything at all.”

“With all of the computers being gone, what will the plan be for the kids in the technology classes?” I asked. “Given that it's a core requirement here, I know every single student has a technology class each of their four years, so that means every student is supposed to be in the lab at some point each day. What are you going to do?”

Her hands came back together on the desk top, lacing in to a tight knot. “That's an excellent question. It's one I intend to take up with the board this very afternoon so that we can come up with a plan of action. The inconvenience that this is going to cause for students is inexcusable and we'll need to do something in order to continue their technology education without a gap that could set them back. Teachers will be inconvenienced, as well, and that also isn't something we can tolerate. So, yes. We will be coming up with a plan of attack and I'm hoping that plan will be in place just as soon as possible.”

That sounded more like a politician's answer than a plan, but to be fair, I knew that she hadn't had a lot of time to think about what they were going to do when they'd just learned that morning that the computers had been stolen. It was probably going to take a lot of schedule juggling and manipulation to come up with an interim plan.

“So then,” she said, giving me the same million watt smile I'd seen earlier. “Is there anything else I can help you with right this second?”

I stood, taking my cue. “I don't believe so. I'll go find Mr. Riggler and get to work on this so I can get it back to you.”

“Excellent,” she said, nodding. “I'm sure Ellen can give you directions to the lab if you need them.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said, still smiling. “And thank you again for your assistance. And, once again, for your discretion.”

She sure seemed focused on my discretion.

SIX

I was vaguely familiar with the school's layout, having been there for open houses and some after school programs, but I didn't know it backwards and forwards. I reached the end of the hall and turned right toward the gym, hoping my memory would serve me correctly. A classroom on the left had its door closed and there was a small sign mounted on the wall. Computer Lab.

I knocked.

A muffled voice said, “Come in,” and I pushed the door open.

I'd remember seeing the lab during Emily's first open house, not wanting to be impressed as I walked through the door to the state-of-the-art computer lab. But my jaw had dropped as I took in the vast numbers of computers and printers spread out in the room. Will had quickly counted the computers on each desk and table, announcing that there were forty seven of them, plus five laptops. Emily, who had gone on to her history classroom, had frowned at him when he repeated the information to her, telling him there was no way there were that many. She'd come home the next day after school, forced to admit he'd been right.

But now all of the desks and tables were empty, adorned only with cables and cords that had nowhere to go.

“Can I help you?”

The voice startled me and I looked up. In the far corner of the room, a skinny man in his late twenties was looking at me. He wore jeans and a short sleeve buttoned down shirt and rimless glasses were perched precariously on his nose. His blond hair looked like it had just been buzzed down that morning. He was taller than Jake, all arms and legs, and he reminded me of one of those marionette puppets that danced when you moved the wooden cross at the top.

“Are you Mr. Riggler?” I asked. “I'm Daisy Savage. Mrs. Bingledorf sent me down.”

“Oh,” he said, his hands on his hips, his elbows forming perfect right angles. “Yes, I'm Mr. Riggler. Why did she send you down?”

I held up the spreadsheet. “She asked if I could help you put together an inventory of what was stolen. For the police and the insurance company.”

“Ah, right,” he said, looking around the room, almost as if he'd just realized the computers weren't there. He pushed the glasses up his nose. “Okay. Um, do you work here?”

“No, I'm volunteering,” I said. “My daughter is a tenth grader. Emily Bohannan.”

His eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, okay. I have Emily in a class. Yeah, she's a great girl.” He wove his way through the desks and extended his hand. “I'm Miles Riggler.”

We shook hands and stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“So, Mrs. Bingledorf printed this out,” I said, showing him the sheet again. “I think she just wants an official accounting.”

He took the sheet and studied it, as if he were hoping information would suddenly materialize on the paper in front of him. “Right, right. Sure. Okay. Hmmm.” He laughed nervously. “I guess we'll have to try and remember what was in here before the weekend.”

I thought that was a strange response. “Or we could check to see if there are old purchase orders through the business office?” I suggested. “From whenever the school purchased them?”

He nodded, but didn't seem like he was listening. “Oh, yeah, we could do that, too. Well, why don't we put down as much as we can from memory and then maybe we can see where she wants to go from there?”

I raised my eyebrows but decided not to question his methods. Maybe he had a photogr pa ap hic memory. “Okay.”

He glanced at his watch. “And we'll have to hustle a little because I've got a class coming in ten minutes and there's no way we'll be able to work with kids in here. My understanding is they don't want us talking about the theft.”

I looked around the computer-less Computer Lab. “I'm pretty sure they'll figure it out.”

He laughed again. “Well, sure. I guess what I meant is that they don't want us discussing it with the kids. And I'm going to need to figure out what we're going to do to keep them occupied.”

That made a little more sense.

We spen d t a few minutes walking the room and I started recording what he called out to me. Several Apple laptops. A couple of Dell PC's. A printer. Several cables. He was walking the room, stopping at each desk, trying to pull from memory what had been on each desk. We got through about half the room when he glanced at his watch again and turned to face me.

“I know that's not everything but I really need to do a few minutes of planning before the students arrive,” he explained. “We'll have to finish later.”

“I can take this back to Mrs. Bingledorf and let her know this is where we've gotten to so far.”

“Right. Okay.” He pushed at his glasses and then settled his hands on his hips, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

“What are you going to do with the kids?” I asked.

He looked around the room, then shrugged. “I don't really know. We may have to do a study hall today. Or some reading.”

“What are you going to do in the short term?” I asked. “It might take awhile to get computers back in here, don't you think?”

“Oh, I bet it will take quite awhile,” he said, nodding in agreement. “So we'll just have to make do for now. We can't use what we don't have. It's not the students' faults that the computers are gone and it's not like I can go and demand that the school buy us computers today.”

“Sure,” I said. “But could you maybe have the kids bring in their own laptops to work on? Or their tablets or something? I bet a lot of kids have them.”

He blinked very rapidly, almost like something had gotten in his eye, and he put his hands on his hips again. “Well, maybe. I don't know. Possibly. That's definitely a possibility. But I'd have to check with Mrs. Bingledorf and we'd have to see what we'd need to do to secure their computers so they wouldn't be using them in an inappropriate way here on campus.” Then he shook his head. “So I'm just not sure. But we'll come up with something.”

The bell rang and he smiled at me. “Thanks again for your help,” he said, heading back toward his desk.

As I left the room, merging with seemingly thousands of loud, laughing teenagers as I navigated the halls, I couldn't help but think that Mr. Riggler didn't seem all that stressed out that all of his computers were missing.

SEVEN

A woman who looked a bit like a bobblehead doll was standing in the conference room when I returned. She had a large head sitting squarely on a pencil-thin neck and I tried not to stare at her. She was casually leafing through the stacks of mail I'd left and she looked up when I'd walked in.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Daisy.”

“Daisy Savage, right?” she said with a smile. “Emily's mother?”

“That's right.” I stared at her a little harder, trying to figure out if I'd seen her before. I didn't think I would have forgotten meeting her. “I'm sorry, have we met?”

The woman shook her bobble head. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red, cropped close in what was supposed to be a fashionable style. “No. I'm Harriet Hollenstork, this year's Prism PTA president. Ellen mentioned you were volunteering this week and that you were using the conference room. My son, Leonard, is in the tenth grade with Emily.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, the name still not ringing a bell. “Did you need the room? I was sorting mail earlier but they asked me to do something else.”

“Yes, I heard,” she said, a somber expression taking residence on her face. “The computer theft. It's just awful, isn't it?”

I nodded. “It is, yes.”

“Were you able to learn anything about it?”

“No, not really,” I said. “I was just helping to do an inventory list of what's missing.”

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Were you able to figure out exactly what was taken?”

I wasn't comfortable sharing details with her. Not that I had any real details, but it didn't seem like the kind of information that should just be passed around to anyone who asked. And given Bingledorf's emphasis on discretion, I didn't want to be the one who started the information flow about the theft.

“Not completely,” I said. “We're still working on it.”

“But you have an idea of what was taken?” she asked. “I heard it was the entire computer lab.”

“I actually don't know because I'm not sure what was in the room to begin with,” I said. “And Mr. Riggler had a class coming, so I had to leave.”

“Hmm,” she said. Her red lips twitched. “Did you hear anything about who might've taken them?”

“No.”

“What about replacing them?” she pressed. “Did Mr. Riggler mention that? Or Mrs. Bingledorf?”

I felt a twinge of annoyance at her incessant questions. “Not really, no.”

“I'd think they'd need to do that immediately,” she said, her fingernails clicking on the table top. “It's not like those computers are just going to turn up this afternoon in a van or something.”

“You never know, I guess,” I said. “But I don't think they can go out and purchase a bunch of brand new computers right away.”

“The school has a reserve fund,” she said, but she seemed more to be thinking out loud than talking to me. “And, of course, the PTA has funds that could be made available.”

“It would still be a huge financial hit,” I said. “To just go out and buy them without waiting for at least insurance reimbursement.”

“Sure, sure,” Harriet said, waving a hand in the air. “But the right place might be willing to offer a discount on such a large purchase. If the school was going to replace all of them at once. I mean, a purchase like that, well, it could be just the thing a local computer supplier might be looking for.” She glanced at me, smiling. “And the school, too. It could be mutually beneficial.”

I wasn't exactly sure where she was going, so I just nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She studied me for a moment. “So what are you going to do with your list?”

“Give it to Mrs. Bingledorf.”

“Would you like me to do that for you?” she offered. “I have to meet with her later today.”

“No, I'll be fine,” I said, not trusting her in any way, given the questions she'd been asking me. “I'll get it to her.”

“Really? It would be no trouble to—”

“I'll get it to her,” I said. “But thank you.”

Her smile flickered. “Anytime. Will you be volunteering here all week?”

“Yep, I'm here through Friday.”

“Well,” she said, tight-lipped. “Lovely. I'm sure we'll run into each other again. Feels like I'm always here. Look forward to chatting again.”

She walked around the opposite side of the table and out into the office.

I still wasn't sure what she'd been doing in the conference room in the first place, but I knew she'd been giving me the third degree, probing for details about the theft. I didn't know why it was any of her business, other than maybe she wanted to gossip with her PTA cronies. But I didn't feel like it was my place to share information that wasn't meant for her. I glanced down at the piece of paper I was holding. I didn't think there was much she could do with a half-completed inventory list of the missing computers, but that didn't mean she needed to see it either.

“Don't worry about Harriet,” a voice said in the doorway.

I looked up. A petite young woman with long blonde hair was smiling at me. She wore a turquoise blouse and a long black skirt with wedge heels. A gold locket hung from her neck and gold earrings winked from her ears.

“She's like that with everyone,” the woman said, stepping into the conference room. “Nosy and bossy. Just smile at her and move along.”

“Glad it wasn't just me,” I said. She looked familiar but I couldn't quite place her. “And forgive me. I can't recall for the life of me your name, but I know we've met.”

She waved it off like it was no big deal. “Don't worry about it. I'm Charlotte Nordhoff.”

The name clicked. “The guidance counselor,” I said, smiling. “We met when I signed Emily up for school. I'm sorry. I'm Daisy Savage.”

She nodded like she remembered. “Yes, that was it. You were worried about Emily being ready because you'd homeschooled her.” It was her turn to smile. “I think you might've done a better job getting her ready than most of our middle schools do with their students.”

I wanted to hug her. As a homeschooler, I was constantly battling insecurities – that I wasn't doing enough for my kids or that I wasn't doing the right things. One of my biggest worries when Emily announced she wanted to go to Prism was that she'd be behind in everything and that I would've been exposed as a failure as a homeschool parent. It was hard to put into words how nice it was to hear something like that.

“Thank you,” I said, trying anyway. “That means a lot.”

“Emily's doing so well,” she said. She fingered the locket around her neck. “A nice kid who does well in her classes. I wish I saw her more often, but it's usually a good thing when I don't.”

“She loves it here,” I said.

She glanced over her shoulder, her pretty features wrinkling into a frown. “Probably because she doesn't have to deal with Harriet very often.” She shook her head. “I'm sure she means well, but having her as the president of the PTA has been a...challenge. I think she believes her title actually puts her on the faculty and she gets bent out of shape when something goes on here and she isn't in the know.” She shook her head again. “Harmless, but a pain in the rear end.”

“I just didn't think it was my place to share anything I knew with her,” I said. “Not that I know much of anything to begin with.”

Charlotte nodded. “And you shouldn't, unless you want it announced to half the parents in the school community. It's none of her business and you can feel free to tell her that. Or let me know if she's hassling you and I'll tell her.” She smiled. “Wouldn't be the first time we've had that conversation.”

I chuckled. “Thanks. I'll remember that.”

“You're welcome,” she said, leaning on the doorframe. “And if you need a place to hide this week, my office is always open. And Ellen out front is a good egg. She can run interference for you and I'm sure she's thrilled that you're here. Poor woman gets worked to the bone each week but she keeps coming back.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Thank you.”

She nodded and pushed off the doorframe. “You're welcome. I'll let you get back to your work here. Just wanted to say hello.”

She waved and disappeared.

I made a mental note to make certain Emily took Christmas cookies to Ms. Nordhoff.