Текст книги "Alibi High"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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ELEVEN

I spent the rest of the day in the conference room, shredding old papers Ellen had given me and racking my brain for fundraising ideas. Despite Bingledorf's in-your-face tactics, I had to admit the idea of fulfilling the next three years worth of volunteer hours was incredibly appealing. Not only would I never have to pawn my kids off on Brenda while I volunteered, but I wouldn't have to work concession stands or ticket sales for the rest of Emily's high school career.

Not a bad trade-off, I had to admit.

Unfortunately, I succeeded with the shredding but failed with the ideas.

Everything I came up with was either going to take too much time or wouldn't bring in enough money. I didn't see a quick fix available. The best I could come up with was a raffle, but it would require someone donating something sizable enough to generate the kind of money and interest the school needed. And even though I didn't mind talking to people, I wasn't enthusiastic about calling local car dealers to ask them to donate a vehicle or the local travel agents to see if they wanted to sponsor a trip to Jamaica. And I honestly wasn't sure that even those kinds of prizes would be enough to bring in the kind of money that Bingledorf was seeking.

I was thinking about that and stacking empty manila folders into a banker's box when a knock on the conference room door startled me. I looked up and immediately wished I was elsewhere.

“Hidey ho,” Harriet Hollenstork said, smiling. “Looks like you're back for more.”

“Looks like it,” I said, returning my attention to the file box.

She walked over to the table, the heels of her sandals clicking against her feet. “Ellen can be such a slave driver.”

“Not really,” I said. “She's been very kind to me and I think she's keeping the really ugly stuff away from me. Which I appreciate.”

“Yes, Ellen's very sweet,” she said. “I'm sure she appreciates your help.” She paused. “And I guess you'll be needing some help, too. With the fundraiser.”

I looked up. “What?”

She smiled, exposing a thick band of invisible braces, and I wondered how I'd missed them the day before. “I heard that you're planning a fundraiser to help with the computers.”

I started to say something, then stopped. I was flabbergasted that the word was already out about something I was supposedly doing. I'd heard the grapevine in schools worked quickly, but this was absurd.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

She shrugged, her big head bobbling on her small shoulders. “Oh, I just heard it wandering the halls. I hear lots of things, don't you know.”

I didn't know. Had Bingledorf already started talking up a fundraiser that hadn't even been planned? And why had she told Harriet? What business was it of hers?

“I'm not sure what's going to happen,” I told her. “Nothing is for certain. It was just brought up this morning and I don't know if there's anything that can really be done.”

“I'd love to help,” she said, her smile widening. “Whenever you decide you need it.”

Did everyone have a hearing problem at Prism? Why would no one listen to me?

“And I'd love to help you with the proceeds,” she said.

“The what?”

“The proceeds,” she repeated. I didn't say anything and she continued. “You know, whatever you're able to raise from whatever you decide to do.”

“Why would I have anything to do with the proceeds?” I asked, confused.

“You'll be running it,” she said. “So I'd expect you'd be handling the money.”

“Well, yeah, but then I'd be turning it over to the school. They'll decide what to do with it.” And they'll be buying new computers, I wanted to add.

“But I'm sure you might be able to have a little say in the matter,” she said, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “Where the money should be spent and on what.”

“I really doubt that.”

“You could at least try.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked, nearly out of patience. “It's a fundraise d r to replace the computers!”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I didn't want to give her any ammunition, any extra information than she already had.

Harriet waited for a moment, then moved back toward the door and closed it. She turned back to face me, an unsure look on her face. I was just as unsure about what the heck she was doing.

“Okay, I'm going to be honest with you,” she said, coming back to the table and sliding her body into a chair across from me. The smell of her perfume hit me, a cloying blend of floral scents. “I'm sorry about yesterday. I know I pestered you like crazy and that was wrong and I'm sorry.”

“Alright,” I said, still wary.

“And I know I'm not making much sense here, so I'm going to be straightforward with you,” she continued. “If the school is going to be buying all new computers, I know of a great place to purchase them.”

“But, Harriet, I'm really not—”

“My husband runs an electronics store,” she said, cutting me off. “Over on Riverfront. Data Dork?”

I knew it. I passed it at least once a week. It was in an older strip mall, sandwiched between a clock repair shop and a pet store. The kids always wondered aloud who ran it and who went there because we never saw a single car in the lot. It seemed like the kind of place that you were aware of, but knew nothing about. Will theorized the whole strip mall was some elaborate money laundering scheme; since I couldn't refute it, I just kept my mouth shut.

“He's had the store almost ten years now,” she said. “He can get anything the school might need and probably at a good discount.” She tucked a wayward strand of her short hair behind her ear. “That's why I was so interested yesterday. I wondered if the computers were really gone and if the school would be replacing them. Now that I know they are and that they're raising money to get them, I'd love it if they were purchased through my husband's store.”

Finally, something that made sense. I appreciated the explanation for her behavior from the day before but she was overlooking one big thing.

“I really don't think I'll have anything to do with buying them,” I explained. “Mrs. Bingledorf just wants me to consider putting on a fundraiser – and that isn't even a sure thing. But it's not like she's going to tell me to take the money and go buy them as soon as it's over.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Harriet said, nodding. “I understand that. But I'm sure you'll somehow be involved in using the money and I just wanted to put in my two cents for Harold's store. I promise you, no one could get those computers cheaper or as fast.”

“That's great to know,” I said, trying to appease her. “But I really think that's something you should discuss with Mrs. Bingledorf. Or Mr. Riggler. Or whoever would be buying the computers. Which would not be me. If there's even a fundraiser.”

“But can I count on you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “To maybe put in a good word for the store?”

My stomach knotted as I thought about Will's comments. Part of me wanted to help her, but the other part of me immediately visualized the sad-looking store that looked like it was on life support – or laundering drug money. I didn't want to vouch for something I didn't know anything about.

“I can mention it to Mrs. Bingledorf,” I said. “That your husband has a store and that he'd be willing to purchase them for the school. But again, I think you're jumping the gun a little here.”

She pushed back from the table and stood. “Oh, I so appreciate it. I can't wait to tell Harold.” She was positively beaming. “He'll be thrilled. I'm sure he'll start working on the order right away so that they can get the computers here just as fast as possible.”

“Harriet, I wouldn't—”

“Have a great day!” she said and wobbled out of the room.

I blinked a couple of times and thought about pinching myself to prove that I wasn't dreaming. Or having a nightmare. She hadn't listened to a thing I'd said.

I sighed and tossed the remaining empty folders into the box. I was fairly certain all of this – my conversation with Harriet, being roped into planning a fundraiser by Bingledorf – was going to come back and bite me right in the rear end. I had no idea if the school would buy from Harold but I knew one thing.

Everyone at Prism was counting on one person to pull them out of this mess.

Me.

TWELVE

“I got first place!” Grace yelled. Her hair was pulled back in a slipping out of her ponytail and her cheeks were either flushed from exertion or celebratory screams.

“You did not,” Will said, rolling his eyes. He set his phone down on the table and plopped himself down on one of the chairs. His cheeks were red, too, and his blond hair was slick with sweat. “Brenda was just being nice.”

“I got second,” Sophie said loudly. But her voice never matched the others and she was drowned out by Grace's shrieks. “And Grace definitely won. Will is just mad that he came in last.”

I'd been home from school for an hour, nestled on the couch, before all three of them burst through the door, kicking off their shoes and trying to out-yell the other. A pad of paper and a pencil sat in my lap, the pencil razor-sharp, the sheet still blank.

I set both down and stood up. “Where's Jake?”

“He's coming,” Will said, a funny smile on his face. “He's moving kind of slow.”

“Why?”

“Derek hit him in the privates,” Will said.

“With a wiffle bat,” Sophie said. Her nose wrinkled and her glasses wobbled. “Pretty hard.”

“He said a bad word,” Grace added.

“Jake or Derek?” I asked, because either was a possibility.

The back door opened and Jake limped slowly into the dining room, glaring at me.

“Hard day, honey?” I asked, biting back a smile.

“I'm no longer kidding about going to Abu Dhabi,” he growled, slightly hunched over. “That little punk hit me right in the—”

“I heard,” I said. “I heard. I'm sorry.”

He grunted and trudged past me toward the stairs.

I turned back to Grace. “What exactly did you take first place in?”

She scrambled up into my lap and I pulled her to me, breathing in the scent of lingering apple shampoo and the peanut butter she must have just had as a snack at Brenda's . “We had a talent show. With all of the kids. I did a lip-synch to Taylor Swift. And I totally won.” She stuck her tongue out at Will.

“Brenda was the judge,” Will said, still rolling his eyes. “She wasn't going to give it to her own kids , so of course she gave it to Grace.”

“She was good,” Sophie said . , pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You're just mad your magic trick didn't work.”

“It would have if Derek hadn't stolen my quarters!” he snapped.

“What did you do?” I asked Sophie.

“Cartwheels. Eight of them,” she said. “I was dizzy at the end and crashed into the wall.”

She and Grace took turns telling me about their day, describing in great detail each act of the talent show, their lunch, and the game of freeze tag they'd played in Brenda's backyard. I loved listening to them and felt a little sad that I'd missed out on the day. I wasn't used to missing those days. I was usually in the middle of them and I didn't like that even one had escaped me.

“Momma,” Grace said, squirming in my lap. “What would you have done if you'd been in the show?”

I wrapped my arms tighter around her and squeezed her to me. “I would've been a judge, I think.”

“No, if you'd been a contestant.”

“Oh, gosh,” I said, shaking my head. “I have no idea. But I probably would've come in last.”

Will got up from the table and flopped down on the couch next to me. He was past the hugging and cuddling stage but his leg touched mine and I smiled. I would take that as a sign o f affection, a sign that he 'd missed me. “Brenda probably would've made you the winner.”

Emily walked out of her room and headed for the kitchen. She'd gotten home a few minutes before the other kids and, after grabbing a granola bar and a cup of milk, had barricaded herself in her room. She'd changed out of her school clothes and was wearing a pair of tattered black sweats and an old Girl Scout shirt that was at least two sizes too small for her.  “If you were in a talent show, I would pay money just to see what you'd do.”

And, just like that, the light bulb went on.

“That's it,” I said, squeezing Grace so hard she yelped.

“What's it?” Sophie asked.

“A talent show,” I said. I laughed. “We can do a talent show at Prism!”

Emily walked back into the room with a bag of barbecue potato chips. It constantly amazed me that she ate like a horse and didn't gain an ounce of weight. “What?”

“The fundraiser,” I said to her. “For the computers. We can do a talent show!”

Her face screwed up with confusion. “What are you even talking about?”

“Mrs. Bingledorf put me in charge of creating a fundraiser to raise money for new computers,” I explained.

Will snickered. “That name. So lame. Are you sure it isn't Bingledork?”

Emily ignored her brother's comment and stared at me for a long moment, a look of disbelief on her face. “Great. So you're going to be spending even more time at my school?”

“It's not your school,” Grace pointed out. “You don't own it.”

Emily glared at her.

“We can put on a talent show,” I said, the idea taking hold. “Students and their families.”

“That sounds lame,” Emily said, munching on a chip. “No one will go.”

“Everyone will go,” Will told me. “She's just saying that. If you charged like five bucks, everyone would come see people do stupid stuff.”

“And some good stuff,” Sophie added. She beamed at me and her expression made me feel like I really had come up with the best idea ever. “Like, people could play instruments and sing and stuff if they can really do those things.” .”

I just nodded, listening to them as they shouted out their thoughts and ideas. They were all right. Low admission charge. No overhead because we could use the auditorium to hold it. We could advertise it at school and in the community. And we could take donations at the door. It was a far better idea than anything else I'd come up with.

“Why do you have to be the one to come up with money for the computers?” Emily asked. Her fingers were coated with barbecue residue and she brushed them on her pants. “Shouldn't that be, like, someone who works at school?”

“You'd think,” I said. “But I have no clue. Your principal president asked me. And now I think I can actually do it.”

“Yeah, and you should make families participate,” Sophie said. “That way they'd come.”

“Oh, like a requirement?” I nodded. “That's a very good idea.”

“You and Em should do something!” Grace yelled. “Like synchronized swimming!” We'd just watched a documentary about summer Olympic sports and she'd been fascinated by the girls who swam in tandem.

Em's hand, loaded with a new potato chip, stopped halfway to her mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Will said, grinning. “Emily should totally have to be in it if you're in charge.”

“You guys could do something together,” Sophie said, looking at Em, then me.

“No,” Emily said, putting the chip back in the bag as if she'd suddenly discovered she was eating barbecue-coated spiders. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, smiling at her. “It will be fun.”

“You could lip synch,” Grace said, jumping off my lap. “I could help pick the song.” She broke into an off-key rendition of Shake It Off .

“Yeah, like a duet,” Will said, giggling. His voice had started to change, the deepness surprising me, but his laugh sometimes still sounded like a little boy 's .

“Shut up,” Emily said. “Just shut up.”

“Yeah, you could each sing different parts,” Sophie chimed in.

Grace was still singing, holding up an imaginary microphone.

Emily tossed the bag of chips on the table. “No. This is stupid.”

“It's to help your school,” Will said. “Why wouldn't you help? I thought you loooooved your school.”

“I'll take tickets or something,” she muttered. “But I'm not getting on stage with Mom!”

“That's mean,” Grace said. She stopped dancing and threw her arms around my neck. “I'd get on stage and swim with you.”

“Thank you, honey,” I said, not bothering to point out the logistical issues with her suggestion, or the fact that I wouldn't be caught dead in a swimsuit in front of the entire school. “But this time it'll just be me and Emily.”

Emily's eyes lit like tiny bonfires. “I'm not doing it.”

“You're going to have to,” I said, still smiling. “If I'm in charge, I get to be the boss. And I say we're going to do something.”

The younger three cheered.

Emily stomped to her room and slammed her door.

It was so good to be home.

THIRTEEN

“I think I have the perfect idea,” I said.

Evelyn Bingledorf, looking fresh and sharp in a kelly green blazer and white blouse, smiled at me from behind her desk. “Let's hear it then.”

Actually, I wasn't sure it was the perfect idea. I knew it was certainly better than any of the other half-hearted ideas I'd come up with until the kids had planted the seed in my brain. I'd spent the better part of the evening bouncing the idea off Jake, who seemed mainly concerned with the idea that my spending more time at Prism might mean more encounters with Derek. When I'd explained that it was going to happen quickly and would also satisfy all of our volunteer hours for the coming years, he warmed to the idea and told me he thought it was good.

So I'd made lots of mental notes in my head, slept restlessly and was out the door early to get to school to share my plan with Mrs. Bingledorf.

“A talent show,” I announced.

Bingledorf's expression didn't change. “A talent show,” she repeated.

I nodded. “Yes. Put on by the staff, the families and the students of Prism.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing, thinking. “Hmmm.”

“There are a few things that make it appealing as a fundraiser,” I explained. “Low overhead. We could use the school's auditorium to host it, we can get volunteers to take tickets and we'd need volunteers to perform. All of those things would be of zero cost to the school.”

“I like that,” she murmured.

“The only real cost that I can see is advertising,” I said. “But we can do it cheaply. We can advertise on the school website and Facebook page and we can print and copy some flyers and put them up around Moose River. We wouldn't need more than fifty, I'd think. If we could use the copiers here to do that, we still haven't spent a penny.”

“That makes sense,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She folded her arms across her ample chest.

“The only real place we'd need to spend money is for prizes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Prizes?”

I nodded. “There has to be some incentive for people to perform. Yes, we'd like them all just to do it out of the goodness of their hearts to benefit the school, but let's be honest. We're more likely to get participants if we offer prizes. And I think cash works best.”

“People do love money,” she said.

“So let's say we award the top three places. And, again, we could use volunteers as judges. But let's say we award first, second and third places. I think a hundred dollars to the winner would be fair and throw in fifty for second place and twenty-five for third.”

She uncrossed her arms and tented her fingers. “Interesting.”

“So that would be a total of a hundred and seventy-five dollars,” I said, then realizing I sounded dumb because I figured she could do the math. “We could offer less, but I think seeing that hundred dollar figure would be a good incentive to get people to sign up.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I agree with that.”

It seemed as if she'd agreed with everything I'd thrown at her. But I still didn't feel like she'd given me a yes.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She tapped her fingers together, still in their tent formation. “I think it sounds like a lot of work.”

“Do you?”

She nodded. “You'd need to reserve the auditorium. You'd need to find a host, someone who could be the emcee. You'd need to find the performers. The volunteers for the door. And then some folks to help you get the word out in town.” She paused. “That sounds like an awful lot to do if we're working with a short time frame.”

“Wouldn't we be working with a short time frame no matter what we decided on?” I countered. “You said you wanted it done quickly.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But this seems like a bit much.”

I wasn't about to be deterred, not when she'd essentially forced me into coming up with something. “I'm not really sure how different it is from anything else we might try,” I said. “Signing people up is going to be the largest chore – and that would've been the same with anything we came up with.”

She tapped her fingers together again, thinking.

“How much would we charge for admission?” she finally asked.

“We can do whatever you'd like,” I said. “But my thought is five dollars for adults, a dollar for students and kids. And I also thought we could have a donation jar at the admission table. I'd think that might encourage people to give more. And we could actually take the prize money from the admission fees, so then it would be at zero cost to Prism.”

She nodded, but I could see she was thinking again, lifting her chin up and considering things.

I waited.

“If we brought in every parent belonging to Spectrum, that's over a thousand adults,” she finally said. “That would bring us five thousand dollars.”

“And they would bring kids, too,” I said. “And probably other family members – grandparents and aunts and uncles. I can't think of anything else that might net us that kind of money that quickly.”

“Agreed,” she said. “I do agree. Even with fewer than that number of people, it would seem to offer the most potential to bring in the dollars.”

“And it won't cover the cost of all of the computers,” I said. “But it would certainly buy some. At the very least, it would help get the ball rolling.”

“Yes,” she said. “And you think you can get people to sign up? To perform?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“What about an emcee?”

“Uh, my husband already volunteered,” I said, making a note to tell him when I got home that he was going to be emceeing the talent show.

She studied me for a moment, then went back to tapping her fingers.

I waited again.

“How long do you believe it will take you to organize this?” she asked.

That was the million dollar question, the one that had kept me up during the night. I really wasn't sure. In a perfect world, I would've liked several months. But I knew we didn't have that kind of time, and I knew that she didn't want to wait that long.

“Three weeks,” I said, giving her the answer I'd settled on when the sun came up. “Longer would be better, but I know you'd like to do this as soon as possible. So I think three weeks is doable. I can start on sign-ups and publicity right away as soon as we choose a date.”

She peered at me over her fingers. I wasn't sure what she was thinking. She was hard to read and I considered myself decent at reading people.

“How would you feel about...two weeks?” she finally asked.

My eyes widened in surprise. And horror. “Two weeks?”

She nodded. “I think that three weeks opens the window up a little too long. People will already start forgetting about the theft and they'll be less inclined to help. I think two weeks is a better window.” She paused. “But only if you think you can accomplish it within that time.”

I swallowed hard. Two weeks wasn't enough time. Not if I wanted to sleep and eat and see my kids.

But I also felt like she was challenging me. It was almost as if she thought I wouldn't be able to do it and wanted me to say no. Then, when people asked why we weren't doing anything about the computers, she could say, “Well, we wanted to but Daisy Savage decided it was going to be too much work.”

That might've been an over-dramatization, but that's what went through my head.

Two weeks.

It wasn't enough time. I immediately formed a list of all the reasons why I wouldn't be able to pull the whole thing together. I needed to tell her no, that it needed to be three or we couldn't do it. There was no way any reasonable person would say it could be done in two weeks.

But I hesitated. “Yes,” I finally said, swallowing again. “We can do it in two weeks.”

So much for reason.