Текст книги "Alibi High"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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SEVENTEEN

“Have you heard any rumors?” I asked.

Emily looked at me, flat on her back on her bed. Her phone rested on her stomach. “About who?”

I'd made lasagna for dinner, one of the few dishes everyone would eat, and had just finished cleaning up the kitchen. Jake was in the shower, the younger girls were playing Barbies in their room and Will had disappeared to spend some time on his computer. It was our usual nightly routine, a little down time for everyone, but I didn't care that everyone had scattered. Everyone was home and that was what mattered.

I leaned against her door. “I don't know. Anyone.”

“I hear them all day long,” she said. “You're going to need to be more specific.”

“About the computers,” I said more specifically.

She rolled her eyes and stole a quick glance at her phone. “Oh my god. Yes. This moron said at lunch that he heard they were stolen by the kids at Moose River High as some sort of prank. I was like, are you serious? Moron.”

“That would be one heck of a prank.”

“And impossible. And stupid.” She shook her head. “I also heard they were repossessed, that they were just being repaired, and that a kid who claimed to be a gang member who graduated last year came and stole them. Except that kid works at Chipotle and is not a gang member.”

I laughed. “Good to know everyone is on the case.”

She looked at me, a puzzled expression on her face. “What actually did happen?”

I hesitated, unsure if I was supposed to share what I knew. But then I got irritated with myself because I really didn't know anything and not telling her would just perpetuate more rumors.

“They were stolen,” I said. “But I have no idea who took them. I was actually hoping you'd heard something. Other than about the Chipotle gang member, I mean.”

Emily smiled. “I think everyone just makes stuff up to create drama,” she said. “They don't know anything.”

“So nothing juicy about a teacher taking them or anything like that?”

She frowned at me. “No. That would be crazy. Why would they do that?”

“I'm just trying to cover all the rumor bases,” I said. “Maybe one of the teachers is in the Chipotle gang, too.”

She laughed. “That would actually be kinda funny if there was a Chipotle gang. Like, they met at the restaurant and they had to order a certain kind of burrito to be in the gang. Like, they couldn't order black beans, only pinto , and they had to get the super hot salsa. That's how they'd know you were in the gang.”

“Yeah and they'd all have the letter C tattooed on their arms or something.”

“And they had to make a C sign with their hands to recognize one another.” She cupped her fingers together and made a C-shape. She was taking ASL as her foreign language – another thing Jake sometimes rolled his eyes over – so I was pretty sure it was the actual sign for the letter C but I couldn't be sure.

I flashed the sign back at her. “And if someone catches you at a Taco Bell, then you're out.”

She laughed again and I joined in. I was glad I could laugh and be goofy with my teenager daughter. Yes, she had her teenage moments – she could definitely be unreasonable and hormonal and dramatic and a complete pain in the rear – but, more often than not, she was a nice kid with a good sense of humor who I missed having at home.

I tried to keep all of that in mind as I knew I was about to piss her off royally.

“So,” I said, setting myself in the doorway in case I needed to block her from running out of the room. “We need to talk about the talent show.”

Her smile vanished and she picked up her phone. “No.”

“I just wanna talk about it.”

“No,” she repeated. “I meant what I said. I'm not going to be in it.”

I tried my firm, authoritative voice. “Emily—”

“Mother,” she said, mirroring my tone. “No way, no how. You can't make me. The end.”

All of those nice thoughts I'd had were fading away quickly.

“Couple of things here,” I said cooly, keeping my eyes locked on her “One, watch your mouth. Two, it's for your school that you claim to love so dearly. And, three, I can make you do anything I want to if I apply the right leverage.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”

“It means you are going to be in the talent show – or I'll come up with something that will make your life even more miserable than being in the talent show might.”

She shook her head and her eyes returned to her phone. “Ha. Impossible.”

“Really?” I asked. “How does losing electronics privileges for a couple of weeks sound?”

“I have Netflix and DVR,” she said. “I don't care.”

“News flash, sweetheart. Your phone is an electronic device.”

She looked up, horrified. “I need the phone. You told me I need it. To communicate with you.”

“Yeah, well, I might change my mind,” I said. “You could use school phones if you needed to call me.”

“That's not fair,” she said.

“I know,” I told her. “But I'll totally do it.”

She sighed and threw her head back against the pillow, missing her headboard by a fraction of an inch.

“So,” I said. “Let's talk about possibilities.”

“Like the possibility of me dying from embarrassment? Yeah, let's talk about that.”

“Oh, you won't die from it,” I assured her. “Maybe a small heart attack or something.”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

“I think we could do one of two things,” I said. “We could so some sort of lip-sync number—”

“No.” Her voice was emphatic.

“—or we could do like a dramatic reading from a play or something.”

“Oh my god, no.”

“Hmm.” I shifted my weight to my other foot. “So you have a better idea?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I'm going to go with Jake to Abu whatever it's called.”

“Abu Dhabi,” I provided helpfully. “It's in the Middle East. Very dry and dusty. I'm not sure you'd like it there.”

“I don't care.”

“Also, your phone won't work over there,” I pointed out. “He loves you but he isn't going to spring for an international plan just so you can text your friends. Trust me.”

“He'll get me one. You just said he loves me.”

“Ah, he loves you, but he fears me,” I informed her. “So, I'm afraid not.”

She groaned and threw her head back again. “This is so unfair.”

“I know,” I said, nodding sympathetically. “But it doesn't change the fact that this is the way it is , . though. So, if you don't like my ideas, you'll need to come up with one. By tomorrow.”

She made another dismissive sigh and shook her head. “Fine. Whatever.”

“By dinner tomorrow,” I said. “Or I get your phone.”

She picked up the device in question and stared at it, nearly setting the screen on fire with the lasers her eyes were shooting. “Got it.”

“Love you!”

“Close the door on your way out,” she snapped.

Maybe I didn't miss her presence that much.

EIGHTEEN

“Congratulations,” I said.

Jake eyed me suspiciously across the pillows. He had a book in his hands but I couldn't tell if he was really reading or if he was just skimming the pages. “On what?

After my conversation with Emily, Jake and I played a couple of rounds of Mario Kart with the younger ones before it all devolved into a heated conversation about who was the best Mario Kart player in the house. When Jake intervened and stated that he was the best player in the house, I knew it was time for everyone to head to bed.

And for me to have a conversation with him that I'd been avoiding since he'd gotten home.

“You won,” I said.

“Mario Kart?” He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “I know. Told you I'm the best.”

“No, not Mario Kart,” I said, averting his gaze.

“What are you talking about? What did I win?”

I glanced back at him. “The election.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn't running for anything.”

“Right? So it's like this awesome surprise!”

“Daisy,” he said, tucking his chin to his chest and looking down his nose at me. “You're being coy and attempting to be funny.”

“Attempting?” I pouted. “You tell me all the time that I'm the funniest person you know.”

“You are,” he said. “But I know you. Me getting an awesome surprise is usually code word for me being roped into something I don't want to do. Spill it.”

I sighed. “No faith in me.”

“None,” he said, not falling for my act. “Spill it. Now.”

I swallowed hard, then pasted on a bright smile. “You've been elected as the emcee for the Prism talent show.”

He stared at me, expressionless. “What?”

“You'll have a microphone and everything,” I said quickly. I ran my hand over his bare chest. “And I love how you look in a tux.”

He rolled back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling, much the way Emily had. “If nominated, I will not run. If elected, I will not serve.” He stared at me. “Didn't someone famous say that?”

“Fine,” I said. “You weren't elected. I appointed you.”

His eyes closed. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I love seeing you in a tux,” I said, snuggling closer to him under the sheets. “And I needed an emcee.”

“No one else would do it, would they?”

I avoided answering his question. “You're funny and charming and people will be wowed by you.”

“Why can't I work, like, behind the scenes or something?” he said. “I'd have no problem doing that. None.”

He wasn't making this easy. “Because...because I need you on stage.”

His eyes flew open. “A-ha. You didn't have anyone else, did you?”

I sighed. “No ,” I admitted. .”

“So I don't really wow people?”

I trailed my hand over his chest. “You wow me,” I whispered.

He gave a soft chuckle. “Well, now you're just flattering me – and trying to seduce me – so I'll be your emcee.”

“Maybe.” I scooted closer and kissed his cheek, trailing my lips toward his ear. “Is it working?”

He made a small noise, something between a moan and a groan as I touched my tongue to his earlobe. “Do I have a choice?”

I pulled away and smiled at him. “Not really.  Unless you want to see me cry and curl up in the fetal position and look at you with big giant eyes.”

A smile tugged at his lips but he held it in check. “Can't have that, can we?”

“So you'll do it?” I asked, draping myself across him.

His arm tightened around me. “I love how you act like you actually asked me – and doubted I would.”

I kissed his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He sighed. “Anything to avoid the crying and the curling and the eyes.” His hand squeezed my arm, then trailed to my stomach.

“I have another question for you,” I said, shifting away from him.

“What? I thought we were done with the not-questions.”

“No, this one's a real one,” I said.

He waited.

“What do you know about insurance?”

“Uh, I know we have it,” he said, confused.

“No, no. Like, say, if we got robbed or something. Wouldn't our homeowner's cover it and reimburse us?”

He slipped his arm beneath me. “Sure. All of our big ticket items are listed on the policy and then I think the way it works is that we'd have to list out everything that was stolen. But, yeah, that's what insurance is for.”

“So, let's say that happened,” I continued. “We lost our stuff somehow. Then what would happen? They'd send an agent or whatever, right?”

He nodded. “They'd come out, confirm the loss and we'd agree on a claim amount. It really wouldn't be that big of a deal.”

“Would it take long to get the money?”

“I wouldn't think so,” he said. “But it's insurance, so there are always hassles. Are you thinking about going into the insurance business?”

I slapped his chest lightly. “No. I'm thinking about the computers and Prism. Bingledorf seems certain that it will be hard to get their reimbursement and I don't understand why. If they can produce the police report, the insurer shouldn't have any qualm s about covering the loss.”

“I would agree with that.”

“But she's been adamant that it's going to take forever to get their money,” I said. I shook my head. “That makes no sense to me.”

Jake shifted and threw his other arm over me. “Maybe she's dealt with them in the past and they aren't easy to work with? Or maybe they've had claims in the past that have taken awhile to get paid? I don't know.”

I didn't either, but I just couldn't believe that an insurer would stiff a school that had its computers stolen. I knew that insurance companies were notorious for denying claims and causing horrendous headaches for customers, but this seemed pretty cut and dry to me. The computers were stolen. They needed to be replaced. The insurance company was there to make that happen.

“You know what I think?” Jake whispered, nuzzling my neck.

I shivered against him and smiled. “What?”

“I think you should turn off the light and make out with the emcee.”

“Shouldn't there be some sort of ethical line there?” I said, reaching up to switch off the lamp on the nightstand. “Where the emcee and the organizer should maintain a strictly professional relationship?”

“No,” he whispered, his lips moving to my throat.“I need to practice my wowing. Prepare to be wowed.”

NINETEEN

I woke up a half hour early the next morning and decided to make pancakes. It wasn't just because I felt like eating something other than cereal and frozen waffles; I wanted to pretend, at least for a few minutes, that life was normal and that I wasn't leaving my kids and jetting out the door to an 8-hour volunteer gig. All four kids ate a plateful, including Emily, who, apart from asking me to sign a permission slip for a field trip, didn't speak to me as she got ready for school.

“You aren't going to work at that school forever, are you?” Grace asked as she hugged me goodbye. She'd gotten herself dressed and ready and with her mismatched clothes and sloppy, lopsided pigtails, she looked like an extra on the set of Annie.

“Yeah, Grace,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “She's gonna work there for the rest of her life. As a volunteer.”

I shot him a look and then turned back to my youngest daughter. “No, of course not,” I told her.

“Good,” she said, her arms tightening around my neck. She hadn't washed her hands after eating and I could feel her sticky fingers on my skin. “Because I miss you. And I want pancakes and eggs and bacon and French toast every morning. No one makes food like you do.”

My heart bloomed with love and I fought back silly tears as the three younger kids trudged out the door with Jake. I couldn't wait for my week to be over and the sooner I finished planning the fundraiser, the better off we all would be.

So I walk ing ed into Prism with a new sense of determination, feeling like I had the energy and enthusiasm and willpower to find the volunteers I needed to put on a talent show that would bring in tons of cash.

Until I saw Harriet Hollenstork waiting in front of the counseling office for me.

Her hair was a new shade of red and it looked like she'd gotten it cut in the short time since I'd last seen her. She wore a bright pink sweatshirt that matched the phone case she was holding, and ill-fitting  jeans and white sneakers completed her ensemble.

She looked up when she heard me approaching. “Well, good morning, Daisy!”

“Good morning,” I said warily.

She flashed a smile at me and I didn't see her invisible braces.“How are you this fine morning?”

“Good, thanks,” I said, not knowing whether to stand there or continue past her into the office.

“I was wondering if you'd given any thought to our previous conversation.”

“Uh, which one?”

“About perhaps using my husband's store to purchase those new computers?”

I sighed. I wasn't sure how else to explain to her that I wouldn't be in charge of purchasing a single pencil for the school, much less thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment. I didn't want to stand there and tell her she was nuts, but I also didn't want to lie to her. So I chose to avoid and evade.

“Right now, I'm just focused on getting the talent show put together,” I said. “I have a ton of work to do.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I'm sure. And I should let you know – the PTA would be happy to help in any way it can. Selling tickets, publicity, whatever you need.”

It felt like some sort of conditional offer, but I appreciated it anyway. “Thank you.”

She held out a bright white business card. “And I thought I could give you this.”

I reluctantly took the card. It was for Data Dork, with Harold's name and phone number embossed in techno-looking letters that were incredibly hard to read. Maybe that was why he didn't get much business, I thought.

“That's his cell,” she said, pointing at the number. “So you can reach him directly. I told him you'd be calling soon.”

“Harriet, I can't promise—”

“I think he already started looking at prices,” she said, ignoring me. “And checking on delivery times.”

I frowned. “Harriet, I—”

“And he was looking at different models, too.” She continued speaking as if I wasn't even there. “He thought you might want to look at cheaper models in order to bring in more computers.”

“Harriet,” I said firmly. I caught her eye. “Listen to me. Please.”

She smiled. “Yes?”

“I am not going to be buying the computers,” I said slowly. “I don't work here. I'm a volunteer. I'm organizing the talent show. I'll be handing over any money we make to Mrs. Bingledorf. And then I won't be here anymore except to pick up my kid once in awhile. But my role will be over. I'll have nothing to do with the money or the computers or anything.” I paused. “Do you understand?”

Her smile slowly dissolved. “Why is it that you don't want to help me?”

I sighed again, an exasperated one this time. “Harriet, it isn't that I don't want to help—”

“But all you've done is tell me how you can't help me.”

“Because I can't!” I said, my voice rising, unsure of how else to get my point across to her. “I. Don't. Work. Here. I won't be handling the purchasing. Do you understand that?”

She shuffled her feet and her white sneakers squeaked against the floor. “But you could just take the money and go buy them. From my husband.”

She really was insane. “That would be stealing,” I pointed out, trying to stay calm. “And it's not my job. I'm doing this for the school. The money is not mine to spend. The school will choose how to spend it. I won't be involved.” I softened my voice. “So it's not that I don't want to help.”

She snatched the card from my hand. “Fine. If you don't want to help, then never mind.”

I started to repeat myself again, but stopped. There was no point. I was only going to get more frustrated.

“I need to go in and get started,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “If you'll excuse me.”

She snorted, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “Someone's getting a little too big for her britches, now that she has her own office.”

I inhaled sharply. I liked to think that I could control my temper – that I could hold my tongue when necessary and make good decisions.

But I also didn't like having my buttons pushed and Harriet Hollenstork had pushed the wrong one.

I looked down the empty hallway to be sure we were alone, then gave her a withering stare. “Harriet, maybe you should get lost before I kick you in your britches,” I said.

Her eyes widened and she started to sputter something but I cut her off.

“Have a great day,” I said sweetly, forcing my way past her and into the office.

I left her standing there in the hallway, red-faced and glaring at me, in her mom britches.

TWENTY

“Well, that had to be a less than stellar way to kick off your morning,” Charlotte Nordhoff said from behind her desk as I walked in.

“You heard all that?” I said, making a face as I set my bag down on the desk. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she said firmly. “Not your fault.”

I collapsed into my chair. “I'm just not sure why she doesn't get it,” I said. “It's like talking to a rock. That talks back.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, a bit.”

“I mean, any reasonable person would get that I don't have any say in the matter, right?” I said, looking for some assurance that I wasn't the crazy one here.

She nodded. “I just think Harriet has...some other things going on right now and she's a little out of sorts.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Other things going on? Like PTA?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, she does have that going on, but that isn't what I meant. I think she may be a little desperate at the moment.”

I tucked my purse under my desk. “Desperate? Why?”

She hesitated. “The computer store that her husband runs? It's struggling.”

“Badly?” I thought back to what Johnny had told me about Data Dork. Admittedly, he hadn't known much, but he'd said he thought the store might be struggling, too.

Charlotte picked up a folder from her desk and stowed it in one of her drawers. “From what I understand, yeah. And I guess it has been for awhile.” She paused. “I think they might be in danger of losing the business.”

My frustration with Harriet ebbed and I felt flickers of sympathy and guilt. When Thornton and I had divorced, I remembered worrying almost obsessively about finances. It had kept me awake at night for weeks at a time as I did the mental math in my head, trying to figure out where I would live and if I would have enough in savings and through child support to continue to stay home with the kids. I could imagine the pressure her family might be feeling if their store was in danger of closing.

“Well, now I feel like a first-class heel,” I said, sinking lower in my chair.

“No, no,” Charlotte said quickly. “I didn't tell you that so you'd feel that way. I just think that might explain her behavior. Doesn't excuse it, but it might explain it.”

One of the notebooks Charlotte had found for me was sitting on my desk and I opened it up to a blank page. “But if they're in that bad of shape, the order from the school won't solve their problem,” I said.

“No, but it might buy them some time,” she pointed out. Her blond hair was pulled back in a French braid and she tugged on the tail of it. “Put it off another month or two, hope that something else comes through. Something like that, you know?”

I nodded. I couldn't imagine hanging like a string like that every single day, not knowing if it was all going to come crashing down by the time you went to bed. I might act a little crazy, too.

“Desperation.” She smiled sadly and shook her head. “It can make people a little crazy. Say crazy things and do crazy things.”

I didn't disagree.

And that planted another seed in my ever-busy brain.

“Desperate people do desperate things,” I said, staring down at the blank paper in front of me. “Yeah.”

Charlotte watched me for a moment, then asked, “What?”

I lifted my gaze and looked at her, confused. “What?”

“You look like you're thinking something,” she said, tilting her head to the side, a slight frown on her face. “Did something occur to you?”

“I don't know,” I said. I took a deep breath, then expelled it. “Maybe. It's probably ridiculous.”

“What?” she repeated.

I picked up a pen and tapped it against the open notebook. “I shouldn't even say it. It's...just the way my mind works.”

Charlotte laughed and, the sound was so infectious, I couldn't help but smile.

“You should see the way mine works after spending too much time in this place,” she told me. “If I uttered half of the crazy things that came into my head, they'd lock me up.”

A sister in crazyhood. I liked that.

So I uttered the crazy.

“She's desperate, right?” I said, lowering my voice even though the door was closed and we were the only two people in the office. “So is her husband, if they're really having trouble.”

“Right.”

“And desperate people do desperate things.”

Charlotte nodded, the tail of her braid bobbing on her shoulder. “Right.”

I glanced at the door to make sure it was still shut tight, then looked back to Charlotte. “I talked to a friend last night,” I said, referring to my conversation with Johnny. “He's a computer person, has his own consulting business. We talked a little about why someone might steal the computers and what they'd do with them.”

She sat up a little straighter and shifted toward me. “Okay.”

“And he was talking about how they might break them down and sell their drives and parts and whatever,” I explained. “That they could do that on the Internet and that there's like a black market or something for stolen computer parts.”

“Sure. Like anything that gets stolen, I'd imagine.”

I nodded. “But I kept thinking about why someone would do it, you know? Why would they pick a school and why would they take computers that weren't necessarily brand new?”

She considered this. “Maybe a computer lab would make sense because thieves would know there would be a bunch of computers. More bang for your buck, so to speak.”

Maybe my idea wasn't so crazy after all.

I forged ahead. “So don't you think they would've been familiar with this school? To know what they were coming in to get?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I would think so. But that doesn't necessarily answer the why.”

“Well, what if someone needed money fast,” I said, glancing again to the door. “And they had the know-how of where to sell the computer parts.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing.

“That would be a source of quick cash,” I said. And then I added, “If someone needed it badly...”

Her eyes widened, finally getting where I was headed. “Oh. Oh!”

“And then if you could get the place you stole from to order new computers from you,” I said, my voice barely audible. “It would be like stealing twice.”

“Desperate people,” she whispered back.

“And maybe that's why she's so adamant about ordering the new ones through her husband,” I said.

Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “Wow. That's a very real possibility, isn't it?”

I smiled. I definitely was not crazy.

“But you're also assuming a lot.”

My confidence deflated a little. “I know. I know . ,” I acknowledged. “ I'm making leaps. ” She smiled and I continued. “ My husband just rolls his eyes at me when I do it. Says I watch too much TV, except I never watch TV. He thinks I should write mysteries because I turn everything into a conspiracy or a mystery.”

She laughed and shook her head Charlotte chuckled . “Well, there is logic in what you're saying. It's just hard to see...” She glanced at the door and lowered her voice Her gaze shifted toward the door, then back to me . “It's just hard to see Harriet as a thief. She's a pain, but I've never thought of her as a criminal. S he can be nice when she wants to and s he's done a lot of good things for the school.”

At which point, g G uilt immediately crashed down on me for allowing my overactive imagination to turn turning a woman who was having a tough time into a thief. Jake was right about me. My imagination I was making leaps that weren't necessarily there , just like I always did . Jake was right. Maybe I needed did need to start writing madcap novels that involved crazy crimes.

“On the other hand,” Charlotte said, leaning back in her chair. She brought her pen to her lips and thought. “The president of the PTA probably does have a keycard to the school. .. ”

Or maybe I wasn't totally insane.