by Jeff Shelby
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.
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 han
ds 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.
