by Jeff Shelby
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 compu
ters 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.
EIGHT
“Sophie and Grace brought home these bottles with brown liquid in them,” Jake said, shaking his head as he got out of the car. “They said it was some sort of super healthy tea or something. I said it looked like sewer water.”
I'd gotten home from Prism around three - thirty. Bingledorf was off-campus for a meeting when I went searching for her, so I held onto the inventory sheet and finished sorting the mail. Ellen was unbelievably gracious and thankful and seemed on the verge of tears when I said I would be back the following day. So I'd gone home and started the laundry and pulled weeds from the garden. I waved at Emily as she scurried into the house when the bus dropped her off and had just started pulling yanking all of the ripe tomatoes from their vines when Jake pulled up with the rest of the kids.
“It's kombucha,” Sophie said, holding hers up. Her blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail , her long bangs hiding her eyes. “It tastes like iced tea. Only a little grosser.”
“And it came from Brenda's mother!” Grace yelled, holding up her bottle. She scampered over to me and shoved the bottle in my face, within g inches of my nose.
“Brenda's mother?” I asked. “Really?”
“No, it came from something called a mother,” Will said, the last one to exit the car. He held his bottle with his thumb and forefinger, like he was afraid to touch it. “It's this totally disgusting thing that lives on her counter now. Like an alien or something. Totally creepy.”
“ What?” I asked. “What lives on the counter?”
Will's blue eyes darkened. “The mother of this disgusting drink. Which I am not drinking.”
“Totally looks like sewer water,” Jake muttered.
The kids scampered into the house and Jake stayed out in the garden with me.
“How was your first day of school?” he asked, grinning. He was wearing khakis and a blue button-down shirt that matched the color of his eyes.
“Eventful.” I told him about the stolen computers.
“Wow,” he said, when I'd finished. “That's crazy. All of the computers?”
“All of them.”
“How would someone do that?”
I tugged on a tomato clinging stubbornly to the vine. “Uh, I guess they'd carry them out.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got that part. But I mean, you'd need a really big car for that. Or a rental truck. Or something. Because that's a lot of computers if i
t was the entire lab.”
“Which you'd think someone would notice.”
Jake nodded. “Which you'd think someone might have on video surveillance.”
“They're checking that.”
He shook his head. “Tape is probably already lost.”
While I'd viewed Prism with skepticism, he'd openly shared his disdain for it. Not because he was against schooling, but because he'd claimed it felt like a rinky-dink operation from the beginning. He said the word “charter” was code for “parents who have no clue what they're doing” and he'd shared his frustrations about inconsistent teaching, poor communication and the website that never seemed to work. He'd tempered the complaining once he realized that Emily was enjoying it so much, but like with most things that irritated him, he'd usually mutter something under his breath about it when the opportunity arose.
“I have no idea,” I said, dropping another tomato into the basket next to me. “But the computer teacher guy didn't seem all that worried, which was kind of weird.”
“Probably just going to show movies until they get new computers,” Jake said.
I frowned at him. “Stop.”
He frowned back. “Yeah, let's see what happens.” He paused. “On a different note, when is the first time we have the Witt kids here for babysitting?”
“In two weeks, I think. Why?”
“I'm gonna try to schedule a trip or something so I'm not here,” he said. “Maybe for the duration of these trade days or whatever you're calling them.”
“You are very grouchy,” I commented. “Bad day at work?”
“Not at all. I got to their house to pick the kids up and that little tyrant threw a rock at me,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
