Alibi High (A Moose River Mystery Book 3)

by Jeff Shelby

“Especially now?”

  She leaned back in her large leather chair and her expression grew somber. “We are in a crisis here, Daisy. An emergency of sorts. As a school that bills itself as a technological leader in education, we find ourselves without the means to carry out that mission statement.” She paused. “We need to rectify that. Immediately.”

  Her words sounded like those of a politician trying to win my vote or to get me to understand an issue that she thought was important. I wasn't clear on where she was headed.

  “And we need your help,” she said, emphasizing every word.

  “We?”

  “The Prism community,” she clarified. “We are in a time of need and I think you are just the person who can help us.”

  “Well, I don't know about— ”

  Bingledorf raised her hand to stop me. “I know a doer when I see one and you are a doer, Daisy,” she said, ignoring my attempts to thwart her filibuster. “I'm one myself. So I recognize it when I see it.” She placed her palms down carefully on the desk. “You can help quell the crisis here at Prism.”

  I swallowed and cleared my throat. The stolen computers were definitely an issue but her words were like a call to war. “Uh, how?”

  She slapped her palms down on the desk and smiled like she'd won an election. “With a fundraiser.”

  “A fundraiser?” I said, staring blankly at her.

  “Yes, a fundraiser,” she said. She picked up a pen and twirled it slowly. “We need something that can help the community raise the money to purchase new computers, so that we remain true to our mission statement and so that our students can continue to move forward with their education. We cannot wait. What we need from you is to help us find a way for our school community to raise the necessary funds to replace our computers.”

  So her speech wasn't just about pumping me up and singing my accolades.

  It was to recruit me.

  “I'm not sure I'm the person you need,” I said, shaking my head. “I have three kids at home, plus my daughter that's here. I've only volunteered for a week and, while I'd like to tell you that it was altruistic, the truth is I was simply doing it to get our family's required volunteer hours out of the way for this year.”

  Bingledorf nodded, wrinkles forming at the corner of her eyes as she scrutinized me. “I'm sure we could arrange something. Because the way I see it, Daisy, is this: you are in the right place at the right time.”

  She was talking in circles and she wasn't listening. “Organizing a fundraiser takes a lot of time,” I countered. “A lot of time that I don't have.”

  “We aren't looking for anything too complicated,” Bingledorf said. “Because, frankly, we'll need to pull it off soon. Each day that the school goes without a computer is one day too long. So what we need is something simple, but that has the potential to bring in dollars.”

  “Yes. You do,” I said.

  Then we sat there staring at each other, the silence deafening.

  “Here's what I can offer you,” Bingledorf said. She straightened in her chair and folded her hands together and stared down her nose at me as if she were queen. I wondered if she had a crown behind her desk. “Let's say you went home this evening and tossed around a few ideas with your husband. Just brainstormed a bit. And let's say you came back tomorrow morning with an idea that was straightforward, but would generate the money that we need.” She paused and tucked her chin slightly, eyeing me. “I would be willing to count that as not only your volunteer hours for this year, but also for your daughter's remaining years here at Prism.”

  I considered that for a minute. Each year, the number of volunteer hours doubled. So the commitment to fulfill them would grow. It was an interesting offer. But I still wasn't exactly sure what she thought I could pull off in a short amount of time. I could think of small things off the top of my head – bake sales, thrift sales, raffles – but those wouldn't generate the kind of money needed to replace an entire computer lab.

  Which left me with a question.

  “Have you spoken to your insurance company?” I asked. “About when you might see a check for the lost items? That would still seem to me like the quickest way to reestablish the lab.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment, her confidence wavering. Then she smiled. “Yes, well, it's all very complicated. Insurance companies can be difficult to deal with, as I'm sure you're aware, particularly with something this...involved. I have been in touch with them and I'll certainly be presenting them with our inventory list here, but I don't have much faith that we will see any sort of quick reimbursement.”

  “But if you impressed upon them how vital the computers are,” I said. “I'm sure they'd be able to come up with something. I mean, they're insuring a school, so they must have some experience with this kind of thing.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” she said, nodding quickly. “Absolutely. But given that there is a criminal investigation that is ongoing and the amount of paperwork and red tape, I fear they may be a bit slow on the uptake to cover our losses.” She smiled, satisfied with her own answer. “So. I really believe that a fundraiser might do the trick.”

  I still didn't agree with her, but it was pretty clear that she wasn't going to change her stance at that moment.

  “So perhaps we can meet again tomorrow morning?” she said. She picked up her reading glasses, along with a file on her desk. “To discuss what you've come up with and to discuss the viability of the best idea?”

  I sighed. I didn't see the point in arguing any further. Evelyn Bingledorf was like a bulldog with a turkey leg in her teeth . She wasn't letting go.

  “Sure,” I said, already dreading the conversation with Jake. “Let's talk tomorrow.”

  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 alr
eady 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 lin
gering 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.”