Alibi High (A Moose River Mystery Book 3)

by Jeff Shelby

  “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.

  TWENTY ONE

  Charlotte excused herself for a conference with a teacher and I was trying to figure out where to start my pleas next round of begging for the talent show when there was a knock on the office door. I looked up to see Mrs. Bingledorf smiling back at me.

  “Good morning,” she said , wearing a bright red business suit and matching red shoes. . She took a look around the office, almost like she'd never seen it before. “This working arrangement is working out for you alright, I hope?”

  “ Oh sure Yes ,” I said. And then, because she seemed to want more, I added, “Charlotte is very nice.”

  “Isn't she, though?” she said, still looking around the room. “Well, good, I'm glad to hear this is suitable.” She settled her gaze on me. “So , tell me. Where do we stand?”

  I flipped open the notebook nervously, suddenly feeling under the gun. “Um, well, I'm still trying to get things started. People are reluctant to be the first to sign up.”

  She grabbed the chair from Charlotte's desk and rolled it around so she could sit down in it, facing me. She wore a red suit with matching red shoes and the jacket strained against her shoulders and stomach. She crossed her legs one wa
y, then uncrossed them and recrossed them the opposite way.

  “ But I'm hopeful,” I said.

  She folded her hands and set them on her lap, then let them fall to her sides, then refolded them again.

  “Yes, yes, I'm sure they are reluctant ,” she finally said, her hands still twitchy in her lap. “But I'm sure you can persuade them.”

  “I hope so. ” I paused. “ Might be helpful if you put an email to the staff, letting them know I'll be coming around to talk to them, maybe encourage them to participate.”

  “I'll do that today,” she said, nodding emphatically. “I'll do that today.”

  “ That would be great. Thank you.”

  “ What else can I do?” “What else can I do?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing that I can think of at this time . At least not right now .”

  “So how close are we then to being ready?” she asked brightly , her shoulders rolling forward a little, then settling back. .

  “Uh, well, not really close at all yet,” I said, thinking she'd already understood that.

  “How about after today?” she said , her hands moving nervously in her lap . Her hands fidgeted in her lap . “Where do you think we'll stand then?”

  “Well, it's really hard to say. .. ”

  Bingledorf's smile disappeared, replaced by a small frown. “We really need that money, Daisy. We really need it. I'm almost tempted to move the show up a week.”

  “No,” I said, horrified by that thought. . “Don't do that. We absolutely can't be ready by then.”

  She winced Her frown deepened . “But we need that money, Daisy.”

  I knew she needed the money. She kept saying that. But I still wasn't sure this show would even deliver what she was hoping for. I had this horrible idea enormous fear that we'd get to the night of the show and we'd take in all of a couple hundred dollars.

  “Have you talked to your insurance company yet?” I asked. Her expression changed. “Because I was talking with my husband last night — ”