Alibi High (A Moose River Mystery Book 3)

by Jeff Shelby

  “ Uh, n o. S he frowned. “ Why ?” would I have to tell her?”

  “She's asked me to inform anyone that has a calendar conflict to visit with her in the next day or so,” I said. “So she can get you signed up for helping to help at another a different school event. You know, because each faculty member has to volunteer for two events outside of school hours?” ” She was still staring at me blankly so I added, “The new volunteer hours for teachers?”

  Her expression darkened.

  The volunteer hours were something I'd learned about after Mr. Longmeyer had added his name – and this was the reason I'd sprinted down to the office before continuing my quest to find volunteers. This was a little tidbit I'd learned by accident when Mr. Gentry, the biology teacher, asked if participating in the show counted toward his volunteer requirements. After he'd signed u p, he'd asked if participating in the talent show would count toward the new volunteer requirement in his contract. I hesitated, told him then told him yes , , then after I'd gotten the other sign up, I'd hurried down to Bingledorf's then after he'd signed up, I'd sprinted back to Bingledorf's office to make sure we could do that for confirmation . She assured me that we could.

  It totally strengthened my arsenal.

  “I know that the concession stands at the football games are still needing still need people,” I informed Alice. “Those freezing November and December games late October games are tough to fill, I guess. Especially after the early snow we've had the last couple of years. No one wants to be out taking tickets or working concessions when it's freezing out. But maybe that will work better with your personal calendar. ”

  Her mouth twisted again twisted . “Right.” She tapped her fingers on her desk. “Right.”

  She tapped some more.

  “ Alrighty, then,” I said, hugging my notebook to my chest. “I'll let Mrs. Bingledorf know you'll be signing up for a different volunteer opportunity.” I smiled and waited some more.

  Her dark eyes were almost black. She sighed heavily. “I guess I could organize some sort of skit,” she finally said.

  “Yeah?” I asked . , raising my eyebrows. “ Y Are y ou sure?”

  “Yes, I'm sure,” she said , s . She s ound ing ed like a defeated woman.

  “Excellent,” I said , writing her name down in my book. . I uncapped my pen and wrote her name down in the notebook. “ You'll go fourth Right now you're fifth on the list – I don't know if we'll stick with this order or if we'll switch things up. and y Y ou'll have ten minutes probably need at least ten minutes, right . ? L Just l et me know if you need more.”

  She licked her lips and tried not to frown. expelled another deep breath. “Sure.”

  I recapped my pen and gave her a huge smile. “Thanks so much,” I said , heading as I headed for the door. “This will be great.”

  She mumbled something, but I was already out in the hallway, crossing her name off and figuring out wh ich ere to find my room my next victim was in. .

  The Daisy Train was on a friggin' roll.

  TWENTY THREE

  By the time the final bell rang, I had fourteen acts lined up.

  And I hadn't even hit up unsuspecting parents yet.

  But for the first time since Bingledorf tasked me with putting the show together, I felt like I actually might be able to pull it off and not be forced to wear the scarlet t P of failure that I was certain Bingledorf the school's principal president would bestow upon me. There was still a ton to do, but at the very least, I had people willing to get on stage, which meant we could actually call it a show.

  I It was almost the end of the school day and I had one last teacher to pester. 'd saved Miles Riggler for last, simply because I felt like I'd been bugging him for the past two days and he didn't certain as to what to do with me. So I hadn't bothered him during the school day, but I wanted to make sure I caught him before he left for the evening. I hurried down the hallway , hoping I wasn't too late.

  “Daisy,” he Miles Riggler said, smiling at me when I knocked on his door. “Come on in.”

  His mood seemed far more chipper than when I'd encountered him the previous two days.

  “How are things going?” I asked.

  He nodded, looking around the room. “We're making d ue o . Slow and steady, but we're managing.” He turned back to me. “How about for you?”

  “Not bad,” I said. “ I assume you've heard about the talent show by now?” I was actually stopping by to see if you'd decided what you're going to do for the talent show.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Talent show?”

  “The fundraiser? ” I said, trying to jog is memory. “ For new computers?”

  H e shook his head slowly. is expression cleared . “ N Oh, right.” He paused. “N o, I'm afraid I haven't.”

  Maybe he just hadn't been frequenting the faculty lunchroom because he'd been so busy planning his classes.

  “ Mrs. Bingledorf put me in charge of putting together a school-wide talent show that will help raise money to buy new computers,” I said, then quickly added. “While she deals with the insurance company.”

  He folded his arms across his bony chest. “Oh. Okay. That sounds like it might be fun.”

  “ What would really be fun is if I'd could get you to sign up to participate,” I said. “Fourteen of your colleagues have already agreed to get up on stage .” ,” I said, trying to persuade him.

  “ Oh gosh,” he said, making a face. “ I'm just...I not sure I'm 'm not much of an onstage person.”

  “ I'm aware,” I said, remembering our conversation from the previous day. “I don't think many of your colleagues are, either. But they've agreed to do it.”

  He positioned himself behind his desk, almost as if he thought it would shield him from my verbal assault. “Well, if you already have fourteen acts, you should be good to go. That's probably more than enough.”

  “ It's all in fun,” I said. “And I really feel like having you signed up is pretty important.”

  “ Me? Why?” I stepped toward the desk and he shrank bank. “We need a lot more.”

  “ Parents?” He drummed his fingers on the desk top. “Or kids? We have a lot of talented kids here. I'm sure they'd love to get up on stage .”

  “ Look, I understand the whole 'not a stage person' thing. But Y y ou're the person the kids identify with the computer lab,” I explained. “ And the parents. And the other teachers. How do you think it's going to look if the one person who should want the computers back doesn't volunteer to get up on stage?”

  The show is to buy computers. It would be great if we could say you're on the bill, you know?” He opened his mouth to respond but I didn't let him. “I'll tell you how it's going to look, Mr. Riggler. Bad.” I pressed my lips together and gave him what I hoped was a disapproving look. “I don't think Mrs. Bingledorf will be too happy if you skip the show.”

  “ I wouldn't skip it,” he protested.

  “ I think she expects to see you on stage,” I told him. I held out the notebook, showing him the list of names on the sign-up sheet. “Along with all of these other faculty members.”

  H e folded his arms across his chest. “ is arms tightened around his chest almost like he was cold. “Oh. Hmm. I guess that makes sense. I'm just not sure I have any talent to offer up.” Fine,” he muttered. “But I really don't know what I can do up there.”

  “It doesn't have to be serious anything big or serio us ,” I said quickly, sensing victory . “It can be short, and it can be funny. I think plenty of your colleagues are doing something that is more humorous than funny.” ”

  He ran a hand through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “ Hmm. Yeah. Okay. Can I have some time to think about what I want to do?”

  “ Sure Of course ,” I said , tapping the notebook with my pen. . “I f I can put you down as a yes.” 'll put you down as a yes. Mrs. Bingledorf will be happy to hear you're on board.” I actually didn't know if she'd even care if Miles Riggler was on the list
of performers or not but I wasn't about to tell him that.

  He walked back toward his desk pulled a small pocket calendar from his top desk drawer and opened it . “What's the date?” he asked, grabbing a pencil .

  I told him.

  And h H e froze. “A week from Saturday?”

  “ Yeah,” I said. “We're trying to get it organized as quickly as possible.”

  H e stood rock-still in place for a moment, his is wide eyes locked on me. “That Saturday night?”

  “ Yeah. “ Is that...not okay?”

  He didn't say anything, then got his legs to carry him to his desk. He flipped through the black planner on his desk, his finger running over the page.

  Then he looked back at me, his face pale. “A week from Saturday?”

  I was starting to wonder if Mr. Riggler also had a hearing problem. “Um, yes.”

  He turned back to his planner and winced, like I'd pinched him or something. He rubbed hard at his chin, frowning, mumbling something under his breath that I couldn't understand.

  He turned back to me. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

  I gave him my line about Bingledorf and the volunteer requirement. “Do you have another commitment?” I asked .

  H e went another shade of pale, but shook his head is face paled . “I'm sorry . ,” he said, not answering the questioning. “ I just can't can't do it .”

  “ Oh,” I said. “Okay.” I thought about bringing up the volunteer hours requirement. I thought about telling him about Stephen-with-a-P Morse to see if I could appeal to his teacherly side. But before I could launch my assault, he suddenly looked up, his expression panicked.

  “It's going to be here?” he asked. “At school?”

  “ The talent show?” I stared at him. “Yes. Where else would it be?”

  “ Yeah.”

  He winced as though someone had punched him in the gut.

  “ Mr Riggler, are you alright?”

  If he heard me, he didn't indicate this. Instead, he just stared at the calendar in front of him and muttered, again and mumbled something that sounded a lot like “What am I gonna do?”

  “ I'm sorry?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you going to do about what ?”

  He started, like he'd forgotten I was in the room. “Uh...uh, nothing . ,” he stammered, his face morphing to a startling shade of pink. “ I meant for tomorrow. What am I gonna do tomorrow ? . Y For c l ass. eah.” “ ass.”

  “ Oh,” I said, “Okay.” I was completely baffled by his reaction and his words . “Okay.” “I guess just let me know if things change.” There was nothing else to say.

  He sat down in his chair, like I'd just told him that his dog had died. He got a hand halfway through his hair before it grabbed tightly onto his skull.

  “ Well, if things change,” I said, starting back for the door. “Let me know. I'd really love to have you there if you can be there.”

  “Mmhmm,” he said, staring at his desk. “Sorry.”

  I walked out into the hallway and stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened. His denial refusal to participate had sucked away all of my earlier optimism and enthusiasm. The fund raiser, while not directly for him, affected him the most. We were doing it so he could get his room back to normal, to help him. It felt a little weird to think that we'd be putting on a fundraiser for him that he couldn't even attend.

  A lot weird.

  TWENTY FOUR

  I went back to the counseling office. Even though the bell was about to ring, signaling the end of the school day, I'd decided I'd stay at the school to stay a bit little longer to so I could start putting together a create an actual mock-up schedule schedule for the show. As much as I wanted to get home and see my kids, I knew I needed to hammer out a few more details before I left, as much for the benefit of the show as for my peace of mind. Doing it there was going to be easier than doing it at home because if I waited until the evening to do it, I'd be distracted by attention-needing children. And husbands. So I was laying out a schedule for the talent show night when I nearly rolled out of my chair because Emily was knocking on my door and saying “Mom?” Charlotte was nowhere to be found; I knew she 'd had a meeting with Mrs. Bingledorf earlier and wondered if it had run late.

  There was a knock on the door and I looked up.

  Emily was standing in the doorway. “Mom?”

  “ Oh my god,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I rubbed my eyes. “Are you addressing me here at school? People will find out that you know me.”

  She rolled her eyes and stepped all the way into the office, followed by her best friend, Bailey Prat t, who held up a hand and grinned at me. t . “Hey, Mrs. S!” Both of them were wearing black Prism hoodies and I stifled a smile as I stared at their school apparel. The name of the school was embroidered in silver thread but the sweatshirts were devoid of mascots or symbols. When the school first formed and was named a few years ago, the kids unanimously voted for a rainbow as their school logo. This was immediately shot down by the more conservative, homophobic members of the school community. Their next offering was a three-dimensional triangle – an actual prism – but a local pastor who served on the board thought this looked too much like an occult symbol and that idea was nixed, too. So the athletes w ore black and silver uniforms, which wasn't a bad thing, and the students sported the same colors on their apparel, and the school was still mascot-less. Jake had pointed out that it was probably a good thing, since no kid in their right mind would want a walking triangle cheering them on at their games.

  “ Hi, Mrs. S!” Bailed said in her boisterous, friendly way.

  I pointed smiled at Bailey and looked at Em. “See? She's , like, super excited to see me and she hasn't been ostracized by her peers.”

  Em's cheeks blossomed crimson. “Whatever.”

  “You have your own office?” Bailey said, chomping on a piece of gum , and looking around. “That was fast. Cool.”

  “I'm sharing it,” I said. “With Ms. Nordhoff.”

  Bailey nodded , still chomping. . Her hair was the same color as Emily's, a warm, almost golden brown, but she wore hers longer and straighter. “Cool. Pretty soon you'll be working here full-time.”

  Emily glared frowned at her. “No . , she won't. ”

  Bailey blew a bubble and popped it. “Your mom is cool. She listens to loud music in the car and always has junk food at home. You know what I get? Christian hymns and granola bars.” Bailey grinned at me. “You can kick her out and I'll take her place, 'kay?”

  I nodded. “I'll consider that.”

  Emily sighed, totally bored with our shenanigans banter . “Yeah. You guys two can go and be besties or whatever .” She looked at me. “Are you leaving soon?”

  I shook my head. “No, I 'm gonna need to stay for awhile to work on a few things.”

  She sighed again and h H er shoulders dropped. “We need a ride.”

  “Isn't there a late bus?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but we don't wanna take it,” Emily said.

  “Why?”

  “It smells,” Bailey said, sitting down on the corner of my desk and blowing another bubble. “Plus, Alex Madden is on it.”

  Emily pummeled her in the shoulder. “Stop.”

  Bailey rubbed her shoulder and wrinkled her nose at me. “Alex likes Em. He's kind of a dork, but also kinda nice.”

  I loved Bailey. Not just because she liked me and thought I was cool, but because she had a really big mouth and usually told me things Emily would never even think of disclosing.

  “So you don't like him?” I asked Emily, grateful that Bailey had a big mouth asked, turning to face my daughter .

  “No,” she said emphatically , her eyes wide, her brow furrowed . “I do not like him. He's gross.”

  “He's not super gross,” Bailey said pointed out . She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “ I mean, T t here are a lot of boys that are way more gross. A nd a t least he's nice.”

  Emily ignored her. �
�Yeah and he's always looking at me ,” Emily whined. “ .” She made a face. “ It's creepy.”

  “Better than Stevie Anthony Matheson,” Bailey said, rolling her eyes. “Now that kid is full - on creepy.” She looked at me. “Did you hear he almost died at the beach last summer?”

  “ Uh, no.” “No?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, he was at the beach with his family and apparently his brothers buried him in the sand and he like passed out or something. They had to fly in a helicopter and everything.”

  “Yeah, well, that kid is uber-gross,” Emily said.

  “Right. So not as bad as Alex,” Bailey said.

  “You're not helping.”

  “So mean.”

  “Well, I'm sorry girls,” I said, laughing chuckling at their banter exchange . “But I'm not leaving for at least another hour. So you can stay and wait or take the smelly Alex bus or walk.”

  “ Alex doesn't smell,” Bailed said. “Well, he sort of does. He wears this cologne that—”

  Emily looked at Bailey cut her off . “You wanna walk? We can stop at the Sonic and get slushies.”

  “I'd rather take the bus and watch Alex watch you,” Bailey said . , a sly smile on her face.

  “I'll buy,” Em said offered .

  Bailed jumped off the desk. “Sold! ” Bailey said, jumping off the desk. Except I want a shake.”

  I laughed smiled and shook my head. “Be careful walking.”

  “You'll probably have this place to yourself,” Emily said. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “I swear, our teachers are always gone before the buses even leave.”

  “Totally,” Bailey agreed, then giggled. “Except for Mr. Riggler.”

  Emily tried not to laugh, but a little giggle fought it ' s way out. “Stop.”

  “What's so funny about Mr. Riggler?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Emily said.