Alibi High (A Moose River Mystery Book 3)

by Jeff Shelby

  “So there aren't any events on weekends any more?” I asked. I knew last year there had been a couple of dances and a few sporting events, too. After all, I'd worked concessions and ticket sales at some of them.

  “No, those still happen,” she said. “School sanctioned events still happen on the weekends. We have staff here who supervise and close up. It's the unofficial coming and going that we can't do.”

  That made a little more sense.

  Charlotte continued. “And, two, people started bringing their kids in with them, letting them run around, that kind of thing,” she said. “Some things got knocked out of place, I think a light bulb was broken, I can't recall exactly. But basically kids were running around doing things they shouldn't have been doing while their parents were trying to get some work done in their classrooms.”

  I nodded. I could understand teachers not wanting to leave their kids at home, but you couldn't just set them loose and let them use the school as their own personal playground.

  “So when those things kept coming up, they finally put an end to being able to access the building on the weekends,” Charlotte said, folding her arms across her chest. “A bummer, but you can kind of see the reasoning.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Not a perfect solution, especially for the teachers who weren't causing issues, but I get it.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “A lot of us grumbled about it, myself included because I liked coming in on Sundays when the building was empty and quiet. I could get caught up on the paperwork I didn't want to lug home.” She sighed. “I'd hoped they'd revisit the decision, maybe offer us limited hours or something like that, but we haven't reached that point yet.” She frowned. “And now with this, I'm not sure we'll ever get to that point again. But I get it.”

  She was right. If the school had already deemed the building off-limits on the weekends prior to the theft, it was hard to believe they'd ever reconsider opening it again. If anything, they'd probably try to lock the building down even tighter and restrict access even more.

  “But here's the thing,” she said, lowering her voice. “And this is the real off the record part.”

  I leaned in closer to hear her.

  “I'm pretty sure that some people have been coming in on the weekends, anyway,” she whispered. “And there are already rumors that some people were in the building this past weekend.”

  “When the computers were stolen?”

  She nodded. “Yep. So when the police start asking people about what they might know, they might have to admit that they were here. And that will not go over well, I promise you.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Yeah, I wouldn't want to have to be the one to admit I was breaking the rules.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “For all the rules a school has, it's funny how poor faculty and staffs can be at following them. Do as I say, not as I do, I guess. That's pretty much any school I've ever worked at.”

  I chuckled. There were a gazillion reasons why I homeschooled my kids but I would be lying if I said onerous and stifling school rules didn't make that list. Because they did. I certainly saw the value in rules and the necessity for them in a school where you had a thousand kids congregating in a confined space, but I also saw the benefit of educating my kids in an environment where they could chew gum without punishment, where they could go to the bathroom when they needed to go, and where they didn't have to raise their hands to be recognized.

  “People could lose their jobs,” Charlotte said, frowning. “I'd hate to see that happen, but I think it's a possibility.”

  I nodded, thinking the same thing. And then something else occurred to me.

  “It could also create some...suspicions,” I said, making sure to keep my voice low.

  She winced as soon as I said the word, but reluctantly nodded. “Yeah, it could. And that's the part that could get really uncomfortable.” She paused and glanced at the door again. “Because whoever was here would have to admit being here and I'd think that would kind of put the spotlight on them.”

  I nodded. “But let me point out the obvious. Isn't it possible that someone here had something to do with the theft?”

  She shrugged. “Anything's possible. I can't imagine that the people I've heard were here would have anything to do with it, but I guess you never know, right?” She frowned again. “And here's the thing. Even if they just did something dumb and c o a me in to work or whatever, but had nothing to do with the computers, their reputations will still take a hit, you know? And people will talk about them, wondering if they were involved. And I can guarantee some of the kids will run with those rumors and the next thing you know, they'll have created some story about a math teacher running some sort of underground black market for stolen computers.”

  I'd already seen the school gossip hotline in action with Charlotte. TMZ had nothing on high school.

  I thought about what she said, my mind going back to one of her statements. “Do you know who was here this weekend?”

  Charlotte's hand froze on her bracelet. She spun it slowly, her eyes glued to it.

  “Charlotte?”

  She took a deep breath. “I really shouldn't say. Because I don't know anything for certain. All I've heard are rumors and I don't want to say anything that isn't true. For all I know, the school could've been empty this weekend and whoever took the computers has nothing to do with the school.” She shrugged. “So I really don't know anything.”

  I leaned back in my chair, trying to quell my disappointment. She was right to not pass along the rumors because that was probably all they were. And there was no reason for her to share what she'd heard with me. After all, we'd basically just met the day before and she'd been working with the staff at Prism for years.

  I tried to not take it personally.

  But it really did jumpstart my curiosity.

  FIFTEEN

  I needed to refocus.

  My brain was trying to sabotage my entire day by ignoring the fundraiser I needed to plan and instead focusing on something else entirely: who might've been inside the school and who might've been involved with stealing the computers. The more I tried to remind myself that they were just rumors, the more my mind wanted to come up with scenarios that were better suited for nighttime television. If I stayed preoccupied with the rumors and the possibilities, the talent show would never get planned, much less executed.

  So I tried to get serious.

  I made a list of things that had to be accomplished prior to the show, a list of what would be needed to be done during the show and a list of follow up activities after the show. Then I listed the names of people I knew at the school to approach about participating in some way. I was able to get a list of faculty and staff from Charlotte, as well as some information from Ellen about what I needed to do to request chairs and set-up for the event in the auditorium. I filled out the event request form and turned it in to the appropriate box. And then I knew it was time to start on the toughest task of all.

  Finding volunteers.

  I decided to start with the person who I thought might have the most incentive to help.

  Mr. Riggler.

  When I'd gone to get the information about requesting set-up, Ellen had also been kind enough to print me off a master class schedule so I could see when teachers were free during the day. I knew I'd have to speak to most of them in the next couple of days and knowing when they were available so I wouldn't disrupt their classes was helpful.

  He was perched at his desk in the back of the room, his shoulders hunched over, staring hard at a laptop screen. I knocked lightly on the open door and he nearly jumped out of his seat.

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes wide. “Oh. Mrs. Savage. Hello.”

  “Hi,” I said. “And please call me Daisy. I apologize for startling you. Is this a bad time?”

  “What?” he asked, then shook his head. “Oh, no. It's fine. I was just concentrating. Sometimes I get a little lost when I'm reading.” He closed the laptop s
creen and pushed the computer aside. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I'm not sure yet,” I said. “Have you heard about the fundraiser I've been put in charge of?”

  His expression told me everything I needed to know. “No. I've kind of been in my own little world here.”

  “Right. Well, Mrs. Bingledorf has tasked me with planning a fundraiser to help buy new computers,” I explained. “And we're going to do a talent show here at the school and charge admission.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun,” he said. Then he looked at me, his eyebrows pushed together in a frown. “Wait. We have to raise money to buy new computers? We don't have the money? Or the insurance?”

  “I'm not really sure of the situation,” I said. “I think Mrs. Bingledorf is worried that getting reimbursed will take too long and she wants to do something to at least purchase a few new computers.”

  “So they can't buy any right away?” he asked.

  “It doesn't sound like it, no.”

  He looked away for a moment and I assumed he was disappointed, maybe frustrated, because it was going to complicate his teaching. But when he turned back to me, I swore he was trying to hide the remnants of a...smile.

  “Wow,” he said. “Okay. I didn't know that. That is...well, that's just a bummer, I guess.”

  But there was no sadness or frustration in his voice. He sounded...happy. Or something like that. And maybe that was why the rumors Charlotte had mentioned hijacked my brain again.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I said, watching him closely.

  He reached for a small stack of papers on his desk. “Sure, anything.”

  “I've heard a rumor,” I said. “About teachers being in the building over the weekend. Even though that's against the rules. Do you know anything about that?”

  He squirmed in his chair and any smile that had been lurking disappeared. “No,” he said, studying the paper on the top of the stack. He stole a quick glance at me. “Why would you ask me that? We can't be here on the weekends. It's against the rules. So who would be here? Why would they be here? And why would you ask me? Did someone say they saw me here? Who saw me here? I mean, who said they saw me here?”

  I was startled by how defensive he was. “No one,” I told him. “I just heard some rumors that there may have been some Prism staff in the building over the weekend. That's all.”

  “We aren't allowed in the building during the weekend,” he said defensively. He pushed at his glasses and I noticed a fine sheen of sweat blossoming on his forehead. “Everyone knows that. So I couldn't have been here. I wouldn't have been. That's against the rules. I don't know who would've seen me here. I mean, if I'd been here. Which I definitely wasn't.”

  He was talking so fast, his words were rushing together. The more he denied, the more guilty he sounded.

  “Okay,” I said. “I'm sorry. I was just—”

  “You know, we encourage the students to ignore rumors,” he said, trying to sound firm. “Because nearly all rumors are false. Especially ones like these that can't possibly be true. So I really don't think you should mention them anymore. Because I definitely was not here.”

  I'd never once directly accused him and I hadn't really thought he was the one sneaking into the building during the weekend. I hadn't thought of anyone in particular, mostly because I just wasn't that familiar with anyone on the staff. But Miles Riggler had now totally convinced me that he'd been in the building over the weekend, despite denying it like crazy.

  “You're right,” I said before he could start offering up another defense. “I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm not sure what I was thinking.”

  Except that, you know, maybe you're one of the ones sneaking in here on the weekends...

  He eyed me for a moment and then something flickered in his eyes.

  “It's okay,” he said. “And I'm sorry I reacted so strongly. I just don't like rumors at all. They can only hurt. Especially ones that have no truth to them. Like the ones you've apparently heard.”

  “Right,” I said, anxious to get him off the subject. “So let me ask you about the real reason I stopped by. The talent show. We're going to need volunteers.”

  He seemed relieved to drop the subject, too, his shoulders falling a little, the tension in them easing. He smiled. “I'd be happy to volunteer.”

  “That'd be great,” I said, trying to change the entire tone of our conversation to a little more upbeat and fun. “And when you say volunteer, do you mean you'd like to perform?” I smiled. “I'm hoping so.”

  “Perform?” he asked.

  “In the show,” I said. “It doesn't have to be serious. It can be funny. But I think the real key to this is getting people up on stage that the kids will be interested in seeing.”

  He nodded slowly. “Riiiight. I'm not much for being up on a stage.”

  “But you could give it a shot,” I said, not letting him off the hook. “I mean, if anyone is going to benefit directly from this, it would be you, right?”

  He paused, then nodded. “Yeah. But I'm just not sure I'm stage material. Can I think about it? Maybe let you know tomorrow?”

  The air was officially out of my sails. If I couldn't convince the computer teacher to perform in a benefit to buy computers to replace the ones that had been stolen from him, I wasn't sure I was going to have much luck elsewhere. It would just be me and Jake up on stage, with a bunch of crickets chirping in the audience.

  “Sure,” I lied. “That would be fine.”

  “Great. Thanks,” he said, forcing a smile on his face. He lifted the screen on the laptop, opening the computer again. “I really need to get ready for my next period.”

  “Of course,” I said, taking my cue. “I'll get out of your hair.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Daisy?” he called to me as I reached it.

  I turned around.

  “Did anyone actually mention my name?”

  “To volunteer? No. I just thought of you first.”

  He shook his head. “No. I mean with those rumors you asked me about.”

  “Oh,” I said. I thought back to my conversation with Charlotte. “No. I haven't heard a single name.”

  “Okay, good,” he said, forcing another smile. “I mean, it would be impossible for anyone to name me since I definitely wasn't here. But you never know.”

  No, you never did know.

  SIXTEEN

  “Jake texted me and said he was gonna be late,” Johnny Witt said, closing my kitchen door. “I told him I had to head over this way to check on a client, so I'd bring the kids home.”

  I'd spent the rest of the frustrating afternoon at Prism, chasing down teachers on their free periods, begging for their help. I got about seventeen maybes, one absolute no from a chemistry teacher who was going to be out of town and a yes to working the door from Ellen. I didn't bother waiting for Em – even though she had student council and wouldn't be riding the bus, I knew she had already arranged for a ride home with a friend – so when the bell rang, I headed straight for my car. Ten minutes later, I was on the couch, surfing Facebook on my phone and mindlessly popping M&Ms in my mouth.

  When I heard a car pull into the drive, followed by kids voices hollering, I stood up, stuffed the bag of candies back into my hiding place, and headed for the door.

  And saw Johnny, Brenda's husband.

  He poked his thumb over his shoulder. “Kids ran to the trampoline. That okay?”

  “Oh, for sure,” I said. “And thanks for bringing them home.”

  “No problem at all,” he said, smiling.

  Nothing was ever a problem for Johnny. He was one of the most easy-going people I'd ever met. He had to be because Brenda was a little high-strung and a lot Type A and they had five kids. But nothing ever seemed to phase him. The kids could've been playing with a blowtorch in the yard and he probably would've just shrugged and gone out and taken it from them and quietly explained the dangers of a blowtorch – and then gotten on the trampoline
with them. He was always the first to offer help, the first to smile and the last to complain.

  “The school is treating you alright this week?” he asked, leaning his lanky framed against the kitchen counter. He was dressed in a green tracksuit jacket and loose-fitting jeans. Not exactly work attire but since he worked for himself, he could pretty much wear whatever he wanted.

  “Not even close,” I said. “It's been interesting.”

  He adjusted his black-framed glasses and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said and proceeded to tell him all about my two days at Prism.

  Both eyebrows were up when I was done. “Wow. That's pretty crazy.”

  “It's just bizarre,” I said, shaking my head. “All of it.”

  “So they don't know anything about where the computers went?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “The principal president is kind of all over the place and I'm not sure what the police are doing. I'd assume they know something, but I have no idea what.”

  He pulled at the sleeves of his jacket and folded his arms across his chest. “Be really hard to steal that many computers and then do something with them. But I guess if the school didn't have them serial-numbered or marked, they might be a little easier to move or take apart.”

  “Take apart?”

  He nodded. “I used to see it all the time when I worked at a computer store. Not so much now, but back then? Sure.”

  Johnny ran his own IT consulting business and I really had no idea what that meant, other than he knew a lot about computers and anytime we had a question that Will couldn't answer, we called him.

  “Guys would bring in hard drives, monitors, even keyboards,” he explained. “They say they weren't working right or there was some problem and then they'd try to be all sly about asking if we might want to buy them. We built some custom computers at the shop I worked at, but it was pretty easy to spot someone who was trying to sell you stolen stuff.”