by Jeff Shelby
“Can they make a lot of money with that kind of thing?” I asked.
He shifted against the counter. “Just depends. Taking single parts to a small computer shop? No, not really. But let's say you set up an online shop or something and sold the parts there. That might be a way to make some decent money, especially if you have some good quality stuff. Computer-savvy people have no problem putting together modified systems, especially gamers on a tight budget.”
I thought about Will and everything he knew about computers...and the parts he'd bought to increase his memory and install a bigger hard drive. We had no idea if the parts he'd purchased were legit and I suddenly wondered if we were harboring stolen, black market goods in our house.
“Anyway,” Johnny continued. “If those computers from the school weren't marked or anything, they'd be pretty easy to ship and sell anonymously.”
“I had no idea,” I murmured, wondering if I could take apart Will's computer without him knowing and run the serial numbers on the parts.
“They really didn't have them identified in any way?”
“It doesn't sound like it, no.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Wow. That's pretty surprising. It's kind of standard procedure now, you know? You don't pay that kind of money for equipment and not inventory it or mark it in case it goes missing.” He held his hand out, his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Most companies put little engraved plaques somewhere on the hardware and then if they're really serious about it, they'll print an I.D somewhere in the guts of the computer in permanent marker.” He shrugged. “It might not prevent theft, but it makes it really hard to resell. And easier to track if stuff does go missing.”
I sighed. It didn't sound like Prism had done any of those things. They'd been careless or ignorant or both. It wasn't a total surprise, but it was disappointing.
“I can give you a couple names,” he offered “If the school is looking to replace the machines, I can give you a couple guys who sell wholesale and could deliver a large order pretty quickly.”
“That'd be great,” I said.
He smiled. “No problem.”
I was thinking about the ordering and the replacing. “You know anything about Data Dork?”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and thought. “A little. Guy named Harold runs it. Seems okay, but I don't really know him. I know that store has to be struggling.”
“Why's that?”
“Just economics,” he said. “No way he can offer things at the same price that larger suppliers can. So it's gotta be tough to drum up business, competing with bigger guys.”
I nodded. Best Buy was headquartered in our state and there was a store in nearly every town. Throw in the other big box stores and the behemoth internet sellers and Johnny was probably right; Data Dork didn't stand a chance.
“I don't know that for sure,” Johnny added. “Maybe he's got a loyal customer base and he's doing fine. I'm just guessing. Never heard anything bad about him, though.”
“Okay, good to know,” I said.
Johnny glanced at his watch. “I gotta run. Need to stop at a client's office, then pick up our produce from co-op.”
I grinned. Brenda had tried to talk me into joining a local produce co-op but with my picky eaters, including Jake, I was pretty sure the bulk of what I picked up would end up in the trash. Or her compost pile.
“With all of the kids in tow?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It's not that big of a deal.”
I pictured Derek setting his client's office our house on fire. I thought that might be a big deal but I kept my mouth shut.
“I'll email you those names tonight,” he said, reaching for the door. “And if I hear anything, I'll let you know.”
“Hear anything?”
He pulled the door open. “We computer geeks all kind of hang out in the same world. Wouldn't surprise me at all if I heard something about somebody getting ahold of a large stash of computers. It's a small world.” He smiled. “So I'll keep my ears open. I can be like your spy or something.”
“I don't think Brenda will want you playing spy,” I said, laughing.
He shrugged again as he walked down the stairs on the back deck. “Hey, come on now. I'm allowed to have a little fun once in awhile, right? Maybe I'll get a goofy hat and a magnifying glass.”
“I'm gonna need a picture of that.”
He laughed and hopped down off the last step. “No problem!”
SEVENTEEN
“Have you heard any rumors?” I asked.
Emily looked at me, flat on her back on her bed. Her phone rested on her stomach. “About who?”
I'd made lasagna for dinner, one of the few dishes everyone would eat, and had just finished cleaning up the kitchen. Jake was in the shower, the younger girls were playing Barbies in their room and Will had disappeared to spend some time on his computer. It was our usual nightly routine, a little down time for everyone, but I didn't care that everyone had scattered. Everyone was home and that was what mattered.
I leaned against her door. “I don't know. Anyone.”
“I hear them all day long,” she said. “You're going to need to be more specific.”
“About the computers,” I said more specifically.
She rolled her eyes and stole a quick glance at her phone. “Oh my god. Yes. This moron said at lunch that he heard they were stolen by the kids at Moose River High as some sort of prank. I was like, are you serious? Moron.”
“That would be one heck of a prank.”
“And impossible. And stupid.” She shook her head. “I also heard they were repossessed, that they were just being repaired, and that a kid who claimed to be a gang member who graduated last year came and stole them. Except that kid works at Chipotle and is not a gang member.”
I laughed. “Good to know everyone is on the case.”
She looked at me, a puzzled expression on her face. “What actually did happen?”
I hesitated, unsure if I was supposed to share what I knew. But then I got irritated with myself because I really didn't know anything and not telling her would just perpetuate more rumors.
“They were stolen,” I said. “But I have no idea who took them. I was actually hoping you'd heard something. Other than about the Chipotle gang member, I mean.”
Emily smiled. “I think everyone just makes stuff up to create drama,” she said. “They don't know anything.”
“So nothing juicy about a teacher taking them or anything like that?”
She frowned at me. “No. That would be crazy. Why would they do that?”
“I'm just trying to cover all the rumor bases,” I said. “Maybe one of the teachers is in the Chipotle gang, too.”
She laughed. “That would actually be kinda funny if there was a Chipotle gang. Like, they met at the restaurant and they had to order a certain kind of burrito to be in the gang. Like, they couldn't order black beans, only pinto , and they had to get the super hot salsa. That's how they'd know you were in the gang.”
“Yeah and they'd all have the letter C tattooed on their arms or something.”
“And they had to make a C sign with their hands to recognize one another.” She cupped her fingers together and made a C-shape. She was taking ASL as her foreign language – another thing Jake sometimes rolled his eyes over – so I was pretty sure it was the actual sign for the letter C but I couldn't be sure.
I flashed the sign back at her. “And if someone catches you at a Taco Bell, then you're out.”
She laughed again and I joined in. I was glad I could laugh and be goofy with my teenager daughter. Yes, she had her teenage moments – she could definitely be unreasonable and hormonal and dramatic and a complete pain in the rear – but, more often than not, she was a nice kid with a good sense of humor who I missed having at home.
I tried to keep all of that in mind as I knew I was about to piss her off royally.
“So,” I said, setting myself in the doorway in case I n
eeded to block her from running out of the room. “We need to talk about the talent show.”
Her smile vanished and she picked up her phone. “No.”
“I just wanna talk about it.”
“No,” she repeated. “I meant what I said. I'm not going to be in it.”
I tried my firm, authoritative voice. “Emily—”
“Mother,” she said, mirroring my tone. “No way, no how. You can't make me. The end.”
All of those nice thoughts I'd had were fading away quickly.
“Couple of things here,” I said cooly, keeping my eyes locked on her “One, watch your mouth. Two, it's for your school that you claim to love so dearly. And, three, I can make you do anything I want to if I apply the right leverage.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are going to be in the talent show – or I'll come up with something that will make your life even more miserable than being in the talent show might.”
She shook her head and her eyes returned to her phone. “Ha. Impossible.”
“Really?” I asked. “How does losing electronics privileges for a couple of weeks sound?”
“I have Netflix and DVR,” she said. “I don't care.”
“News flash, sweetheart. Your phone is an electronic device.”
She looked up, horrified. “I need the phone. You told me I need it. To communicate with you.”
“Yeah, well, I might change my mind,” I said. “You could use school phones if you needed to call me.”
“That's not fair,” she said.
“I know,” I told her. “But I'll totally do it.”
She sighed and threw her head back against the pillow, missing her headboard by a fraction of an inch.
“So,” I said. “Let's talk about possibilities.”
“Like the possibility of me dying from embarrassment? Yeah, let's talk about that.”
“Oh, you won't die from it,” I assured her. “Maybe a small heart attack or something.”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“I think we could do one of two things,” I said. “We could so some sort of lip-sync number—”
“No.” Her voice was emphatic.
“—or we could do like a dramatic reading from a play or something.”
“Oh my god, no.”
“Hmm.” I shifted my weight to my other foot. “So you have a better idea?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I'm going to go with Jake to Abu whatever it's called.”
“Abu Dhabi,” I provided helpfully. “It's in the Middle East. Very dry and dusty. I'm not sure you'd like it there.”
“I don't care.”
“Also, your phone won't work over there,” I pointed out. “He loves you but he isn't going to spring for an international plan just so you can text your friends. Trust me.”
“He'll get me one. You just said he loves me.”
“Ah, he loves you, but he fears me,” I informed her. “So, I'm afraid not.”
She groaned and threw her head back again. “This is so unfair.”
“I know,” I said, nodding sympathetically. “But it doesn't change the fact that this is the way it is , . though. So, if you don't like my ideas, you'll need to come up with one. By tomorrow.”
She made another dismissive sigh and shook her head. “Fine. Whatever.”
“By dinner tomorrow,” I said. “Or I get your phone.”
She picked up the device in question and stared at it, nearly setting the screen on fire with the lasers her eyes were shooting. “Got it.”
“Love you!”
“Close the door on your way out,” she snapped.
Maybe I didn't miss her presence that much.
EIGHTEEN
“Congratulations,” I said.
Jake eyed me suspiciously across the pillows. He had a book in his hands but I couldn't tell if he was really reading or if he was just skimming the pages. “On what?
After my conversation with Emily, Jake and I played a couple of rounds of Mario Kart with the younger ones before it all devolved into a heated conversation about who was the best Mario Kart player in the house. When Jake intervened and stated that he was the best player in the house, I knew it was time for everyone to head to bed.
And for me to have a conversation with him that I'd been avoiding since he'd gotten home.
“You won,” I said.
“Mario Kart?” He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “I know. Told you I'm the best.”
“No, not Mario Kart,” I said, averting his gaze.
“What are you talking about? What did I win?”
I glanced back at him. “The election.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn't running for anything.”
“Right? So it's like this awesome surprise!”
“Daisy,” he said, tucking his chin to his chest and looking down his nose at me. “You're being coy and attempting to be funny.”
“Attempting?” I pouted. “You tell me all the time that I'm the funniest person you know.”
“You are,” he said. “But I know you. Me getting an awesome surprise is usually code word for me being roped into something I don't want to do. Spill it.”
I sighed. “No faith in me.”
“None,” he said, not falling for my act. “Spill it. Now.”
I swallowed hard, then pasted on a bright smile. “You've been elected as the emcee for the Prism talent show.”
He stared at me, expressionless. “What?”
“You'll have a microphone and everything,” I said quickly. I ran my hand over his bare chest. “And I love how you look in a tux.”
He rolled back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling, much the way Emily had. “If nominated, I will not run. If elected, I will not serve.” He stared at me. “Didn't someone famous say that?”
“Fine,” I said. “You weren't elected. I appointed you.”
His eyes closed. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I love seeing you in a tux,” I said, snuggling closer to him under the sheets. “And I needed an emcee.”
“No one else would do it, would they?”
I avoided answering his question. “You're funny and charming and people will be wowed by you.”
“Why can't I work, like, behind the scenes or something?” he said. “I'd have no problem doing that. None.”
He wasn't making this easy. “Because...because I need you on stage.”
His eyes flew open. “A-ha. You didn't have anyone else, did you?”
I sighed. “No ,” I admitted. .”
“So I don't really wow people?”
I trailed my hand over his chest. “You wow me,” I whispered.
He gave a soft chuckle. “Well, now you're just flattering me – and trying to seduce me – so I'll be your emcee.”
“Maybe.” I scooted closer and kissed his cheek, trailing my lips toward his ear. “Is it working?”
He made a small noise, something between a moan and a groan as I touched my tongue to his earlobe. “Do I have a choice?”
I pulled away and smiled at him. “Not really. Unless you want to see me cry and curl up in the fetal position and look at you with big giant eyes.”
A smile tugged at his lips but he held it in check. “Can't have that, can we?”
“So you'll do it?” I asked, draping myself across him.
His arm tightened around me. “I love how you act like you actually asked me – and doubted I would.”
I kissed his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He sighed. “Anything to avoid the crying and the curling and the eyes.” His hand squeezed my arm, then trailed to my stomach.
“I have another question for you,” I said, shifting away from him.
“What? I thought we were done with the not-questions.”
“No, this one's a real one,” I said.
He waited.
“What do you know about insurance?”
“Uh, I know we have it,” he said, confused.
“No, no. Like, say, if we got robbed or something. Wouldn't our homeowner's cover it and reimburse us?”
He slipped his arm beneath me. “Sure. All of our big ticket items are listed on the policy and then I think the way it works is that we'd have to list out everything that was stolen. But, yeah, that's what insurance is for.”
“So, let's say that happened,” I continued. “We lost our stuff somehow. Then what would happen? They'd send an agent or whatever, right?”
He nodded. “They'd come out, confirm the loss and we'd agree on a claim amount. It really wouldn't be that big of a deal.”
“Would it take long to get the money?”
“I wouldn't think so,” he said. “But it's insurance, so there are always hassles. Are you thinking about going into the insurance business?”
I slapped his chest lightly. “No. I'm thinking about the computers and Prism. Bingledorf seems certain that it will be hard to get their reimbursement and I don't understand why. If they can produce the police report, the insurer shouldn't have any qualm s about covering the loss.”
“I would agree with that.”
“But she's been adamant that it's going to take forever to get their money,” I said. I shook my head. “That makes no sense to me.”
Jake shifted and threw his other arm over me. “Maybe she's dealt with them in the past and they aren't easy to work with? Or maybe they've had claims in the past that have taken awhile to get paid? I don't know.”
I didn't either, but I just couldn't believe that an insurer would stiff a school that had its computers stolen. I knew that insurance companies were notorious for denying claims and causing horrendous headaches for customers, but this seemed pretty cut and dry to me. The computers were stolen. They needed to be replaced. The insurance company was there to make that happen.
“You know what I think?” Jake whispered, nuzzling my neck.
I shivered against him and smiled. “What?”
“I think you should turn off the light and make out with the emcee.”
“Shouldn't there be some sort of ethical line there?” I said, reaching up to switch off the lamp on the nightstand. “Where the emcee and the organizer should maintain a strictly professional relationship?”