Alibi High (A Moose River Mystery Book 3) Read online

  As if I didn't have enough on my shoulders already . , I now had to feel guilty about a disabled clown.

  “I don't think it's my place to disclose anything to anyone,” I said to him. “I'm not the police and I'm not looking to get you in trouble.”

  He eyed me with apprehension , probably not sure if I was being honest with him or not.

  “You seem to be trying to do the right thing,” I said. “And I can understand financial woes. Believe me . , I've had my panic moments, too.”

  He let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you.”

  I nodded. “You're welcome. I have two questions for you, though.”

  He hesitated, then said , “Alright.”

  “You said you asked for permission to use the computers here on the weekends,” I said. “And Mrs. Bingledorf said yes. Did she give you a key card or something? How do you get in here?”

  “I have a key card,” he said. “But, honestly. M m ost of the time, I don't have to use it.”

  “You don't? Why not?”

  “Because Evelyn is here,” he said. He must have noticed my confused expression because he added, “Mrs. Bingeldorf. She works a lot on the weekends and she lets me in.”

  Bingledorf? She hadn't told me that she was a regular weekend occupant when we'd discussed who was in the building on the weekends I hadn't even thought of her as regular weekend occupant . Not that she needed to, but she'd made it sound as if the building sat empty on weekends Charlotte had made it sound as if the building sat empty on the weekends . Now, I knew that at the very least, both she Bingledorf and Miles Riggler had access , and possibly Harriet Hollenstork.

  And My pulse quickened. I hated to even think it, but Riggler was another person who had both means and motive to steal the computers. He clearly had the ability to get in the building when no one else was there. And , given what he'd just disclosed about his financial circumstances, he certainly could've benefited from stealing them and reselling them. Add to that the fact that the theft he had essentially been conveniently given him more time to learn about computers in order to teach about them and . I swallowed hard. I'd think that he'd be a prime candidate for having somehow been involved in the theft. I The evidence wasn't conclusive, wasn't saying that he did it, but he would but he certainly fit the profile of someone who could've done it.

  “You said you had a second question?” Miles Riggler asked, snapping me from my reverie.

  “Right, right,” I said, gathering my thoughts. “How long is that class on Saturdays?”

  “Three hours.”

  “From when to when?”

  “Five to eight.”

  Hmm.

  I made my decision. “I have a deal to offer you,” I said.

  He swallowed. “A deal?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Night of the talent show. What if I arrange for you to use my wifi at my home?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Ye ah s ,” I said , nodding . “And I won't say a word. About anything.”

  “Okay ,” he said, then h .” H is eyes narrowed. “But what's my part of the deal?”

  I smiled. “Your part is simple ,” I said smiling. . “A A fter your class, you leave my house and come here. To the show.”

  He eyed me. He stared at me.

  “And you come and do something as a clown,” I said.

  He thought for a minute. paled. “No unicycles?”

  “No unicycles .” ,” I promised. “Just a balloon animal or two.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip. “And you won't say anything? To anyone?”

  “Not a word. I promise.”

  He c hewed some more, then losed his eyes, then opened them and held out his hand. “You have a deal. And a clown.”

  TWENTY SIX

  “I figured you'd already gone,” Charlotte said when I got back to the office.

  “No , no,” I told her, walking around to my desk. pe,” I said, smiling. “I was just doing some last minute wrangling.”

  “Ugh,” she sai d. d, making a face. “I don't envy you that.”

  “Eh,” I said, setting my notebook on the desk. “I'm getting used to it at this point. No one tried to punch me or shove me out of their rooms , so I consider that a victory.”

  She laughed and pushed a button on her computer. . “Well, good for you. ” She pushed a button on her computer and the screen went dark. “ And I am I'm going to get out of here because I a ' m starving and want dinner. You should leave, too. Especially since you aren't getting paid... ”

  “ Sounds good, I know, ” I said. “I'm going to do a little more before I head home to my family here because I won't get anything done there once I'm home.”

  “You should be good until about six,” she said , glancing at the clock . “That's usually when the night maintenance comes in and they set alarms.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I paused, thinking for a moment. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

  She pulled her purse, a large brown leather bag, onto her desk. “Of course.”

  “The whole no - one - in - here - on - the - weekends thing,” I said. “Does that apply to everyone?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “Even Mrs. Bingledorf?”

  Charlotte reached into her purse and pulled out her lipstick. “Ah, well. I guess I was thinking more of faculty and staff. I guess I would say no, it doesn't really apply to her.”

  “So she does come in here?”

  She ran her lipstick over her lips, then puckered rubbed them her lips together . “I've seen her car in the lot when I've driven by. I think she came in to get a student's file one weekend because she had to ask me about it. But, yeah, I would say the rule doesn't apply to her.” She dropped the lipstick back into her ba ck g . “And I don't mean that in a bad way. I don't think it should apply to her. She has a pretty big job and I don't think it would be feasible for her to not have access on the weekends.”

  I nodded. I thought the same thing, but it didn't change the fact that she was someone who absolutely clearly had access to the building. I wasn't sure that she had any real motive to arrange a theft of computers, but it sounded like she definitely could've gotten into the building if she wanted to.

  “I mean, she answers to the board,” Charlotte said, zipping up her bag. “But bottom line is that she can pretty much do what she wants. And, again. I'm not saying that in a negative way. It's just part of the deal.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Makes perfect sense.”

  “I would n 't want her job,” she said , wrinkling her nose . “Couldn't pay me enough.”

  I nodded, thinking the same thing. Having to answer to too many people and not being able to please all of them. The stress level had to be really high.

  “One more question before you go,” I said, switching gears.

  “Sure.”

  “ Can Any chance I can sign you up for the talent show?” I said. “I know the kids like you and they'd love to see you up on stage doing something silly.”

  “Well, I'm totally capable of making a fool of myself,” she said , grinning . “But I'm afraid I can't that night. I have a prior commitment that I can't get out of.”

  “Really? ” I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice. “ I was genuinely hoping I could get your name on the list ,” I said, disappointed. .”

  “I'm so sorry,” she said, standing and slinging the bag over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I'm playing poker that night.”

  “Poker?”

  She nodded, then shook her head. “Yes and I'm an idiot for agreeing to it. I'm actually playing in a tournament. Up at River Star?”

  River Star . T was t he Indian casino about forty five minutes north of Moose River. The Indian casino I'd never set foot in. The Indian casino that my ex-husband had spent too much time in.

  “It's some sort of charity benefit tournament,” she explained. “A friend of mine asked me to play months ago and , after a whole lot of badgering I fina
lly agreed.” She laughed again and shook her head. “I don't really even know how to play. I probably should've just donated some money and skipped the tournament.”

  I nodded and tried to push a smile onto my lips, but I couldn't deny that I was disappointed that Charlotte wasn't going to be at the fundraiser. I had just assumed that , even if I couldn't get her on stage, she' s d at least be there for moral support. She was the one friend I'd felt like I'd made in three days of being there and I was sad she wouldn't at the very least be in the audience.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said again. “I feel terrible. If there's anything I can do to help get it ready, I'd be happy to do it. I just can't be there that night. I promised my friend and I already paid the entry fee.”

  “Oh, no, I understand,” I said. “It's short notice and people can't rearrange their entire schedules.”

  “I would if I could.”

  “I believe you,” I said, managing a smile. “And thanks for saying that. I appreciate it.”

  She nodded and spun her keys on her index finger. “Okay, I'm gonna get going. Don't stick around too late. Your family probably misses you.”

  “I won't,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

  She waved and left.

  I looked down at my list. I had fifteen names after striking my deal with Mr. Riggler. That was pretty good, considering I'd started the day with zero. I wanted at least twenty and I'd made some good progress. I didn't want to let not having Charlotte Charlotte's news there put me in a funk.

  Charlotte or no Charlotte, the talent show was a go.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  My phone starting buzzing like crazy around five - thirty.

  First it was Jake asking when I was coming home.

  Then Will.

  Then Emily.

  Then Sophie.

  And then Grace borrowed Sophie's phone to ask the same thing.

  I was fairly sure it was a coordinate d effort, but I got the message.

  I was wanted at home.

  I'd managed to create a schedule for the night of the show, ordering the acts in a way that I thought made sense. I made notes about things I wanted to get done the next day and packed up my bag. I cut the lights and headed out to the parking lot.

  I was almost to the car when I heard heels clicking on the pavement, followed by Evelyn Bingledorf calling , “Daisy! Oh, Daisy!”

  I stopped just sort of my car and turned around.

  She was walking at a fairly good clip , having just exited the building. , headed right towards me. She carried a black leather briefcase in her right hand and a phone in her left, a reminder that even when she left the school, she probably wasn't really off-duty.

  “How was your day?” she asked, coming to an abrupt stop when she reached me. “Successful?”

  “I think so ,” I said and . I told her about the sign-ups I was able to procure.

  “Oh my,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You really did have some success. Nice work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I'm sure it's going to be an excellent show ,” she said, glancing .” She glanced down at the phone in her hand, then back to at me. “And I'm sorry I'm going to have to miss it.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Something's come up at the last minute,” she said, frowning. “I've tried like the devil to move it, but I've been unsuccessful.” She shook her head. “So utterly frustrating. However, it's something I can't skip out on. Prism must have a presence at this appointment.”

  “Oh,” I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. “Alright.”

  “Of course, you'll have my full support right up until that day,” she said, nodding, as if her enthusiasm might make her absence less of a big deal. “Anything you need, it's yours and any time you need from me, it's yours.”

  Unless, apparently, something more important came up.

  “Alright,” I said, ducking tucking my chin in, the evening breeze cool under the cool evening breeze . “Thank you.”

  “I'm truly very sorry, Daisy,” she said , her voice appropriately contrite . “If I could change this, I absolutely would. But I just cannot. Not this time. Bad timing.”

  “I understand .” ,” I lied.

  “Excellent,” she said, using her favorite word. “Well, then. I wil 'l l see you in the morning. Have a fantastic evening.”

  She flashed me a bright smile, then walked off to her car on the other side of the lot.

  I hit the clicker on my key chain, pulled open my door and tossed my bag onto the passenge r seat. I pulled the door closed behind me and sat there for a minute , processing what I'd just been told . Headlights flashed behind me and I watched Evelyn Bingledorf drive out of the lot in some sort of shiny, expensive looking car.

  I was disappointed. And pissed. I couldn't believe she the figurehead of the school wasn't going to be at the fundraiser, the event she'd basically dumped in my lap because I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd impressed upon me how important it was for multiple reasons, subtly letting me know there just how much was pressure on me to execute the fundraiser . She'd mentioned several times how it was going to be the thing that jumpstarted donations and how important it was to make an impression on the community.

  But, apparently, not important enough for her to get her butt in the audience. Or on the stage.

  I 'd half-thought sighed. I'd actually thought about asking her to participate, have her be the closing act, because I thought it would've been funny and because I thought it would've show ed n her commitment.

  My hands tightened around the keys gripped in my hand. I guess I clearly should've just asked her to make sure if she'd be there planned to attend . Because I'd assumed that was a foregone conclusion.

  That old saying about assuming came to mind.

  A fresh surge of anger flared inside of me. Why should I have been busting my rear end for something the president of the school wasn't even didn't deem ing important enough to be at? Why would anyone take it serious if the face of the school wasn't even going to be there? For all the importance that people seemed to be placing on it, I should've just suggested a bake sale. People could've dropped stuff off and left. They wouldn't have had to make a commitment. Because that was apparently too much to ask.

  I shoved the key in the ignition . with more force than necessary.

  I could walk in the next morning and quit. Just drop it all on her desk and tell her that I was done and she could arrange her own fundraiser. And if she gave me a hard time about her it , I could dish her own words right back at her: tell her that something had suddenly c a o me that required my attendance and there was nothing I could do to get out of it , t . And then wait for hen watch her reaction. I honestly didn't know what it would be. Was she serious about th is e fundraiser being a big deal or had it just been a lot of bluster to make it look like she cared?

  I sighed and s u a nk further into my seat. I knew I wouldn't do that. I'd committed to the project and I'd finish it up. I knew that there was obviously some truth that the school needed the money and even if she Evelyn Bingledorf wasn't going to be there, I knew that it still had the potential to drive donations. I wouldn't bail out. It wasn't me.

  I shifted into reverse and backed out of the stall parking space .

  I glanced over at the school , . The name of the school glowed green above the entrance the bright green lights that illuminated the school's name above the entrance already turned on. , illuminating the set of double doors beneath it.

  I wouldn't bail out.

  But I didn't have to be happy about it.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  As I left the lot, Jake texted me as I pulled out of the lot , asking me to stop at the store to grab another jar of spaghetti sauce. He was making dinner and we were out of sauce. I appreciated the fact that he was making dinner, so I didn't complain about having to make a quick stop at the store for groceries .

  I was halfway to the store when I gla
nced to my right and saw the illuminated sign for Data Dork. Before I could talk myself out of it , , before I could remind myself that Jake was waiting for sauce and the kids were waiting for their mom and I didn't care anymore about the fundr aiser or the missing computers, I changed lanes, made a right hand turn and maneuvered the car into the lot.

  The dim lights behind the dirty front window were still on and I could see someone inside the store. The stores around it other businesses in the strip mall were already closed and I mine was the only car in the lot. I shut off the engine and got out, my feet crunching against the loose gravel that covered the as hp ph alt , the only sound in the quiet lot. .

  A tiny bell jingled when I opened the door to the store and stepped inside. It was a long narrow room, with counters that ran in a U-shape around the interior. The shelves behind the counters were filled with a mish - mash of things – computer monitors, keyboards, cords, printers . A , a nything that had to do with a compute r rs . The old carpeting beneath my feet was thin, like a shaggy blanket that had been laid directly on top of the concrete flooring, sans pad felt like it had been laid on top of the concrete without a pad. , and the paint on the walls was a washed out, sun-faded yellow. It was the kind of place that felt like it should've closed a decade earlier, but had stubbornly stayed open for no other reason than to stay open. Soft music drifted from a back room , behind the guy standing at the back counter. and an old televisio n was tucked in the corner of the counter, a baseball game n.

  The man behind the counter offered me a smile. His sparse hair was buzzed short His buzzcut seemed to design the fact that he didn't have much hair to buzz, his bald pate shiny in the light. Glasses that appeared to be about twenty years old hung around his neck, attached to a metal chain. H and h is buttoned - down flannel shirt was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons down the middle fighting to hold in a his ample potbelly. He smiled at me with coffee-stained teeth and green eyes rimmed with dark circles and a face that had been shaved that morning.