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
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.”
“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.”