Alibi High

He pointed at his computer. “I do it here.”

“But what about the Saturday thing?”

He pointed at it again. “I do it here.”

“I thought people weren't allowed here on the weekends,” I said.

“They aren't,” he said. “I had to ask permission from Mrs. Bingledorf.”

“So you told her that you were taking an online class?”

“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks going red again. “ For But I told her it was for my master's. And I told her that my Internet connection was spotty at home and that it was far easier to work here and that it also allowed me create projects for the kids to work on when they came in on Monday.” He took a deep breath. “You don't have to say it. I'm a terrible person for doing all of this.”

I didn't think Miles Riggler was a terrible person. I thought he'd panicked when he lost his source of income – like anyone would – and probably made some bad decisions. I thought his intentions were good, even if the outcome had gotten a little messed up.

“So that's why I can't do the show,” he said. “And I have to find someplace else to go to take the class and exam that night because I can't let people see me on here doing this.” H e looked at me with puppy dog eyes is expression tu rned mournful . “I understand if you have to tell on me, but I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. I have no right to ask that, but I'm asking anyway. My wrist is permanently messed up. My career with balloon animals is over.” He paused, rubbing the damaged wrist. “This is all I have.”

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?”