Alibi High

By Jeff Shelby

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALIBI HIGH

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2014

cover design by Eden Crane Designs

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

THREAD OF SUSPICION

THREAD OF BETRAYAL

THREAD OF INNOCENCE

The Noah Braddock Novels

KILLER SWELL

WICKED BREAK

LIQUID SMOKE

DRIFT AWAY

The Moose River Mysteries

THE MURDER PIT

LAST RESORT

ALIBI HIGH

FOUL PLAY (JANUARY 2015)

The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

STAY AT HOME DEAD

POPPED OFF

FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

Short Story Collections

OUT OF TIME

ONE

“I have amazing news,” I said to my eldest daughter Emily as she walked through the door from school.

She dropped her backpack on to one of the dining room chairs. “You're finally buying me a car?”

“More amazing than that,” I lied with a smile .

She kicked off the black flats she was wearing. “We're moving to Hawaii to avoid another Minnesota winter?”

“More amazing.”

“Mom. There's nothing that would be more amazing than either of those two things, okay?” she said, leveling her gaze at me. “So now just tell me what you think is so amazing so I can be disappointed.”

A cynic at fifteen. Definitely my daughter.

I ran the washcloth across the top of the table, wiping up the forgotten crumbs from lunch. “We're going to get to spend a lot more time together next week ,” I said, smiling. .”

Her pretty face screwed up in confusion. “What? School just started.”

“I know,” I said, upping the wattage of my smile. “I'm going to school with you.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “What?”

“I'm going to school with you,” I repeated, still grinning. “For a whole week.”

Emily was the only one of our four kids who went to a traditional school. I homeschooled the younger three. But Emily had asked to attend Prism, the local charter school and was now in her second year there. Jake and I weren't always so sure about what went on there, but for Emily, it was exactly what she'd been looking for. She loved the structure, had a great group of girlfriends and was doing very well in her classes. She looked forward to going every morning.

Except, apparently, when her mother was going to go with her.

Her eyes bore into me. “No. That can't be true.” She looked around. “Is Jake filming this? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No,” I said. I scooped the crumbs into my hand and walked them to the sink. “I'm getting all of our volunteer hours out of the way in one week. Isn't that exciting?”

Emily followed me into the kitchen. “What?” she asked, her face a mask of pain and fear and anger. “No. Why? Why?”

“Well, we have to do all of those volunteer hours,” I explained. “You know that.”

Each year, the school required Prism families to do a certain amount of volunteer hours within the school, both to help keep costs down and to promote a sense of community. Her freshman year, we'd worked concession stands and ticket booths to complete our hours, but scheduling them had always been a hassle, trying to coordinate our calendars and figuring out which events we could bring the younger kids to. When I'd gotten the email that the school was looking for extra general help during school hours the following week, I'd made a couple of phone calls to arrange care for the younger kids – which was going to be a whole 'nother story – and contacted the school to let them know I was available. They couldn't have been happier to hear I was coming.

Far happier than Emily was.

“Oh my God,” she said. We were back in the dining room kitchen and she dropped into a chair and put her head in her hands. “What are you going to be doing? Will I see you? Will you be in my classes? Oh my God. Do not talk to me, whatever you do.”

A normal mother would've been offended, perhaps even hurt by her words. But I'd become accustomed to her dramatics as well as her abhorrence of having either me or Jake come within twenty feet of her when she was with friends. I suppressed a smile. I viewed this what I was doing as just another example of the universe evening things out for parents who were mistreated by their moody, grumpy teenagers.

“I have no idea what I'll be doing,” I explained to my now terrified, mortified daughter. “I won't know until I get there. But I do know we'll get to ride together in the mornings and come home together at the end of—”

“I'm still riding the bus,” she said fiercely, shaking her head. “I'm riding the bus.”

“Hmm. We'll see.” I patted her on the back. “I can't wait to spend more time at this school you love so much. Maybe we can even have lunch together.”

She launched herself from the chair, ready to either scream at me or rip my throat out, but was distracted by Jake coming in the door.

“Jake,” she said, marching over to her step-father. “You can't let her do this.”

“She usually doesn't ask for permission,” he said, smiling first at her, then me as he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. “And I can't let her do what?”

“She's coming to my school,” she said, enunciating each syllable of each word. “For the whole week. She's going to... to talk to me and stuff!”

“The horror,” Jake said, arching his eyebrows. He looked at me. “Is this true?”

“Will I talk to her? Duh. Of course I will.” I smiled at Em. “I'll probably try to sneak in a hug in the hallways between classes.”

“Oh my God!” Emily let out a strangled scream, grabbed her bag, stomped into her room and slammed her door. I was pretty sure she was already plotting ways to execute me – or, at the very least, find a way to take me out of commission for the next week.

“Being a parent shouldn't be this much fun,” I said to Jake. “I mean, can you imagine what's going to happen when I really do try to hug her at her locker? I think I should wear one of those Go-Pro cameras to film the week.”

He slipped out of his shoes and set them by the door. “And how exactly has this opportunity arisen for you to torture the crap out of our eldest child?”

I recounted getting the email, my phone calls and my glee at surprising Emily with the news.

“Hold on,” Jake said, raising his hand. “Back up a second. Brenda is going to watch the kids all week?”

Brenda Witt, my best friend and fellow homeschool mom, had agreed to take the younger three in a sort of kid swap. “Yep.”

“And what exactly do we have to do in return?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, nothing really,” I said, knowing this was going to be the trickiest part of the arrangement. “She's going to watch our three for five days. All we have to do in return is watch her kids for five date nights for her and Johnny.”

“How is that fair?” Jake said, taking on nearly the same panicked tone as Emily. “They have, like, seventy-three kids. And that one...”

“They have five,” I corrected him. “And it's more than fair. She's taking ours for five whole days. We'll only watch hers for five nights. We're getting the better end of the deal.”

“Not if we have to watch that one,” he muttered. There was a bag of chips still sitting on the table and he grabbed a handful.