“Well, now I feel like a first-class heel,” I said, sinking lower in my chair.

“No, no,” Charlotte said quickly. “I didn't tell you that so you'd feel that way. I just think that might explain her behavior. Doesn't excuse it, but it might explain it.”

One of the notebooks Charlotte had found for me was sitting on my desk and I opened it up to a blank page. “But if they're in that bad of shape, the order from the school won't solve their problem,” I said.

“No, but it might buy them some time,” she pointed out. Her blond hair was pulled back in a French braid and she tugged on the tail of it. “Put it off another month or two, hope that something else comes through. Something like that, you know?”

I nodded. I couldn't imagine hanging like a string like that every single day, not knowing if it was all going to come crashing down by the time you went to bed. I might act a little crazy, too.

“Desperation.” She smiled sadly and shook her head. “It can make people a little crazy. Say crazy things and do crazy things.”

I didn't disagree.

And that planted another seed in my ever-busy brain.

“Desperate people do desperate things,” I said, staring down at the blank paper in front of me. “Yeah.”

Charlotte watched me for a moment, then asked, “What?”

I lifted my gaze and looked at her, confused. “What?”

“You look like you're thinking something,” she said, tilting her head to the side, a slight frown on her face. “Did something occur to you?”

“I don't know,” I said. I took a deep breath, then expelled it. “Maybe. It's probably ridiculous.”

“What?” she repeated.

I picked up a pen and tapped it against the open notebook. “I shouldn't even say it. It's...just the way my mind works.”

Charlotte laughed and, the sound was so infectious, I couldn't help but smile.

“You should see the way mine works after spending too much time in this place,” she told me. “If I uttered half of the crazy things that came into my head, they'd lock me up.”

A sister in crazyhood. I liked that.

So I uttered the crazy.

“She's desperate, right?” I said, lowering my voice even though the door was closed and we were the only two people in the office. “So is her husband, if they're really having trouble.”

“Right.”

“And desperate people do desperate things.”

Charlotte nodded, the tail of her braid bobbing on her shoulder. “Right.”

I glanced at the door to make sure it was still shut tight, then looked back to Charlotte. “I talked to a friend last night,” I said, referring to my conversation with Johnny. “He's a computer person, has his own consulting business. We talked a little about why someone might steal the computers and what they'd do with them.”

She sat up a little straighter and shifted toward me. “Okay.”

“And he was talking about how they might break them down and sell their drives and parts and whatever,” I explained. “That they could do that on the Internet and that there's like a black market or something for stolen computer parts.”

“Sure. Like anything that gets stolen, I'd imagine.”

I nodded. “But I kept thinking about why someone would do it, you know? Why would they pick a school and why would they take computers that weren't necessarily brand new?”

She considered this. “Maybe a computer lab would make sense because thieves would know there would be a bunch of computers. More bang for your buck, so to speak.”

Maybe my idea wasn't so crazy after all.

I forged ahead. “So don't you think they would've been familiar with this school? To know what they were coming in to get?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I would think so. But that doesn't necessarily answer the why.”

“Well, what if someone needed money fast,” I said, glancing again to the door. “And they had the know-how of where to sell the computer parts.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing.

“That would be a source of quick cash,” I said. And then I added, “If someone needed it badly...”

Her eyes widened, finally getting where I was headed. “Oh. Oh!”

“And then if you could get the place you stole from to order new computers from you,” I said, my voice barely audible. “It would be like stealing twice.”

“Desperate people,” she whispered back.

“And maybe that's why she's so adamant about ordering the new ones through her husband,” I said.

Charlotte leaned back in her chair. “Wow. That's a very real possibility, isn't it?”

I smiled. I definitely was not crazy.

“But you're also assuming a lot.”

My confidence deflated a little. “I know. I know . ,” I acknowledged. “ I'm making leaps. ” She smiled and I continued. “ My husband just rolls his eyes at me when I do it. Says I watch too much TV, except I never watch TV. He thinks I should write mysteries because I turn everything into a conspiracy or a mystery.”

She laughed and shook her head Charlotte chuckled . “Well, there is logic in what you're saying. It's just hard to see...” She glanced at the door and lowered her voice Her gaze shifted toward the door, then back to me . “It's just hard to see Harriet as a thief. She's a pain, but I've never thought of her as a criminal. S he can be nice when she wants to and s he's done a lot of good things for the school.”

At which point, g G uilt immediately crashed down on me for allowing my overactive imagination to turn turning a woman who was having a tough time into a thief. Jake was right about me. My imagination I was making leaps that weren't necessarily there , just like I always did . Jake was right. Maybe I needed did need to start writing madcap novels that involved crazy crimes.

“On the other hand,” Charlotte said, leaning back in her chair. She brought her pen to her lips and thought. “The president of the PTA probably does have a keycard to the school. .. ”

Or maybe I wasn't totally insane.

TWENTY ONE

Charlotte excused herself for a conference with a teacher and I was trying to figure out where to start my pleas next round of begging for the talent show when there was a knock on the office door. I looked up to see Mrs. Bingledorf smiling back at me.

“Good morning,” she said , wearing a bright red business suit and matching red shoes. . She took a look around the office, almost like she'd never seen it before. “This working arrangement is working out for you alright, I hope?”

“ Oh sure Yes ,” I said. And then, because she seemed to want more, I added, “Charlotte is very nice.”

“Isn't she, though?” she said, still looking around the room. “Well, good, I'm glad to hear this is suitable.” She settled her gaze on me. “So , tell me. Where do we stand?”

I flipped open the notebook nervously, suddenly feeling under the gun. “Um, well, I'm still trying to get things started. People are reluctant to be the first to sign up.”

She grabbed the chair from Charlotte's desk and rolled it around so she could sit down in it, facing me. She wore a red suit with matching red shoes and the jacket strained against her shoulders and stomach. She crossed her legs one way, then uncrossed them and recrossed them the opposite way.

“ But I'm hopeful,” I said.

She folded her hands and set them on her lap, then let them fall to her sides, then refolded them again.

“Yes, yes, I'm sure they are reluctant ,” she finally said, her hands still twitchy in her lap. “But I'm sure you can persuade them.”

“I hope so. ” I paused. “ Might be helpful if you put an email to the staff, letting them know I'll be coming around to talk to them, maybe encourage them to participate.”

“I'll do that today,” she said, nodding emphatically. “I'll do that today.”

“ That would be great. Thank you.”