“Right. Okay.” He pushed at his glasses and then settled his hands on his hips, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

“What are you going to do with the kids?” I asked.

He looked around the room, then shrugged. “I don't really know. We may have to do a study hall today. Or some reading.”

“What are you going to do in the short term?” I asked. “It might take awhile to get computers back in here, don't you think?”

“Oh, I bet it will take quite awhile,” he said, nodding in agreement. “So we'll just have to make do for now. We can't use what we don't have. It's not the students' faults that the computers are gone and it's not like I can go and demand that the school buy us computers today.”

“Sure,” I said. “But could you maybe have the kids bring in their own laptops to work on? Or their tablets or something? I bet a lot of kids have them.”

He blinked very rapidly, almost like something had gotten in his eye, and he put his hands on his hips again. “Well, maybe. I don't know. Possibly. That's definitely a possibility. But I'd have to check with Mrs. Bingledorf and we'd have to see what we'd need to do to secure their computers so they wouldn't be using them in an inappropriate way here on campus.” Then he shook his head. “So I'm just not sure. But we'll come up with something.”

The bell rang and he smiled at me. “Thanks again for your help,” he said, heading back toward his desk.

As I left the room, merging with seemingly thousands of loud, laughing teenagers as I navigated the halls, I couldn't help but think that Mr. Riggler didn't seem all that stressed out that all of his computers were missing.

SEVEN

A woman who looked a bit like a bobblehead doll was standing in the conference room when I returned. She had a large head sitting squarely on a pencil-thin neck and I tried not to stare at her. She was casually leafing through the stacks of mail I'd left and she looked up when I'd walked in.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Daisy.”

“Daisy Savage, right?” she said with a smile. “Emily's mother?”

“That's right.” I stared at her a little harder, trying to figure out if I'd seen her before. I didn't think I would have forgotten meeting her. “I'm sorry, have we met?”

The woman shook her bobble head. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red, cropped close in what was supposed to be a fashionable style. “No. I'm Harriet Hollenstork, this year's Prism PTA president. Ellen mentioned you were volunteering this week and that you were using the conference room. My son, Leonard, is in the tenth grade with Emily.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, the name still not ringing a bell. “Did you need the room? I was sorting mail earlier but they asked me to do something else.”

“Yes, I heard,” she said, a somber expression taking residence on her face. “The computer theft. It's just awful, isn't it?”

I nodded. “It is, yes.”

“Were you able to learn anything about it?”

“No, not really,” I said. “I was just helping to do an inventory list of what's missing.”

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Were you able to figure out exactly what was taken?”

I wasn't comfortable sharing details with her. Not that I had any real details, but it didn't seem like the kind of information that should just be passed around to anyone who asked. And given Bingledorf's emphasis on discretion, I didn't want to be the one who started the information flow about the theft.

“Not completely,” I said. “We're still working on it.”

“But you have an idea of what was taken?” she asked. “I heard it was the entire computer lab.”

“I actually don't know because I'm not sure what was in the room to begin with,” I said. “And Mr. Riggler had a class coming, so I had to leave.”

“Hmm,” she said. Her red lips twitched. “Did you hear anything about who might've taken them?”

“No.”

“What about replacing them?” she pressed. “Did Mr. Riggler mention that? Or Mrs. Bingledorf?”

I felt a twinge of annoyance at her incessant questions. “Not really, no.”

“I'd think they'd need to do that immediately,” she said, her fingernails clicking on the table top. “It's not like those computers are just going to turn up this afternoon in a van or something.”

“You never know, I guess,” I said. “But I don't think they can go out and purchase a bunch of brand new computers right away.”

“The school has a reserve fund,” she said, but she seemed more to be thinking out loud than talking to me. “And, of course, the PTA has funds that could be made available.”

“It would still be a huge financial hit,” I said. “To just go out and buy them without waiting for at least insurance reimbursement.”

“Sure, sure,” Harriet said, waving a hand in the air. “But the right place might be willing to offer a discount on such a large purchase. If the school was going to replace all of them at once. I mean, a purchase like that, well, it could be just the thing a local computer supplier might be looking for.” She glanced at me, smiling. “And the school, too. It could be mutually beneficial.”

I wasn't exactly sure where she was going, so I just nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She studied me for a moment. “So what are you going to do with your list?”

“Give it to Mrs. Bingledorf.”

“Would you like me to do that for you?” she offered. “I have to meet with her later today.”

“No, I'll be fine,” I said, not trusting her in any way, given the questions she'd been asking me. “I'll get it to her.”

“Really? It would be no trouble to—”

“I'll get it to her,” I said. “But thank you.”

Her smile flickered. “Anytime. Will you be volunteering here all week?”

“Yep, I'm here through Friday.”

“Well,” she said, tight-lipped. “Lovely. I'm sure we'll run into each other again. Feels like I'm always here. Look forward to chatting again.”

She walked around the opposite side of the table and out into the office.

I still wasn't sure what she'd been doing in the conference room in the first place, but I knew she'd been giving me the third degree, probing for details about the theft. I didn't know why it was any of her business, other than maybe she wanted to gossip with her PTA cronies. But I didn't feel like it was my place to share information that wasn't meant for her. I glanced down at the piece of paper I was holding. I didn't think there was much she could do with a half-completed inventory list of the missing computers, but that didn't mean she needed to see it either.

“Don't worry about Harriet,” a voice said in the doorway.

I looked up. A petite young woman with long blonde hair was smiling at me. She wore a turquoise blouse and a long black skirt with wedge heels. A gold locket hung from her neck and gold earrings winked from her ears.

“She's like that with everyone,” the woman said, stepping into the conference room. “Nosy and bossy. Just smile at her and move along.”

“Glad it wasn't just me,” I said. She looked familiar but I couldn't quite place her. “And forgive me. I can't recall for the life of me your name, but I know we've met.”

She waved it off like it was no big deal. “Don't worry about it. I'm Charlotte Nordhoff.”

The name clicked. “The guidance counselor,” I said, smiling. “We met when I signed Emily up for school. I'm sorry. I'm Daisy Savage.”

She nodded like she remembered. “Yes, that was it. You were worried about Emily being ready because you'd homeschooled her.” It was her turn to smile. “I think you might've done a better job getting her ready than most of our middle schools do with their students.”

I wanted to hug her. As a homeschooler, I was constantly battling insecurities – that I wasn't doing enough for my kids or that I wasn't doing the right things. One of my biggest worries when Emily announced she wanted to go to Prism was that she'd be behind in everything and that I would've been exposed as a failure as a homeschool parent. It was hard to put into words how nice it was to hear something like that.