“I like that,” she murmured.

“The only real cost that I can see is advertising,” I said. “But we can do it cheaply. We can advertise on the school website and Facebook page and we can print and copy some flyers and put them up around Moose River. We wouldn't need more than fifty, I'd think. If we could use the copiers here to do that, we still haven't spent a penny.”

“That makes sense,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She folded her arms across her ample chest.

“The only real place we'd need to spend money is for prizes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Prizes?”

I nodded. “There has to be some incentive for people to perform. Yes, we'd like them all just to do it out of the goodness of their hearts to benefit the school, but let's be honest. We're more likely to get participants if we offer prizes. And I think cash works best.”

“People do love money,” she said.

“So let's say we award the top three places. And, again, we could use volunteers as judges. But let's say we award first, second and third places. I think a hundred dollars to the winner would be fair and throw in fifty for second place and twenty-five for third.”

She uncrossed her arms and tented her fingers. “Interesting.”

“So that would be a total of a hundred and seventy-five dollars,” I said, then realizing I sounded dumb because I figured she could do the math. “We could offer less, but I think seeing that hundred dollar figure would be a good incentive to get people to sign up.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I agree with that.”

It seemed as if she'd agreed with everything I'd thrown at her. But I still didn't feel like she'd given me a yes.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She tapped her fingers together, still in their tent formation. “I think it sounds like a lot of work.”

“Do you?”

She nodded. “You'd need to reserve the auditorium. You'd need to find a host, someone who could be the emcee. You'd need to find the performers. The volunteers for the door. And then some folks to help you get the word out in town.” She paused. “That sounds like an awful lot to do if we're working with a short time frame.”

“Wouldn't we be working with a short time frame no matter what we decided on?” I countered. “You said you wanted it done quickly.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But this seems like a bit much.”

I wasn't about to be deterred, not when she'd essentially forced me into coming up with something. “I'm not really sure how different it is from anything else we might try,” I said. “Signing people up is going to be the largest chore – and that would've been the same with anything we came up with.”

She tapped her fingers together again, thinking.

“How much would we charge for admission?” she finally asked.

“We can do whatever you'd like,” I said. “But my thought is five dollars for adults, a dollar for students and kids. And I also thought we could have a donation jar at the admission table. I'd think that might encourage people to give more. And we could actually take the prize money from the admission fees, so then it would be at zero cost to Prism.”

She nodded, but I could see she was thinking again, lifting her chin up and considering things.

I waited.

“If we brought in every parent belonging to Spectrum, that's over a thousand adults,” she finally said. “That would bring us five thousand dollars.”

“And they would bring kids, too,” I said. “And probably other family members – grandparents and aunts and uncles. I can't think of anything else that might net us that kind of money that quickly.”

“Agreed,” she said. “I do agree. Even with fewer than that number of people, it would seem to offer the most potential to bring in the dollars.”

“And it won't cover the cost of all of the computers,” I said. “But it would certainly buy some. At the very least, it would help get the ball rolling.”

“Yes,” she said. “And you think you can get people to sign up? To perform?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“What about an emcee?”

“Uh, my husband already volunteered,” I said, making a note to tell him when I got home that he was going to be emceeing the talent show.

She studied me for a moment, then went back to tapping her fingers.

I waited again.

“How long do you believe it will take you to organize this?” she asked.

That was the million dollar question, the one that had kept me up during the night. I really wasn't sure. In a perfect world, I would've liked several months. But I knew we didn't have that kind of time, and I knew that she didn't want to wait that long.

“Three weeks,” I said, giving her the answer I'd settled on when the sun came up. “Longer would be better, but I know you'd like to do this as soon as possible. So I think three weeks is doable. I can start on sign-ups and publicity right away as soon as we choose a date.”

She peered at me over her fingers. I wasn't sure what she was thinking. She was hard to read and I considered myself decent at reading people.

“How would you feel about...two weeks?” she finally asked.

My eyes widened in surprise. And horror. “Two weeks?”

She nodded. “I think that three weeks opens the window up a little too long. People will already start forgetting about the theft and they'll be less inclined to help. I think two weeks is a better window.” She paused. “But only if you think you can accomplish it within that time.”

I swallowed hard. Two weeks wasn't enough time. Not if I wanted to sleep and eat and see my kids.

But I also felt like she was challenging me. It was almost as if she thought I wouldn't be able to do it and wanted me to say no. Then, when people asked why we weren't doing anything about the computers, she could say, “Well, we wanted to but Daisy Savage decided it was going to be too much work.”

That might've been an over-dramatization, but that's what went through my head.

Two weeks.

It wasn't enough time. I immediately formed a list of all the reasons why I wouldn't be able to pull the whole thing together. I needed to tell her no, that it needed to be three or we couldn't do it. There was no way any reasonable person would say it could be done in two weeks.

But I hesitated. “Yes,” I finally said, swallowing again. “We can do it in two weeks.”

So much for reason.

FOURTEEN

Charlotte Nordhoff smiled at me. “What else can I get you?”

After my conversation with Mrs. Bingledorf, we'd both agreed that I needed a more permanent place to set up shop than the conference room. She led me down the hall to the counseling office, where Charlotte was the only one in an office suited for two. They set me up at the empty desk and Bingledorf left, smiling, but not before she told me she'd arrange for the use of the auditorium on our agreed upon date.

Charlotte found several blank notebooks for me – there was no extra laptop for me to use – and showed me how to use the school's elaborate phone system. She set a jar full of pens and pencils on the desk next to the phone and looked around, trying to figure out what else she could give me.

“For now, I think this is probably all I need,” I told her. “I really hope this isn't an inconvenience for you, having me here.”

She waved a hand in the air and circled back to her desk. “Oh my gosh, no. This room usually feels cavernous with just me in it. It'll be nice to have company, even if it's only temporary.”

“Well, I appreciate you letting me barge in on you,” I said, sitting down in the upholstered chair behind my new desk. “I just hope I haven't gotten in over my head.”

“Most folks who work in a school are in over their heads,” she said, sitting back down. “But they don't tell you that during the interview.”

I laughed. “Might make hiring a little difficult.”

“Most likely,” she said, smiling in agreement. She looked at me over her computer monitor. “So. A talent show? That sounds like it could be fun.”