Page 55 of A Scandal in Homeroom
The thought depressed me, so instead, I turned my attention to the floor. The girls were serving drinks, the dealers were moving the hands along. The money was flowing and…shit.
There it was again. Someone else folding a winning hand to Bennet. This time, it was even more scandalous.
Because it was the other reason why we no longer had to worry about the cops.
It seemed the mayor of Haddonfield also owed Bennet some kind of debt.
* * *
Locke
I feltthe phone vibrate in my back pocket. I took it out and frowned.
Croft: It’s 4 am. Where the hell are you?
I blinked. Was it really that late? I’d set up surveillance across from Thornfield after following Irene here when the game ended. There had been no activity for hours, but I felt like that had to change.
Twenty-three men. Twenty-three men of varying ages had all gone inside the building through a back entrance. Only seven had come out. One of them being the mayor of the town.
This, whatever the hell I was witnessing, was what Irene was into.
What was she doing in Thornfield Home with twenty-three men?
The top three floors of the home were dark. I could see no lights throughout the home, but when the door opened there was a low glow that couldn’t be missed if one was looking.
I’d considered going up to the door and simply knocking on it, but something held me back.
Was I afraid of what I might find? Maybe.
Did my twisted brain go to paid sexual acts performed by Irene Adler for the benefit of these men? Unfortunately, it did.
Which could mean her whole sexual problem was just another lie. An act.
I didn’t want to believe that. So instead of barging in, I stayed back and waited.
Me: Surveillance. Not sure when I’ll be home.
Croft: Backup?
Me: Unnecessary.
It was another reason I preferred living with Croft as opposed to my father. Croft didn’t try to parent, and I could be honest with him about my activities, which saved me the energy of having to create some elaborate deception.
There would be no hand wringing when I got home about me staying out all night hidden behind a cluster of trees while I watched Irene play host to twenty-three, now sixteen, men.
The door opened and I hunkered down further into my perch. It was unlikely anyone would think to look across the street, and, at this hour of the morning, I still had the cover of darkness.
I counted the men leaving. Sixteen. The party had cleared out.
Then the door opened again, and I watched as three women, all tall, thin and with significant breasts, emerge. Two of them appeared to be counting the cash in their hands before shoving the money in their pockets. Together they made their way to a single car parked more than a block down the street. The tallest one got behind the wheel and they were gone.
The door opened again and this time there was a cluster of six people exiting. Two women and four men. Dressed similarly. The women weren’t as striking as the group who had left previously, and the men weren’t dressed as the other sixteen had been. They were dressed more formally. And similarly.
I hadn’t seen these people enter, which meant they’d been here before I arrived. Before Irene arrived.
What the fuck? Was it some kind of underground party? Was I looking at the help?
They also quickly dispersed, and after a minute the door to Thornfield opened one last time. I recognized Coyle Simmons beside Irene and found myself holding my breath. Of course they were connected in this. Whatever this was.
