Page 58 of A Scandal in Homeroom
Icould admit I was exhausted but I told myself it didn’t matter. I took a sip of my Americano, now cold, and forced myself to focus. My eyes once again on Thornfield Home.
After leaving my watch early this morning, I hadn’t been able to sleep. Too restless, too curious. Too all of it.
It had been a happy coincidence I’d ended up at Town Hall that morning. My plan had been to see if I could ferret out any information from the police regarding Thornfield and any activities they might be monitoring there. Instead, the office was buzzing with the news that the town prince had been brought in for questioning regarding a vehicular assault on no other than Wick.
Of course I’d offered my intern duties, fetched everyone coffee and donuts. Managed to read the police report without anyone noticing, then there was the video. I’d literally been standing behind the officers as they watched it over and over without anyone noticing it had been edited.
They were all so focused on the time and Fitz’s face, they didn’t realize they had to watch it another minute before the one car suddenly changed in the background.
I could have pointed it out, but I hadn’t. Better to keep the information under my hat for a time, until I could use it to my best advantage. It’s what Croft had always taught me.
I’d gone from the police in the morning, to a fairly tense meeting with Beth Bennet, to here, where I could see there was a smattering of activity happening, but this time no Irene. Why wasn’t she here? Was she simply not part of the activities every night? And if she wasn’t here, was now the smart time to simply knock on the door and see if I could get a peek inside?
What was the worst that could happen? Coyle Simmons not letting me.
It seemed the logical course of action, except every time I thought to cross the street, my thoughts kept straying to Irene. My gut told me she was supposed to be here, and she wasn’t.
I didn’t rely on silly things like intuition and feelings to guide my actions. I used facts and logic. Which was why I was cursing myself even as I scurried away from my hidden perch and left my watch on Thornfield. To head off for Irene’s home instead.
Twenty minutes later I was ringing her doorbell.
A bald, middle-aged white man, whom I assumed was Irene’s guardian, opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, yes. I’m terribly sorry to drop by unannounced at this hour, but I was to pick up some class notes from Irene. We’re in AP Chemistry together and we’ve got an exam Monday. I was supposed to get them from her Friday after class but had to leave early due to a family emergency. Is she home?”
I’d purposely leaned on my British accent. I’d learned Americans found it to be charming and non-threatening.
“She is. You’ll have to wait here. I don’t allow boys in her room after dark.”
“Of course. Understood.”
He shut the door in my face, and I wondered if Irene would play along. Sure enough, a minute later the door opened and she was holding a notebook in her hands. Together we stood on her stoop, a light over the front door our only illumination.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, even as she handed me the notebook.
I thought about what I’d seen last night. The men, the cash, her and Coyle. Then again tonight. This time it felt like a younger crowd. Still, Coyle was there. So was the help.
I opened my mouth to flat out ask her what was happening at Thornfield, but instead I simply said, “I wanted to see you.”
“You can’t just come here. Especially at night. Mr. Sumner doesn’t like for me to have people over. Guys or girls, and I’m already…”
“Already what?” I asked, when she stopped speaking.
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t just show up.”
“You’re not allowed to have friends?” I asked. “Seems a bit harsh.”
“We’re not friends,” she said.
I pushed into her space, backing her into the closed door. “Then what are we? Because we’re something, Irene. Or at least I thought we were. You say you’re not a tease, but there are times when it feels like you’re with me and other times when I don’t know if I’m being played by you. I don’t like being played.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think I’m a tease?”
“I think maybe you are, yes. Maybe this whole thing has just been one big fucking distraction. The notes in class, the Fashion Show, the playing hard to get. The lies.”
“I’m notplayingat anything,” she said, now clearly angry.
