Page 68 of A Scandal in Homeroom
“That’s good, because I don’t have all the answers.”
“Can you handle this? Or is it above your head? You dealt with the Darcy issue well enough, but is this more serious than that?”
“More serious than being framed for vehicular assault?” I asked him. Then I was reminded of Irene’s swelling face. “I’ve got it. I’ll let you know if I don’t.”
“I have resources. Chums at the Federal level. We don’t have to rely on the local forces.”
I nodded, not surprised at all that Croft had befriended FBI agents. There was an office in Cherry Hill, a neighboring town to Haddonfield. He would have considered getting acquainted de rigueur.
“I need those answers first, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Remember, you’re a problem solver. The best way to do that is to stay as unemotional as possible so you can see the matter from all sides. Emotions—”
“Complicate things,” I finished for him. “So you’ve told me.”
“I suppose I have. I’m going to take my whiskey and my book up to bed. Find out what her problem is, solve it and try not to make a mess of things. As we’re still relatively new in this town, I would like for us to be as inconspicuous as we can be.”
“Yes, brother.”
He started to walk by me, then stopped. “You really danced with her?Her?”
“The waltz, yes.”
“Hmmm.” With that, he did as he’d said. Retrieved his book from the living room, said goodnight to Irene, then retired upstairs.
I returned to the living room, but this time I sat in the chair where I’d been reading earlier. My elbows on my knees, my fingers linked together, I watched Irene on the couch. Her eyes were closed but I could tell by the uneven rise and fall of her chest she wasn’t sleeping.
“What’s happening at Thornfield Home?”
The barest whisper of a sigh.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Tell me if I’m wrong. You’re trapped. Wrapped up in something and you can’t see any way out. Which probably means you’re feeling desperate. Desperate people don’t always think clearly. But I’m not desperate, and I always think clearly. Well, mostly always. I wasn’t thinking too clearly when you fell into my arms a minute ago. However, this means I can get you out of whatever trap you’re in.”
Her one eye was swelling profusely, so she could only look at me from her other one.
“You have to trust someone, Irene,” I pressed.
“You honestly think that should be you?”
“You haven’t told your closest friends. And this is where you came after you were hurt. Not Beth, not Janie. Me.”
“I shouldn’t have. This isn’t fair to you. I just knew I needed help and you said…”
“I said I would save you and I will,” I assured her. “But you have to let me.”
“It’s a poker game,” she whispered. “A high-end game I started with a handful of high school students this past summer. I supplied a space, good booze, food, and I took a cut of the table. That’s what makes it illegal. Which, of course, made it slightly dangerous, which The Snobs ate up like candy. Then I get approached by Coyle, who tells me some shadowy guy named Moriarty found out about the game and is taking it over.”
“You don’t know who he is?”
She shook her head cautiously.
“Have you met him? Seen him?”
“No. I’ve only dealt with Coyle.”
“Why didn’t you walk away then?” I pressed her. Then I remembered her driving mission. “The money was too good.”
“Judge me all you want. I don’t fucking care,” she said dully. But she did care. I wasn’t passing judgement, though; I was simply trying to put the pieces together.
