Page 51 of A Scandal in Homeroom
Her reply came quickly.
That would be too easy for you. For me to just give it to you. So I’m offering a trade. You give me something. I give you something. I’m so magnanimous, I’ll go first. Who told you about lights showing up at Thornfield Home?
My lips curled into a smile as I read the note. So there was something there. She’d been so dismissive about it I’d almost believed her. It was only later when I considered how she’d also told me I wouldn’t find anything with Coyle, that I came to understand Irene Adler was adept at lying.
Which meant Coyle Simmons was more than an idiot. There was something happening at Thornfield Home and Irene wanted to know who was on to her. Was it worth it to give her the answer in order to get from her the name of the person she suspected of being behind the List?
I was spared my internal debate when the bell rang announcing the end of class. I tucked the note in my pocket and picked up my backpack, stuffing my notebook inside. As soon as I left the class, I could feel Irene jogging to keep up with me. Something she did easily with her very long legs.
“So are we trading? You said you wanted to know who I suspected of being behind the List.”
“Changed my mind,” I told her.
“You can’t do that! We agreed.”
“Would you like me to show you the note? We made no such agreement. You offered a trade. I’m choosing not to take you up on it.”
I could practically feel her pouting next to me.
“You suck, Locke.”
“I can. Anywhere on your body you want me to.” She stopped walking then, and I turned to her. “Just answer me this. Whatever it is you’re up to…is it dangerous?”
Another pout. Other students poured past us and I realized I didn’t want to have this conversation in a crowd. Taking her hand, I pulled her along until we were in an empty classroom. An art class, given the smell of paint and turpentine.
“I’m not up to anything,” she said, as soon as I let her go.
“You’re lying. Answer the first question truthfully.”
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Damnit. I had to consider what I knew about her. What she wanted more than anything.
“It has to be about money,” I muttered.
“I don’t know what you’re even talking about. I was just curious who brought up Thornfield Home. That place gives me the creeps. For obvious reasons.”
“Well done,” I applauded her. “Always answer with as much of the truth as you can. Who is Coyle Simmons to you?”
She huffed. “Nothing.”
“Yet you didn’t want me to talk to him.”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t get anywhere, and you said I was right.”
“I’m better at this than you are, Irene. Eventually, I will know what you’re up to. If it’s dangerous to you, I’m going to stop it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated.
“Yes. Why? What do you care what I’m involved in? Not that I’m involved in anything.”
It was an excellent question for which I had no obvious answer.
Shrugging, I said, “Because?”
She frowned, clearly not happy with my ambiguity. “Stay out of my business, Locke.”
