Page 73 of His Keepsake

Not good. But better a table at a café than going home and moping. Retail therapy afterward?

I didn’t usually get a huge kick out of shopping, but everyone I might vent to was at work at this time of day. Mind and stomach churning with anxiety, I trudged to the café and ate too much cake, then ventured into shops, a library, then more shops. I bought almost nothing, having realized I was likely to be unemployed soon.

At three PM they sent me an email with more details: A public sexual encounter was observed by Mr. Wharton, a member of the school board stood out among all the text.

I smacked my forehead with my palm, several times in succession. Did I need the job to pay rent? Yes. What were my chances of getting found innocent? Zero?

I needed a lawyer and could not afford one. They paid me well enough to keep my apartment but not enough for that.

Then I read the bottom line above the signature: Due to the illegality of public sex, the school may refer this to the police if such action seems warranted. That made me want to vomit.

Five o’clock arrived, and I trotted up those stairs again. I headed for the principal’s office, already feeling like a pariah dog about to get stoned. The office was empty but the principal’s secretary, Mr. Stone, signaled from the school meeting room down the corridor. I walked to it and entered, doing my best prim, proper girl with a broomstick up one’s ass impression.

There had been that one time I had seen that done.

It had been revelatory and made me wonder about brooms.

“Miss Morrison, please be seated.”

Mr. Stone ushered me to a lone chair on one side of a long table with five people already on the opposite side. Two men, three women, including the principal. I recognized Mr. Wharton and probably had sent him a mortified stare. He smirked, actually smirked at me.

Fuck.

The meeting commenced, with principal Mary Bolt reading out all the legal necessaries, then inviting Mr. Wharton to blab.

“You saw Miss Morrison participate in public sex under a tree at Trinity Park, Mr. Wharton?”

“I did. It was very obvious to me what was happening and from the ahhh bondageequipment used, I gather it was an encounter of the BDSM kind.

I fumed at that. If he even knew what BDSM was, maybe he wasn’t any more moral than I was. Okay I was stretching to get to that conclusion. Even so, I wanted to put his head on a pike, starting at the ass end and letting him slide down.

I smiled at him grimly.

“Do you deny this, Miss Morrison?” the other man asked.

“I object to being accused and deny it…” I leaned forward and looked serious. “Vehemently, sir.”

“I ummm may have taken a photo,” Mr. Wharton said timidly. “For proof, of course.”

I sank back into my chair. Crappity crap.

“Oh my.” The principal twisted to stare at him, then at me. “Miss Morrison if these images exist, we will have to submit them to the police. Do you understand?”

I blushed hot. “Yes, of course. But they don’t do they?”

“Um, they do.”

“Do you deny you were there, Miss Morrison?” the man asked. “I gather you were feeding ducks before the encounter.”

“I was feeding ducks a few days ago. I just do not know what…” I could see they had made up their minds, and my voice faded, croaked out into nothing. I cleared my throat.

“Gentlemen and ladies?” The principal had dismissed me from her world. “I think that was enough, don’t you?”

They nodded.

Mr. Wharton’s phone chimed, and he pulled it into view, garnering frowns from the others.

“Shouldn’t that be away or muted or something?” Principal Bolt asked.

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