Oh. Oh, my.
That, he hadn’t expected. But now that he considered the matter, it still made sense. Mrs. Denham didn’t have to threaten Mildred to get rid of her.
No, she could simply—
Mrs. Denham shook her huge ring of keys. “The classroom was locked. I opened it for the group, knowing exactly what they’d find inside.” Her mouth pursed. “For her age, Mildred was surprisingly limber. I’m sorry I didn’t ask her about joint supplements before she left.”
Simon cringed.
“You mean, before she and Harvey were both forced to retire, due to their indiscretions.” Poppy’s jaw was still slightly agape, and she was shaking her head in disbelief. “When the tour came to this wing…did you—”
“Oh, I definitely encouraged the group to visit this classroom. I told them to expect an eye-popping display inside.” Mrs. Denham’s cackle echoed in the room. “And they got one.”
So much for his theory. Still, he’d chosen the correct suspect, which had to count forsomething.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Poppy whispered, wide-eyed.
“So far, so good.” Mrs. Denham winked at her. “No tours scheduled tonight. Just FYI.”
Even after the custodian closed the door, the sound of her whistling floated through the classroom, getting fainter as she pushed her cart down the hallway.
Then it was silent once more, and he and Poppy were staring at one another, and he couldn’t seem to breathe properly. His palms grew damp where they rested on the—
Wait.
I’ll never be able to use that table again, Stacey had said.Not without picturing what happened…there.
He looked down at the wooden surface under his hands, and a few other clues fell into place. With a muttered and heartfeltfuck, he leapt to his feet and ran to the sink.
Poppy groaned. “What now?”
“Is that—where I’ve been sitting—” There wasn’t enough soap in the world. “Is that Mrs. Krackel’s, uh…”
“Sex table?” Poppy’s giggle was infectious, much like the germs he’d probably encountered while using that damn table all week. “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”
“Dammit, Poppy.” He stopped scrubbing and glared in her direction. “You could have said something.”
She appeared blithely unbothered by his disfavor, as usual. “It’s been disinfected multiple times since Mildred’s adventures there. Trust me. I took care of that personally, once I heard the story.”
He supposed that was a reasonable response. Besides, his plans for the afternoon didn’t involve scowling at Poppy or reenacting Lady Macbeth’s endless, frantic hand-washing.
No, he had other priorities. Business first, and then…
And then.
After rinsing and drying his hands, he crossed the room, bent down to open his briefcase, produced a neatly stapled document, and placed it on her desk. “Here’s your evaluation. You can read it later. In case you’re worried, it’s positive. In fact, it’s so glowing, it may give you a sunburn.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his, not even when the paper hit the desk.
“Why, Mr. Burnham.” She was grinning at him again, delighted. “What a poetical turn of phrase. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You earned every word.” Now, onto the scary part of this conversation. “We need to, um…”
He rolled his shoulders. Widened his stance slightly. Closed his eyes and swallowed.
“Simon?”
Decades of avoiding vulnerability and risk ended today. Now.
