Except somehow Bennet knew about it.
Based on what Irene told me, Sheffield had already paid Bennet nearly five thousand dollars. Another two the night I was there.
Seven thousand dollars in total just to save his violent dog’s life.
The mayor’s secret was easier to find. He was simply cheating on his wife. With another man. Something that might have been scintillating decades ago, but now hardly seemed worth the payoff. Unless of course, the mayor feared a divorce. His wife, it seemed, had all the money, and the mayor had signed a prenup.
Amazing how police officers would gossip about their boss, not realizing there were impressionable teenagers about.
Bennet had somehow gotten hold of people’s secrets and decided the poker game was the easiest way for his victims to pay up.
He created the Moriarty identity to keep his own name out of it, while he collected the money. As well as taking most of the vig from all the other tables. All quite lucrative.
I still hadn’t worked that last part out, though.
Why the poker game? Why take over the small teen game Irene had originally set up over the summer? Why turn it into a full-scale blackmail operation?
I didn’t like having more questions than answers, but it all pointed to Bennet. He’d been at the table with me, angry enough at my presence that he sent one of the dealers after me to teach me a lesson.
Only now he’d gone too far. He’d attempted to blackmail someone who wasn’t going to play his game.
It was clear Mrs. Darcy didn’t know who had sent the note. An encrypted email into her personal email account. She was only told she needed to show up to Friday night’s game, sit at table six, and lose all her money to the player to her right.
That player would be Bennet.
“I don’t suppose you could be wrong?” Fitz asked me.
“Anything is possible. It’s just not very likely.”
“None of this makes sense,” Fitz said. “Bennet is rich. Filthy rich. He doesn’t need money.”
Another excellent question. Why do any of this? If he’d wanted to leave his family, he simply could have stayed gone.
Unless he’d been compelled to return for some reason. Something other than commitment to family.
“You said you wanted to know when I knew for certain,” I reminded him. “I’m telling you, I’m nearly certain.”
Fitz shook his head. “This is going to hurt her.”
“Is it?” I asked. “She calls the man Roger now. Seems like she’s over any filial affection.”
“You don’t know Beth. She pretends to be tough, but deep down, I know this is killing her. It crushed her when he left. It devastated her when she realized he took all the money with him, leaving them with nothing. Now she has to learn he’s a criminal on top of all that. She’ll be worried about her mother, her sisters. The weight of it will be nearly unbearable.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at me then, and realized I was sincere. “It’s not your fault. It does help that I’m prepared. If I know what’s coming, I can plan ahead. Figure out ways to help hold some of that weight for her.”
“As a good boyfriend would do,” I noted. “Speaking of…what are some other things a good boyfriend would do?”
He laughed. “Struggling with Irene already?”
“Hardly.”
Irene and I were grand. We were perfect. She was perfect. Brave and amazing and sexy as hell, and I needed to do something to show her all of that. After what had happened in my bedroom, I’d wanted to please her in return, but she wouldn’t allow it. It was like she wanted to have the upper hand for a time.
No pun intended.
But it was my turn to reciprocate. I wasn’t thinking specifically sexually, although it was never far from my thoughts. It was more than that.
