Justice hardly dared to breathe as feet clipped past her. Women’s feet, wearing stout walking shoes. Justice didn’t need her torch to identify the slim figure. It was Miss de Vere, wearing a black coat and hat. The headmistress ran down the stairs, her heavy shoes surprisingly light, and Justice heard the sound of a key in a lock. It must be the inner door. Yes, it made a soft, furtive click as it shut behind her.
I swear, I’m not usually this creepy. I’m not the kind of person who gets off on eavesdropping, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve stalked a crush on social media. But right now, I’m sitting next to a celebrity couple at an expensive Manhattan restaurant, and it’s impossible not to stare.