by Sophie Davis
“What about….what about maybe we just Google the address and stop the guessing games?” I suggested.
With an endearing smile, Asher tapped me softly on the side of my head.
“So smart,” he quipped.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go grab my laptop, will you? Please,” I added, remembering my manners.
“On it.”
With that, Asher was out the bedroom door and down the hallway, eager to solve one riddle that would inevitably lead us to another.
Once he was out of sight, I hurried to Lark’s bathroom and hastily searched her drawers until, sure enough, I found a toothbrush still in the package. Hurrying so it wouldn’t be too obvious, I did a quick once-over, just enough to at least get rid of the furry layer of grime that seemed to be coating the inside of my mouth. The small act of personal grooming went a long way towards making me feel more human. Cupping my palms underneath the faucet, I collected handfuls of water and bathed my face in the cool liquid. Over the sound of running water, I heard Asher call my name.
“Um, Raven? That address? I found it,” Asher called. “It belongs to a pawn shop.”
Slowly, I scooped one last handful of water into my mouth, swished, and then watched the toothpaste-infused liquid swirl down the drain. After turning off the faucet, I patted my skin dry with a fluffy white hand towel and exited the bathroom.
Asher was, once again, perched on the edge of Lark’s bed, my laptop opened and propped on his knees.
“A pawn shop?” I repeated skeptically.
Asher looked up from the computer screen.
“Yep. Larry’s Pawn to be precise. According to their less-than-impressive website, Larry likes to buy gold for cash.”
One shoulder resting against the doorframe, I crossed my arms over my chest and snorted in a very undignified manner. Asher appeared oblivious to the social gaffe and continued to swipe at the touchscreen with his index finger as he perused Larry’s website.
“Um, okay. So, do you think maybe Lark sold him some jewelry because she needed cash?” I asked doubtfully.
For a normal person, selling off her jewelry for way less than it was worth was a quick and easy way to make a little extra cash. Particularly when one was desperate and unable to use more conventional means.
Though Lark had been desperate, I felt sure she wasn’t that desperate. No, not a girl who had enough disposable dollars to prepay the rent on a swanky apartment for at least one year. To furnish that same apartment with items that were out of my parents’ price range. Who probably had a trust fund with more zeros than a standard barcode. No way was Lark Kingsley so hard up for money that she’d have hocked the glittering contents of her jewelry box for pocket change. It didn’t fit with what I knew of Lark.
“No, I don’t think she sold something to our pal, Larry,” Asher began, his words interrupting my mental musings. “If she’d sold him something outright, there wouldn’t be a claim ticket. Lark pawned something. And when you pawn things, you intend to go back for them. Or, in this case, she intended you to go back for.”
Considering what he said, I decided it made sense…sort of. As much sense as anything Lark had done to this point. Was this Larry guy really the best clue custodian, though? I mean, what if he decided to up and sell whatever it was that Lark had pawned? Wasn’t that the way it worked?
Having grown up in a small town where you were more likely to find an antique mall than a Cash-4-Gold type of establishment, all I knew about pawnshops was learned by watching that show on the History Channel about the guys in Vegas who owned one. Still, I was fairly certain that Larry was only obligated to hold Lark’s pawned item for so long.
The only way I was going to find out if whatever mysterious item Lark pawned was still gathering dust on Larry’s shelves was to go there. And I so didn’t want to go alone.
Tapping my chin with my index finger thoughtfully, I met Asher’s gaze across the bedroom. He was studying me, as if trying to follow my internal thought process just by watching me.
“I don’t suppose you’re up for a field trip?” I asked hopefully.
“Totally,” Asher agreed without hesitation.
“HEY THERE, DOLL. Will it be the usual? Or are you waiting on that lovebird of yours?”
Just the mention of Blake brought a smile to my face.
“Hey Shirley,” I said warmly, standing up from the blue velvet couch to give her a hug. “It’s just me for now, he’ll be here later. Hot chocolate would be great.”
Shirley always looked surprised when I hugged her, but pleasantly so. Maybe it was odd that I was so fond of her, but she was always so sweet to Blake and me. Besides, I loved injecting kindness into others’ lives, especially when it was unexpected. It was probably because I was always supposed to be so proper and distant with people in my world.
Downtown Downs had become a second home for me. It was our spot, mine and Blake’s. The scuff marks on the floor were like the freckles around Blake’s nose—I’d memorized every single one. We knew which couches and chairs were most comfortable, which barista never quite got the espresso right, and which did. No one here knew or cared who I was; they all had better things to do than pore over Page Six and my outfit.
Which was why I hated to bring any unpleasantness into this safe space. But my afternoon classes had been cancelled, and I wanted to take advantage of this rare opportunity to figure out what was going on with my father. Anything that caused him worry, much less fear, was something that I needed to know about. And since he wouldn’t tell me himself, I was determined to find out what he was hiding on my own.
Pulling out my laptop and setting it on the scratched surface of the low table in front of my seat, I dug around in my bag until I found my headphones. Once they were plugged into the speaker port of my computer, I slid the offending USB in and opened the screen. My world history paper that was due in two days flashed onto the screen, which I guiltily minimized. The research paper for my French Immersion class was open below that and I closed it as well. As important as my grades and my future were, I couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork with so many unanswered questions looming in my mind.
The biggest one of all: Who was Kimberly? And how could she possibly have shut down our mines in Jyranji? Most importantly, why was this all coming up again when it seemingly happened ten years ago?
Settling back in the deep cushion of the loveseat, I brought up the list of files and found where I’d left off last. Since I had no more than two hours before Blake was due to meet me, and at least thirty files still unheard, I decided to only listen to ten seconds at a time, praying I wouldn’t miss anything important by skipping so much.
My heart was pounding, knowing that what—or who—my father feared was right in front of me. Closing my eyes, I took several long, calming yoga breaths. Whatever it was, I could handle it. More importantly, I would help my father handle it. If McAvoy was threatening or blackmailing him, we would take him down together. Because I felt quite certain that Kingsley’s COO was the bad guy in all of this. At the very least, he was at the center of it. Aside from my father, McAvoy was the only constant in the equation, seeming to always be present when either Jyranji or Kimberly was mentioned, and usually being the one to mention it. Besides, he’d always kind of creeped me out.
I was so entrenched in bolstering my confidence that I actually jumped when Shirley set a mug down in front of me several minutes later. Whether because I had headphones in or because it was obvious that I was lost in another world, she simply mouthed an apology and didn’t linger to chat as she usually did. Mouthing, “Thank you,” and stealing a glance at the clock, I realized I had to stop wasting time. Before I lost myself in another train of thought, I clicked on the next file.
It began to play.
According to the date/file name, this board meeting had occurred only three days after the previous one—far sooner than the usual month that passed between gatherings.
Odd, I thought to myself.
With the voices of the Kingsley Diamond Corp board filling my head, I began fishing plump marshmallows from the sea of hot chocolate and depositing them into my mouth. I became momentarily distracted, attempting to balance my laptop on my knees without dropping any of the sugary goo on the keyboard.
“—Kimberly—”
Alarm bells blared inside the part of my brain still actively listening to the audio track.
They were talking about her again, the mysterious woman that had so many powerful men spinning their wheels.
Hot liquid sloshed over the sides of the mug as I all but dropped the drink back onto the table. I wiped my fingers on a paper napkin, and then rewound the video back to the beginning. This time, when I hit play, I gave the video file my undivided attention.
“This emergency meeting of the Kingsley Diamond Corporation board is hereby called to order,” my father said from his seat at the head of the table on my screen. Despite how small he appeared and the lack of detail in the video—HD didn’t exist then—his slumped posture and raccoon eyes were obvious indications of stress and sleepless nights.
“Lester, the minutes?” my father continued, gesturing to an older man I recognized from the earlier video.
Before Lester could begin, a much younger McAvoy interrupted.
“Given the limited nature of today’s discussion, I move to bypass the reading of the minutes.”
Calling up my limited knowledge of parliamentary procedure, I gleaned that Lester must’ve been the Secretary of the board at the time. Considering the fact he appeared to be an octogenarian at the time the video was made, it was highly unlikely Lester still retained the position.
“All in favor?” my father called without enthusiasm.
Every man at the table raised one of his hands in the affirmative.
“So moved,” Daddy declared. “For tonight’s proceedings, William McAvoy will take the lead. William?”
My father gestured to McAvoy, who stood to address his fellow board members.
“Gentlemen, I apologize for requesting your presences at such a late hour, but after apprising Phillip of the situation, we are in agreement that this meeting is an absolute necessity. Tonight we have but one order of business. And as many of you may have already guessed, the matter we are here to discuss is Kimberly.”
“Is this really necessary, Phillip?” a dark-haired man with an imposing stature interjected. “My granddaughter is celebrating her bat mitzvah this evening. Surely this situation is not as dire as William claims?”
“Just hear him out, Randall,” my father replied tiredly. “It looks as though we’re in big trouble here.”
“Kimberly is proceeding,” McAvoy declared, pausing for dramatic effect. “There is nothing we can do to stop that from happening. Our only options are to deal with this as soon as possible, or to close the doors on Kingsley Diamonds. The bad press alone could topple the company, let alone the collateral fallout unbeknownst to the public.”
Topple the company? Seriously?
William McAvoy was not prone to theatrics, which meant this Kimberly person was far more than just a throne in the company’s side. Not to mention the fact that my father hadn’t corrected the COO; he, too, believed the woman a genuine threat. But who was she? I paused the video to give my mind time to wrap itself around the possibilities.
What kind of woman had the power to topple a well-established, time-tested, billion-dollar company? Mistress, floated through my mind. I quickly dismissed the notion. I might not have been a savvy businessman like my father and his board members, but I just didn’t believe that an affair was reason enough for an emergency meeting, let alone the worried looks being traded across the conference table on my computer screen. No, this was way more serious than an extramarital tryst.
Murder victim? I hated even thinking the word in conjunction with my father. The man I knew, the one who taught me everything from how to play catch to the fundamentals of negotiation, was too principled to allow homicide on his watch. Besides, even if one of the board members had killed the poor woman, the entire company wouldn’t fail from the bad publicity—that guy would go to jail and everyone else would return to business as usual…right?
Ugh, who are you, Kimberly?
Sighing in frustration, I restarted the video where I’d last left off. From the brief discussion that followed, it was obvious that every one of the men present at the meeting was well-versed in all things Kimberly, and no one felt the need to spell out who she was or what had happened to her for those of us—me—not up to speed.
I did a quick time check and decided to forge ahead to the next video file.
It wasn’t another board meeting, but rather a recording of a video call between my father and McAvoy. The file was dated one day after the emergency board meeting, but judging by the haggard look on my father’s face and his attire, the call took place the same night, just early into the hours of the following day.
“What do you think?” McAvoy asked without preamble. His tie was loosened, the first three buttons of his white button-down unfastened, and he held a drink in one hand. The late-thirties version of the man I knew now appeared to be sitting in a home office of some sort, the décor eerily similar to that of my father’s.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, William. It’s 3 a.m. and my mind isn’t firing on all cylinders.”
“Do you think the board is going to insist on going the straight and narrow? Or do you think they’ll play ball?”
In contrast to my father’s drawn expression and tired voice, McAvoy appeared to be containing something akin to excitement.
“It’s close, I’m not sure,” my father answered uncertainly. “The old-timers definitely seem hesitant.”
“The old-timers” was a phrase I’d heard before—my father’s term for the men on the board who were holdovers from the days when my grandfather was at the helm of our family business.
“To be honest, I don’t know if we should even propose it at this point,” my father’s voice was still saying. “If this whole scenario never comes to pass, but we present it and they balk—”
“Phillip, I went down to Washington for a reason. I’ve met with representatives from all sides,” McAvoy broke in.
It was a rare occurrence for anyone to interrupt my father, so I focused closely on what his second-in-command was saying.
“This is a done deal. The UN is behind Kimberly one-hundred percent. And if the US doesn’t back them, our country will appear to value capitalism more than human life. So they’re going to back them. The only question now is whether we’re going to allow Kimberly to shut down what you’ve worked so hard for. Or if we’re going to be smart, and figure this all out ahead of time.”
Whoa. How was this a matter for politicians? And how was the UN involved? What the hell had my father done? And how secret could it be if McAvoy went to Washington to meet with representatives?
An idea popped into my head and I almost laughed at having not considered it before.
I’d been treating the Kimberly situation as though it, and she, were some big secret. But what did Benjamin Franklin say? Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead? Way more than three people knew about Kimberly, at least most of whom were still alive. And on numerous occasions, I’d heard my father say that politicians gossiped more than teenage girls. Odds were, in the years since the Kimberly incident had occurred, one of them had talked to a reporter or some aid had leaked information to a blogger or tabloid.
Equal parts nerves and excitement, I paused the video and selected the internet browser icon on my task bar. I stared at the blinking cursor, deflating slightly. The idea had been a good one, it was still a good one. I just didn’t know what exactly to search for.
Kingsley Diamond Corp and death?
Surely, by now, I’d know if one of my father’s past board members had murdered someone, right?
Having no better ideas for search terms, I typed the ideas anyway. What d
id I have to lose?
The resulting articles were of no help: “Kingsley Diamond Corp Goes Public. Is this the Death of the Family-Run business?” and “Kingsley Diamond’s New Motion brings about the Death of an Era.”
Too broad. Narrow the terms.
Searching for Kingsley Corp, UN, Washington, scandal, controversy, and even death, yielded no better results.
Kimberly. She’s the key to all of this, I reminded myself.
Bingo. Under a list of company profiles, I found Kim Kingsley. But even before clicking on the link, I knew it would lead me nowhere. Kimberly was my grandmother’s name. Odd coincidence, true, but she passed away well before my father took over the company; she was not the Kimberly the board had been discussing on the videos.
Think, Lark. How can you narrow it down even further?
The year. My father was an excellent record-keeper. Every video was documented with a date, including the year. The recordings I was interested in were from 2002.
Just as I was adding the date to the search box, and congratulating myself for having excellent perseverance, warm breath tickled my ear as the headphone was removed. His voice was low and throaty when he whispered, “You look insanely gorgeous when you’re concentrating that hard.”
I jumped, literally, jumped in my seat and my heart skipped a beat. Deep laughter filled my ears as I whipped around to face the newcomer. Amusement made his green eyes sparkle and the lips I loved so much curve into a sexy smile. My heart began to pound for an entirely different reason.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, beautiful.”
Blake bent over the back of the seat, bringing his soft lips to mine. The kiss was quick and gentle and left me wanting more.
Running the tip of his tongue over his lips, Blake sank down next to me on the loveseat. “Yum, chocolate and marshmallow,” he said, putting an arm around my waist and drawing me closer. “Can I get some more?”
Without waiting for an answer, Blake leaned in for another kiss and I no longer cared who Kimberly was. I lost myself in the feel of Blake’s mouth on mine, his hand pressed against my hip.
