“Professor Welsh—you have her for Civ Pro?” Jessica clarified.
“Right, I do,” Asher said at length.
Jessica’s bright smile dimmed slightly at my neighbor’s brusque-verging-on-rude reply.
Man, Asher must be just as eager as I am to check out the pillbox, I thought.
“Sorry, Jessica, my neighbor doesn’t mean to be rude. He’s just helping me with something…a project, I mean. And I, um, have a deadline coming up,” I said smiling brightly in an attempt to make up for my lame excuse and Asher’s lousy attitude.
“Right, no problem,” Jessica said, her cheery tone now ringing false. “Well, good luck with your memo. Maybe I’ll see you around school. Nice meeting you both.”
“Good meeting you, too, Jessica,” I said, genuinely meaning the words.
Asher gave the girl a brief nod of his head, but said nothing.
Watching the way her shoulders slumped as Jessica walked away, I felt a little bad for our new acquaintance. Apparently, she’d been hoping to make a new friend in Asher, to commiserate with a classmate over the hardships of a newbie law student. Moving to a new city where you didn’t know anyone wasn’t easy, so I understood that desire to bond with someone. Maybe after I found Lark and returned to my own reality, Asher could invite Jessica to hang out with me and him sometime. Not only to make up for his bad manners, but because she and I were in the same boat; I could really use more friends, too.
Once Jessica was gone and Asher had settled into the seat next to me, I turned to face him.
“You okay?”
Asher reached for one of the mugs and wrapped his large hands around the ceramic dish.
“Great. Why?”
Oddly, his tone was once again friendly and warm, and the smile he wore genuine. Perhaps I’d misread the conversation between him and Jessica. After all, I wasn’t exactly an expert with social skills myself.
“No reason,” I replied, shaking my head from side to side as I dismissed the whole interaction. We had more important things to worry about.
Given the lack of space at the communal table, Asher and I both had our bodies angled towards each other, knees touching. Taking advantage of the fact our bodies were essentially shielding the space between us, I placed the pillbox on the lacquered piano—it was definitely a real piano. The moment my eyes found the woman with the bright red lips, Jessica and her rambling conversational ways were long forgotten.
Following the path of my gaze as I scrutinized every millimeter, I traced the gold-rimmed outline of the box with my index finger. When I was satisfied that there wasn’t a hidden code or glyph on the exterior, I glanced up at Asher. Instead of looking at the box, his eyes were on me. He gave me a soft smile and then nodded, urging me to go for it. With his support, I opened the lid.
Well, tried to open the lid. It wouldn’t budge. Upon closer examination, I realized there was no seam around the top of the box. For some reason, the pillbox—named thus because it was supposed to be a small container for carrying around a couple of pills…meaning it would have to open—was one solid piece. Naturally.
Undeterred, I felt along the sides until my finger found two distinct indents in the glossy wood, roughly two finger widths apart. Wedging what was left of my right thumbnail—I’d broken it while prying the paneling over the safe loose—into one of the grooves, I hoped to have better luck opening the box than I had with the wall in Lark’s bedroom closet.
Failure.
“Try pushing,” Asher suggested. “It might be pressure sensitive.”
Bingo.
When I pushed, a small drawer slid out from the side of the pillbox. Nestled within the velvet-lined compartment was a flat silver key. Picking it up and turning the key over in my palm, I examined the flat stem. Instead of grooves like an ordinary key, this one was covered with alternating circular bumps and divots.
“Is it a key? Weirdest one I’ve ever seen,” Asher said, scratching the back of his head absently. “Any guesses what that could possibly go to?”
I traced the contours of the metal and thought of braille. But, because of the indents, I was also pretty confident that the strange pattern had nothing to do with the language of the blind.
If it was a key—I had to assume it was, since I couldn’t imagine a viable alternative—it was fit for a lock I couldn’t envision.
Remembering to answer Asher’s question, I shook my head.
“Not really. You?”
Asher said something in reply, but I’d already tuned him out again. A nagging sensation tickled my brain, making me think that I should know what the key went to. It felt like the answer to a test question when I’d half-assed studying—my brain recognized the question, and possibly held the answer somewhere, but it was evading me.
I decided that if I’d actually seen the key somewhere before, it was likely to have been during my search for Lark. So, closing my eyes, I pictured all of the clues I’d found thus far and tried to recall every detail. Coming up empty, I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Think Raven. Which clues are still unsolved? What have you found that might use a lock and key for security?
With a long exhale, I began listing the items that I’d found, starting with the most recent: the strange key. Which was inside a pillbox. There was no keyhole on or inside the box, so the key didn’t unlock another secret compartment in there. Moving on. Lark, presumably, left the pillbox at Larry’s Pawn. Was there another clue at the pawnshop? Had I missed something?
Maybe I should’ve looked around, but I’d been so eager to get out of the dark, dusty space—and away from the creepy owner—that perusing the shelves hadn’t crossed my mind.
Dread over the rookie mistake made my stomach clench.
You can always go back, I reminded myself, while hoping that I wouldn’t have to.
Next, the claim ticket that led me to Larry’s Pawn. Besides the claim number and street address for the shop there hadn’t been any other information printed or written on the slip of paper, so that was a dead end. The claim ticket had been hidden along with the passport, credit card, and First National bank card. First National was the same bank that sent Lark statements. The same bank that she made a recurring payment to every couple of months for the rental of safety deposit box.
“Raven?”
The way Asher said my name—like he was asking a question—I knew it wasn’t the first, or even the second, time he’d tried to get my attention.
“Safety deposit box,” I said quietly.
“Huh?”
“The key. It goes to a safety deposit box.”
“Wait, what? Are you sure?” Asher asked, dubious.
His obvious doubt poked holes in my confidence.
Was I jumping to conclusions? Should I keep going and consider the alternatives before settling on the safety deposit box? Were there any alternatives?
“Um, yeah…I’m pretty sure that’s it,” I hedged.
While I explained how I arrived at my conclusion, I realized that my deductive reasoning process sounded thin and stretched when I said it aloud. As Asher listened, his face was devoid of any expression, though he did nod every so often.
“You might be right,” Asher said when I finished talking, his tone hesitant as though he was merely placating me.
“It all fits. The claim ticket was with those other things for a reason, Asher. I know it,” I spoke with more conviction than I felt.
Asher saw through my bravado, his warm brown eyes skeptical.
“Do you have a better idea?” I demanded.
“Well, no…not really,” he admitted. “But isn’t it just as likely that this key goes to something we haven’t found yet?”
Unwilling to agree that my theory about the safety deposit box was wrong, I shrugged noncommittally.
Feeling defensive, I answered Asher’s question with one of my own.
“Isn’t it worth looking into? I mean, if I’m wrong then I’m wrong. We will have wasted lik
e half an hour, no big deal,” I said, before realizing I didn’t need to convince him of anything. If he didn’t want to go, if he thought it was a waste of time, no big deal. I didn’t need his permission.
“Actually, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come to the bank with me, I’ll check it out alone,” I decided.
Though I knew that I was toeing the line of reason, I was hurt that he didn’t trust in my abilities.
“Come on, Raven. Don’t be like that,” Asher entreated.
Tentatively, he reached over and covered the hand I had resting on the tabletop with one of his. His voice was gentle and kind and…I suddenly felt incredibly stupid and childish.
Swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat, I turned my head so as not to look Asher in the eye.
“I’m not being like anything,” I said, trying and failing to sound airy. Like I hadn’t just acted like a little kid pouting. “All I’m saying is that I’m happy to go to the bank alone. It’s probably better anyway. You can get some of your schoolwork done while I follow up on this lead. You do have that memo to write after all,” I pointed out, recalling what Jessica had said earlier.
Asher waved off my protests.
“Let me worry about school, okay? I want to go to the bank with you, Raven. Like you said, if you’re wrong, then you’re wrong. No harm, no foul. At the very least, we’ll be able to rule out the safety deposit box as a possibility.”
“We’ll need to swing by the Pines first. That’s where the bank statements are, and they probably say which branch we need to go to.”
“So, the Pines, then First National?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright then.”
Lifting the untouched ceramic mug in front of me, I took several large gulps. If the next twenty-four hours were anything like the previous, caffeine was definitely necessary. When I looked over, though, Asher wasn’t doing the same. He was staring off into space.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Just that…well, if Lark has a ten-thousand dollar, impenetrable safe hidden behind a wall…what the hell does she need a safety deposit box for?”
I’d been so caught up in the key and figuring out what it went to, I hadn’t stopped to consider that.
“Honestly, I have no idea. Nothing is ever what I expect when it comes to Lark,” I replied slowly.
“Must be important,” Asher added as an afterthought.
“Yeah, really important,” I echoed, allowing that fact to sink in.
Suddenly the tumbling routine happening inside my stomach became faster, spinning out of control until I thought I might be sick for the second time that day. Nerves, I realized uncomfortably. Why, though?
With every other clue I’d been anxious in the moments just before the reveal—in the moments leading up to reading the letter, opening the box, and unlocking the safe. But now, just the thought of going to the bank gave me chills.
Asher had raised a good point—what could be that important to Lark? Something personal? Something valuable? Something that explained what the hell had happened to her? Would I finally be able to answer that question at the bank?
Earlier, when I told Asher that I’d go to the bank alone, I’d realized that I sort of wanted to do this one solo. Asher’s support thus far, especially during my meltdown after the safe, was all that kept me moving forward. My neighbor, who I’d known such a short time, was almost as invested in the search for Lark as I was, and I appreciated his cheerleading more than I was able to say. But I needed space to breathe. He was quickly becoming more constant than my shadow.
And like a shadow, I had no idea how to separate myself from him.
THE DOOR FLEW open, the force of the dramatic entrance causing it to bang against the pale blue wall behind it. Despite the sound, only the sudden rush of movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I allowed myself two additional seconds of Tom Petty’s crooning to calmly wash over my nerves before removing the headphones from my ears and nonchalantly closing my laptop. The musician was right. I belonged somewhere I felt free.
“Honestly, Lark, is it too much to ask that you grant me some of your time without bellowing up the stairs?” My mother’s usual poise was frayed at the edges.
Normally I relished the moments she allowed her humanness to show, today my mind was far too occupied to be amused.
“Sorry, mother, I didn’t hear you. What’s up?” Moving to sit Indian-style on my duvet, I turned to give her my full attention.
“Oh, nothing important, dear. I’m just trying to plan the biggest event of your life—well, for now, anyway, soon enough it’ll be a wedding, and heavens knows that this staff can’t handle an affair of that magnitude. I mean if I….,” The always-together Eleanor Kingsley trailed off, letting mental ramblings replace the verbal type.
Silently, I watched her, unable to muster the amusement or derision I usually felt at her prioritization of life. Sometimes I’d swear that, to her, life was simply a string of parties and events, the time between them never enough to get ready for the next. If I could bring myself to care anymore, I might pity her.
I waited while she mentally created a to-do list for my fictitious nuptials, and wondered what my mother could’ve accomplished with all of the dedication and verve she clearly possessed.
A renewed vigor in her voice, as if reaching that epicenter of attention for herself as mother-of-the-bride depended upon the decisions immediately at hand, she resumed her diatribe. “The caterer called, and is insisting on a substitution for the Coffin Bay Oysters he promised me months ago. Plus, there’s apparently some problem with the damn sturgeons, and our silver caviar may not be available. I mean, really, why must they bore me with their ineptitude? They’ve known the precise menu for months now, I don’t want to hear about these problems three days before your party!”
Given my mother’s notoriously calm demeanor, a trait she modeled after Anna Wintour’s—Meryl Streep should’ve won an Oscar for her alarmingly perfect portrayal of it in The Devil Wears Prada—this was the equivalent of an all-out tantrum from her.
“I’m sorry, mother. Honestly, it’s not important, I will be more than happy with whatever they serve,” I soothed.
“Lark, dear, that’s not the point. We want what we want, and we should get it,” she insisted.
Using “we” wasn’t entirely accurate since I’d had no part in any of the planning, but I knew pointing that out wouldn’t be helpful just then.
“I know,” I replied. “But I don’t want you to get upset about it. There are so many other things that will make the night perfect. I don’t need the biggest oysters known to man.”
Sensing an impending lecture about the importance of every small detail in life, I said the one thing sure to end the discussion.
“If you keep frowning, you’re going to get wrinkles.”
Sure enough, her mouth snapped closed. Closing her eyes, she took three deep yoga breaths before visibly calming. Once again, she was the epitome of calm, serene control.
“The driver will be here to pick us up at eight, so you only have an hour to get ready. Your father is meeting us at the restau—Lark? Lark are you listening to me?”
“Yes, mother,” I said, grabbing my bathrobe and heading for the bathroom.
It was going to be a long night.
****
Friday afternoon, 2:05 p.m. It took an hour before the digital clock on the wall flipped to 2:06. As it always does when you’re really looking forward to something, time was painfully dragging. My books and tablet were already tucked inside my tote, a fact that was earning me pointed looks from Mr. White. That wasn’t really his name, but he was the AP chem professor, so it was no surprise when Garrett called him that one day and it caught on.
After four more long, arduous minutes, I’d practically melted a hole in the plastic of the clock with my stare. When the soft, unobtrusive chime signaled the end of the day, I grabbed my bag and bolted for the
door. Annie was waiting for me in the hallway, and I felt a twinge of guilt at my first instinct—to toss some lame excuse her way and duck out before anyone else stopped me.
The fact that I was already sort of ditching her that night made me grab her hand and pull her along with me, hurrying out the door to avoid idle chit-chat with anyone else. I honestly felt bad that I’d made other plans, especially since it was my actual birthday. But when weighing the options of spending the night out with my friends, for what was sure to be an exceptionally rowdy evening, or celebrating with Blake…there wasn’t any contest.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” Annie teased, hurrying to keep pace with me.
Pushing open the heavy wooden doors leading from the hallway to the courtyard, I glanced over at her with a smile. There wasn’t a hint of resentment or disappointment on her face. Annie was a really good friend, and I was incredibly lucky to have her.
“Yes, well someone has plans,” I replied with a laugh.
Okay, maybe I was being a touch too eager, but I wanted plenty of time to get ready once home. There was nothing I disliked more than feeling rushed, and I didn’t want to be all stressed out.
“Any chance I’ll be meeting this mystery man tomorrow night?” Annie asked hopefully.
Though she was always cheerfully supportive and never pushed for answers, I knew that there was a part of Annie that felt disappointed I had yet to confide in her about Blake. I’d divulged the bare minimum to my best friend—that I was in a relationship, one that I was hiding from our world. Sometimes I wondered if she’d put together the pieces—that the guy from the Met Ball, the guy from Starbucks, and my clandestine boyfriend were all the same person. But if she had, Annie wasn’t letting on.
“Right, that would be a great idea,” I answered sarcastically, giving her an exaggerated eye roll for good measure. “Subject him to my parents precisely when my mother is at her most neurotic. Trust me, I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. She’s acting like my eighteenth birthday is bigger than the royal wedding—there’s no way I’m exposing him to that level of crazy.”