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.
“If that’s a key, it’s the 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. 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. 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 that I’d half-assed studied for—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. Closing my eyes, I pictured all 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. There was no keyhole on or inside the pillbox, so the key didn’t unlock another secret compartment in there. 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.
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; another dead end.
The claim ticket had been hidden with the passport, credit card, and First National Bank card. First National was the same bank that sent Lark statements, and the same bank account that made a recurring payment for the rental of the safety-deposit box.
“Raven?”
The way Asher said my name—as if he was asking a question—I knew it wasn’t the first 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? 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. 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?”
I shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to agree that my theory about the safety-deposit box could be wrong. Feeling defensive, I answered Asher’s question with one of my own.
“Isn’t it worth looking into? I mean, if I’m wrong, we’ll have wasted 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, he didn’t have to. “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 my hand that rested on the table. 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 casual; like I hadn’t just acted like a pouting child. “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 to get the bank statements. They should tell us which branch we need to go to.”
“So, The Pines, and 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, Asher 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 inside my stomach sped up until I thought I might be sick for the second time that day. Nerves, I realized uncomfortably. But why? With every other clue I’d been anxious in the moments just before the reveal. But now, just the thought of going to the bank turned my stomach in knots and gave me chills.
Asher had raised a good point—what could be so important to Lark that she didn’t even trust her own safe? Something personal? Something valuable? Something that explained what the hell had happened to her? Would I finally be able to answer that question?
Earlier, when I told Asher that I’d go to the bank alone, I’d realized that I wanted to do this solo. Asher’s support, especially during my meltdown after discovering the contents in 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 while I appreciated his cheerleading more than I was able to say, 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. That could be more dangerous than anything else I’d gotten into in D.C.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LARK
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, 2:05 P.M. It seemed to take an hour before the digital clock on the wall flipped to 2:06 P.M. As it always does when you’re really looking forward to something, time was dragging. My books and tablet were already tucked inside my tote; a fact that was earning me pointed looks from the teacher.
After four additional 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 ditching her that night made me grab her hand and pull her along, 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, rushing to keep pace with me.
Pushing open the heavy, wooden doors leading to the courtyard, I glanced over at her with a smile. Annie was a 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. There was nothing I disliked more than feeling rushed, and I didn’t want to be stressed out.
“Any chance I’ll be meeting this mystery man tomorrow night?” Annie asked hopefully.
I’d finally told my best friend about my boyfriend, but only the bare minimum to keep her satisfied. Annie didn’t hide her disappointment over my reluctance to confide all the gritty details of my and Blake’s relationship, and I often considered telling her everything. I couldn’t, though. Not yet. One day. Maybe.
Sometimes I wondered if she’d put together the pieces—that the guy from the Met Ball and my clandestine boyfriend were the same person. Sometimes I wished she would figure it out so there would be one less person I was lying to.
“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.”
“Maybe you’re not giving him enough credit,” Annie said, letting her idealism slip in. “Maybe he wants to meet your crazy mother. And your awesome, sweet, funny best friend.”
“Taylor?” I asked with feigned innocence.
Annie snorted and then gave me a pointed look.
“I think you should bring him. It’s your eighteenth birthday. It’s beyond perfect for introductions. You’ve probably built this all up in your head, and it wouldn’t even be a big deal. Unless he’s, like, really, really old. Or weird…like a clown or something. Oh—or your dad’s boss. Wait, does your dad have a boss?”
Giggling at her ability to put things in perspective, I shook my head.
“Perfect! So you’re good to go—no rumormongering!”
Annie’s unyielding optimism was a big part of what had originally drawn me to her in ninth grade. It was why I loved her like a sister. I, of all people, could see how that optimism might be construed as naiveté. Instead, I relied upon it to bolster my own dark, hopeless view of humanity.
“I will certainly ask him,” I said, feeling only a little bad about the lie. No way was I inviting Blake to my party. “But don’t get your hopes up, okay? I don’t want a scene with my parents or the guys, and neither does B—he.”
“I get it.” Annie forced a smile. “Another time?”
“Another time,” I echoed. The crestfallen expression on my best friend’s face drew the next words from my lips. “Want to come over and help me get ready for my date?” I asked, knowing full well that she couldn’t resist the girly tradition.
“Definitely,” Annie answered brightly.
IT WAS IRONIC that I cared most about impressing the person who cared least about my attire. No matter how I looked, Blake’s face lit up every single time he saw me. Maybe I liked the challenge—seeing the extra sparkle in his eyes when I went the extra mile because he knew I’d done so just for him.
For tonight, I’d gone for uptown chic in a classic, black Chanel dress with a scooped back. To add a hint of edge, I paired it with booties and black tights with a seam up the back. All in all, I was feeling rather sassy.
Annie was curled up on my bed, leaning against the headboard. She had my oversized digital photo frame in her lap and was flipping through pictures from freshman year. Each photo seemed to remind Annie of a funny story about the night it had been taken.
I pulled a gray, patent-leather tote from the shelf in my closet and giggled along with her.
“I can’t believe I left the house with my hair like that! And I can’t believe your mother didn’t kill the girl at Freddie’s for giving you cat eyes! Speaking of eyes, have you ever noticed Brent’s? They’re this amazing shade of, like, honey-brown….”
As Annie segued into the cute, new transfer student, I scurried around my closet, only half listening to her twentieth diatribe about his New England accent and boarding-school background. I added a pair of comfy, worn-in jeans and blue oxfords to the tote, just in case I had to go straight to the salon for my hair appointment the next day. The silk shorts and matching camisole that I grabbed were a peacock blue, the same shade and material as the lingerie I was wearing. Adding decidedly less fancy unmentionables for the next day, I only had to grab my travel toothbrush, and I was good to go.
Instead of heading straight for the bathroom, I plopped down in my armchair to give Annie my full attention for a few minutes. Her not-so-subtle, repeated mentions of Brent weren’t normal for Annie, though that didn’t make them any less transparent. I knew very little about the guy myself. But I had yet to hear anything scandalous about him in the month he’d been attending Gracen—news of scandals traveled swiftly in our set—and our guys thought he was too square to be a good time. So, all-in-all, Brent What’s-His-Name was probably a decent guy.
As Annie mentioned his name again, I hid a smile. And a quick prick of jealousy. Gabbing to my friends about Blake wasn’t something I’d ever really longed for, wasn’t exactly my style, but it would’ve been nice to have the option. Regardless, I was all for this budding romance. I’d been feeling increasingly guilty about the amount of time I was spending with Blake and hated the thought of Annie feeling as though she’d been abandoned.
Now that I understood so much more about love and emotions than I had before meeting Blake, I understood what Annie had been gushing about since the moment I met her. Of course, at the time, I’d thought she was living on a different planet, with no semblance of reality. Since finding out what a relationship could be, I wanted Annie to have everything she’d been dreaming about.
“Did you know he’s in my AP History class?” Annie asked.
I smiled. I did know that because she’d told me several times, but I was quick to say, “He is?” as though that was a new piece of information.
“He sits next to the guy in front of me, and he gets the most adorable look on his face when he’s concentrating. And when he wears his glasses…wow…he’s really good-looking. Maybe even too good-looking, you know? I hate when guys know how handsome they are. It’s obnoxious. And yet, they can get away with it, precisely because they are.”
I loved seeing Annie like this. Figuring I might get an extra wish since I was turning eighteen, I used one for Annie.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” I said, smiling fondly. “He is really cute, but obviously he doesn’t let that define him. If he did, you know he’d be hanging out with our guys and making the rounds of the girls in school. In which case, we would’ve heard about it. It’s a shame he wasn’t around when we made the guest list for tomorrow night.”
“Oh! No, I mean, I know. I wasn’t saying—I understand,” she said.
“Luckily, we both know my mother, and we both know she’s ordered enough food and alcohol to accommodate everyone in Manhattan. You should invite
him! You know…as your date,” I suggested.
Since Annie wore her feelings on her sleeve, I could pinpoint the exact moment she went from disappointed, to intrigued, to excited, to nervous.
“Nope, no way,” she laughed off the suggestion. “It’s your night. What kind of best friend would I be if I made it about me and this hot new guy?”
“The kind that does what the birthday girl says,” I replied with mock sternness. “And if you’re worried about it being awkward, just tell him how privileged he should feel to not only be graced with your presence, but to be invited to the party of the millennium: my birthday!”
A pillow sailed through the air, smacking me right in the nose. Her aim was a little off with the second fluffy missile and it slid over the top of my head. Annie snorted, apparently laughing at the new hairdo the static energy had given me. I sent it flying back to her, followed by one of the many decorative ones from my chair.
“Invite the man!” I choked out through my laughter, sending a barrage of throw pillows her way. “Make him your lo-vah! Waltz your way into his heart!”
My encouragement was rewarded with another pillow to the face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RAVEN
DITCHING ASHER PROVED impossible. It seemed he was more determined than ever to keep me in his sights. Not wanting me to run off to Lark’s apartment alone in the middle of the night was understandable; it really wasn’t very safe for a girl to be running around D.C. by herself in the wee hours of the morning. But a trip to the bank in the middle of the day? Not the least bit dangerous. When I pointed this out, however, Asher played his trump card.
“What if you find more documents with your name on them? Or pictures of yourself? Sorry to bring it up, but you lost it last night, Raven. Don’t get me wrong—if I were in your situation, I would’ve had the same reaction. But don’t you think it will be better if I’m there, just in case?”