Hey Guys!
It's once again Tuesday and I have another Fragile Facade teaser for y'all! With the release coming soon, I hope you guys are getting as excited as I am!
Book: Fragile Facade, Blind Barriers Vol. #3
Release Date: March 2014
Raven
I drove the mile to The Pines, and found rockstar parking directly across from the glass building. For once Darrell was not on duty. His nighttime counterpart was a sleepy-looking security guard with a shaved head and fastidiously groomed beard. I was prepared to launch into my cover story about being Lark’s cousin/friend, but the guard couldn’t be bothered. He tapped the visitor’s log, and asked me for, “Name, date, and time, Miss.”
I smiled and hurriedly scrawled a barely legible signature along with today’s date and 3:43 a.m.
The Pines was eerily quiet, which I actually preferred. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to run into Deirdre or some other nosy neighbor in the wee hours of the morning.
Frigid air conditioning welcomed me into the apartment and I wondered whether utilities were included in the rent. Lark hadn’t left me blank checks for electric company. I flipped the light switch in the small foyer, and then placed my messenger bag and all its contents on the kitchen counter.
“Where to start,” I mumbled aloud to break the silence.
It was too quiet in Lark’s apartment and I found myself jumping at every creak and groan. I’d liked the quiet earlier, but in here it felt ominous. Shaking off my unease, I headed down the short hallway that, presumably, led to the bedroom and bathroom. Thus far I’d only seen the kitchen and living room.
There were three rooms off the hallway. One was a moderately sized bathroom done in smoky-gray marble. Lark had hung a white shower curtain with large silver, black, and red roses, the vibrant flowers giving a much needed pop of color to the otherwise monotone bathroom.
I did a quick check of the medicine cabinet about the sink, and found it empty. The shower appeared unused, the transparent liner still smelling like fresh plastic. Even the roll of toilet paper placed on the dispenser was untouched.
“Okay, moving on,” I said.
Because the complete lack of noise was still getting to me, I left a trail of lights on in my wake. The bright, white illumination gave me a small degree of comfort as I set about snooping into Lark’s life.
The next door I opened led to a small guest bedroom. A daybed was against one wall, covered in a white brocade quilt and decorative pillows. The closet was small, barely large enough for one week’s worth of clothing but none had been hung on the bar. It was completely empty. The walls, too, were bare. There weren’t even any scuff marks on the white paint from setting up the bed.
“Another dead end,” I sighed.
Finally, at the end of the hallway I found the master suite. In contrast to the bathroom and the guest bedroom, this room was huge and more in line with what I would expect in a luxury penthouse apartment. Lark’s bed was a California King, the pale blue down comforter neatly arranged beneath enough throw pillows to fill my car. Unlike the daybed in the guest room, I got the impression that this bed had been slept in at some point. I couldn’t put my finger on how I knew this to be true, but I did.
The room smelled faintly of perfume that I could only describe as expensive. The walls were still white and held neither framed photos of Lark, Blake, or her friends, nor expensive prints that I might have expected. Still, the master bedroom felt as though someone had spent time there.
A sleek glass desk with a large Mac monitor caught my attention. Besides the computer screen, only a thin layer of dust sat on top of the glass. I sat in Lark’s leather desk chair, absently noting how insanely comfortable it was, and began opening the desk’s drawers. There were two short, squat drawers on either side, and one long, narrow one top center. I started with the ones that looked like filing cabinets.
The first drawer that I opened contained a ream of plain white printer paper and a box of equally as boring envelopes. I took a minute to flip through both the stack of paper and the envelopes to make sure they were all blank. They were. Next, I found a drawer full of office supplies. Binder clips, gel pens, markers, pencils, post it notes, you name and Lark Kingsley had it. The supplies all looked brand new and I wondered if she’d purchased it with a purpose in mind.
Finally, I struck gold – sort of – when I found a manila file folder. The folder was unlabeled and inside was one slip of yellow carbon copy paper that had “Bill of Lading” at the top. It was a handwritten work order for some place called “A Touch Nut to Crack.” Under the item(s) and description(s) column there were two items. The first was 3000XPS. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I noticed the price for the 3000XPS: Ten thousand dollars. What on earth had Lark paid that much money for?
The second item was “installation” and had a high, yet much more manageable, price attached. At the bottom of the receipt the words “PAID IN FULL” had been written in all caps with “cash” scrawled beneath. She’d been careful to leave as little of a paper trail as possible, I realized.
I stared at the receipt, reading it top to bottom for any clues. Lark had been extremely careful to this point. Did that mean she wanted me to find this? There was no note attached, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a purposeful clue, right? Everything was a clue, I decided. At least I was going to treat everything like it was a clue.
I left the receipt sitting on the top of the desk, and resumed searching. There was nothing else noteworthy in Lark’s desk, so I moved on to the closet. And wow was it a closet. Part of what had sold me on Kim’s place was the size of the closet with all its built-in shelving, but it paled in comparison to Lark’s digs. And unlike me, Lark had more than enough clothing to fill the space.
Everything was neatly organized with jeans, dress slacks, dresses, and skirts – all arranged according to season – on the left side of the walk-in, and tank tops, printed tees, sweaters, and coats on the right side. Racks of shoes lined the bottom half of the left side. I spun around in the middle of the closet, letting myself temporarily forget my mission and the missing heiress. This closet was like a slice of heaven, I decided.
I ran my hands over the soft fabrics, pretending for a brief moment that this was my closet and these were my clothes. That was when I noticed the truly strange part. Nearly all the clothes still had tags on them. Lark hadn’t shipped her Manhattan wardrobe down here; she’d purchased an entirely new wardrobe.
I tamped down the flare of resentment that fact invoked, and had to remind myself that we were from different worlds. People like Lark Kingsley, people who could afford to drop ten thousand dollars on something and buy cashier’s checks for a year’s worth of rent, were the same people who replaced a garment the instant it was out of fashion. Though, I was pretty sure that was not why Lark had purchased all of these clothes.
The tags were from stores I shopped at: Target, Old Navy, Gap, The Limited, and on the pricier end, J. Crew. I knew from reading Lark’s journal that she did not frequent such places. So what was the deal? Was this her attempt at blending in? Was this wardrobe another clue?
I retrieved a small pad of paper and a pen from Lark’s desk and started making an inventory of the items I found in her apartment. After I was finished searching I could look at the list and see if there was a pattern or whatever.
Reluctantly I left the new clothes behind and started going through the master bathroom. The tile was the same smoky gray marble as the other one but Lark had added more personal touches here. There was both a walk-in shower and large soaking tub, complete with jets and steps that you had to climb to get in, that made me want to strip down and take advantage of life’s small luxuries. A light blue bath mat and matching fuzzy toilet seat cover provided splashes of color. Scented candles in that same shade of blue she loved so much were arranged on one corner of the tub. I imagined the scent was something innocuous like seabreeze or ocean spray. Whatever it was called, the effect was soothing.
This medicine cabinet held a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, tweezers, and an eyelash curler of all things. I shuddered when I touched the cool metal of the torture device. The one time I’d used one – for senior prom – I’d torn out half my lashes.
Fatigue was finally starting to catch up with me, but I wanted to finish this initial search of the apartment before returning home. There was a dresser, lingerie chest, and nightstand that I still needed to go through in the bedroom. Then I wanted to do a quick search of the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Maybe “A Tough Nut To Crack” wasn’t the only place Lark had hired to do some custom work.
The dresser held pajamas and workout clothes, all with the tags on them. Her bra and panty collection was the same. I had no problem rifling through her clothes to look for clues. It wasn’t an invasion of her privacy since she’d basically asked me to do just that. Well, she’d asked me to help her, and I took that as an open invitation to invade her privacy. But underwear was where I drew the line. Even though the unmentionables were clearly new, touching them felt wrong and icky. I did, however, make sure that no notes or boxes or false bottoms were hidden in the lingerie chest.
It was in her nightstand that I found the next interesting item: a copy of the Great Gatsby. I let out an audible gasp when I first saw the well-worn book. Our mutual love of the classic novel shouldn’t have come as that big a surprise. After all, I’d read all about a twenties-inspired theme party that Lark had – maybe – attended in her journal. Gatsby was also required reading for most high schools. Still, I found it odd that both of us had only brought one book with us to D.C. and it was the same book.
The other telling item I found in the nightstand was an iPod. A person’s musical preferences can often give you a lot of insight into their life and mental state.
I rubbed my eyes and fought the urge to close them. A pounding headache was developing at the base of my skull. I hadn’t seen any Tylenol in Lark’s medicine cabinet, and I hadn’t thought to bring any with me. The drive back to my place would only take about ten minutes, and that included the time it would take to find parking. Yet, I was suddenly so tired that even ten minutes sounded like a lifetime.
I’ll just rest here, I thought. The place is paid for, and Lark is clearly not using it. Not harm done.
I stretched out on her bed and hit play on her iPod. Sleep finally took me as Green Day sang about the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.