I looked down at the platters of pizza, fries, pasta and slices of fruit presented before us, as Elliot and I sat at the study table of my father's room, after Sonia closed the door on us with a much satisfied look.
"Do you always happen to have women's perfume in your bag?" I pushed aside some of the food in front of me and set down my laptop.
"It was a fortunate turn of events. Got a unisex perfume from someone this morning, knew that Sonia Adams is a collector of perfumes." Elliot surveyed the room we were in with open interest, picked up a slice of pizza, and started eating.
'Mrs. Adams' that and 'Mrs. Adams' this in front of Sonia, and now, back to 'Sonia Adams'.
"I presume this is your father's study?" After swallowing a mouthful, he pointed to the glass casing sitting by the window side housing exactly eleven car keys. "The car brands. Your father's favourites."
I was even getting accustomed to the discomfort that arose from just how much Elliot Lockwood knew about my family.
"Really. Why are you doing all this?" I asked, ignoring his remark. "Helping me prove my dad's innocence. Trying to dig out dirt on your parents. Revealing both to the press in a few months' time. For revenge?"
Elliot shrugged, chewing. "Partly."
"You know better than me. Lockwood Co. is a massive company. Even if you succeed in taking down your father from his position, the company will go on like nothing happened, after some time. Your father will go on living like nothing happened, too. You can't break a stone with an egg."
"I know." Elliot took up another slice of pizza, and sipped a glass of coke. Then, matter-of-factly, he said, "I know the egg will break trying to break the stone. But it'll at least leave a mark of its yolk, won't it?"
"The egg won't benefit at all. It'll just break." The words left a sour taste in my mouth. "You're manipulative enough. Just make use of your family. Go along with what they want, keep your mouth shut and head down. Get shares of the company, become more powerful and influential, enough to actually have an impact when you're older."
"And here I thought you were an innocent young lady," Elliot cocked his head, grinning. He emptied the glass of coke, drinking like he'd been deprived of water for long. "What a plan."
Then, he put down the glass, and dabbed his mouth with tissue, and ever so casually, said, "But do you think they'll let me become powerful and influential enough to take them down?"
Keeping up with the Lockwoods was a thing because Elliot completed the picture perfect family of four. The handsome, young, charming, polite kid who was mercifully and ever so graciously adopted from an orphanage.
I'd seen pap shots. Of Elliot, arms linked with his adoptive mother Isabella Lockwood, both with their smiles fitting for a commercial.
One shot was enough for everything both had on- from lipstick, shirt, jeans, dress, bag to even the lip balms they used- to be sold out within minutes of the release of the photo.
Elliot Lockwood treated the world like the stage of a play, like a photo zone, and for a reason. He'd been the Lockwood's tool of good PR all his life.
"I see that look on your face. Like you feel bad for me." Elliot nodded in satisfaction. "Goal achieved."
With a roll of my eyes, I switched on FaceTime. "I'm calling Ian. I'll introduce you to him, take my time calling Bianca, and come back."
"Keeping whatever we're doing a secret, includes keeping everything a secret from Bianca Owen." Elliot popped in a slice of an apple into his mouth, smiling.
"Of course. I don't want her to get into this dirty mess," I said icily, starting the call.
"Not that you don't trust her to keep your secrets?"
"I guess you'd never felt like you could trust Noah with your secrets. Does he know? Why you were out in the park that night?"
Elliot swallowed his mouthful, and seeming unaffected by my words, said ever so blasely, "I don't want him to get into this dirty mess either."
Ian's face came into the screen, and he greeted me with his usual cheery wave. "Hey, kiddo!"
For as long as I could remember, Ian had always worn a pair of dark blue, wire-framed glasses, which had become a part of his lean, always clean-shaven face.
For a man turning fifty-five this year, the only trace of a wrinkle was the dimple-like line that paved next to his mouth when he smiled- always with a light, hoarse laugh.
And as always, he wore a polo shirt buttoned to the top, and had his deep ginger hair- which never showed signs of turning grey- combed back with gel.
When he saw Elliot by my side, his smile faded as quickly as it'd appeared.
"So the tabloid was true for once." In Ian's backdrop was the cubicle of his office at Horan Holdings.
He folded his arms across his chest, his face hardened.
"Elliot Lockwood, if you have any sense of shame, you wouldn't have even talked to Clare. You have no idea what your father did to her family-"
"Wait, wait. Ian." I cut in, knowing once Ian started, it would be hard to stop him. "Lockwood- I mean, Elliot- wants to talk to you."
"Talk? To me?" Ian let out a loud sigh, pressing his temple hard with the back of his ballpoint pen.
"Good afternoon, sir."
There was little trace of the Elliot I'd seen in school, the boy with perpetual smiles, who effortlessly attracted everyone, who was never nervous, never tried hard to please.
Slightly cautious, wary, apologetic, and even respectful- Elliot greeted Ian.
It'd scarcely been a whole day since I'd seen this boy, and I'd already seen so many different faces he put on.
This one was new. It made him look almost genuine, almost innocent, vulnerable, even.
Almost imperceptibly, the tension in Ian's face slackened, just a little.
Still with his arms crossed, he said curtly, "What do you want from me?"
This was a good start. I'd half expected Ian to simply close his laptop. He was giving Elliot a chance.
I pointed to my phone, standing. "Ian, I'll take a call from Bianca. You two can have a talk."
~ * ~
"You're with who?"
"Noah. Noah Hall." From the other end of the call, Bianca cleared her throat nervously. "We're having, um, early dinner."
"You're having what?" I blinked. "Oh, are you two working on a group project together?"
"Uh- no."
"Are you being blackmailed by him?"
"No!"
I paused. "Are you danger? And this is a sign you're giving me?"
Bianca sighed loudly. "No. We're just having waffles, and he went to the bathroom."
"Why are you having waffles with Noah?"
"I only knew that his mother was real estate tycoon Rachel Duke."
Rachel Duke was as famous for her real estate riches as she was for her signature style of low ponytail, sunglasses and thick Los Angeles accent.
No one could imagine how she looked like with her hair down.
She was the kind of a woman whom people thought would sleep in her pristinely ironed suit, sunglasses and ponytail with not a single strand of hair out of place.
"Uh-huh."
"Bloody hell. I didn't know his father was a pastor."
I adjusted the phone in my hand, leaning back in the armchair of my front porch.
"This conversation is confusing me, Bi. How is his father's occupation relevant to your decision to eat waffles with a guy you were looking at just two hours ago like you wanted to gorge out his eyeballs?"
"I mean, Noah Hall seems more decent than I thought."
"His father being a pastor suddenly makes him look more attractive?"
It had been a significant few years since I knew Bianca, but I could never fully grasp what she was thinking.
"Attrac- no, he's not attractive," said Bianca firmly. "He's definitely handsome, but he's not attractive. That's for sure. I'm just saying. His dad's a pastor."
Handsome, but not attractive. I smiled a little. "Your repeated denials are sounding a lot like a yes to me."
"I'm being bloody honest. I was just craving waffles, and he happened to come along. You remember? I like quiet, studious guys, guys who don't have like a million girls' numbers in their phone book."
I ignored her last remark, stifling a laugh. So that was where Noah Hall's father being a pastor suddenly came from. "You let him go with you?"
"Oh, bloody hell, he's coming. Talk to you later. I have a million questions for you too. Have fun with Elliot."
Before I could say anything, Bianca hurriedly hung up.
It was only slightly past five-oh-clock, but first day of school had felt like a couple of days.
Only the first day, and I'd broken the promise to myself- to keep my head down, to ignore the whispers, to graduate without getting into any mess.
My phone buzzed. Ian was calling.
"Hey, how did the talk with Elliot go?" I treaded cautiously.
Ian's voice was much gentler than when he'd first seen Elliot through the screen.
"The boy you're dating. He seems like a real decent kid. You have good eyes for good people."
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded drily, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "Yeah?"
"I told Elliot I'll be investigating. The disappearance of his mother- Sophia Chase years ago, and the even more recent disappearance of her neighbor, Katherine Cole.
"Definitely can't get the cops involved- since we're dealing with the Lockwoods- so I'll work with a trusted private investigator. We're going to get to the bottom of all this." Ian's voice was soft. "Hope both of them will at least be alive somewhere. Poor kid."
Poor kid? Where had that come from?
"If you start investigating and you think things are starting to look really dangerous- please, pull out." I swallowed hard. "Really."
"Elliot's helping us too. He's certain that three years ago, his father was in the wrong." Ian was determined. And for the first time in three years, his voice was full of energy, of drive. Elliot was right. Ian was someone whose energy in life was fueled by his vocation as a journalist. "No evidence, but we're going to solve that issue too."
"...How do you find Elliot?"
"He seems like someone with an intact sense of conscience. Feels ashamed for what his father's done. He said he really likes you- even promised he's going to protect you. What a good boy. Kids nowadays don't have responsibility. He seems to be treating the relationship with you seriously."
Protect. I looked down at the heavy cardboard box that had delivered to our house, sitting in front of my feet. One with no sender, no details.
"Hm."
"I told Elliot this too, but- you and Elliot, should get as little involved as possible in the investigation. Like you said, things can get dangerous."
"Precisely that, Ian. If things get too dangerous, promise me to pull out. I know you're doing this for my dad and for me, but-"
"Yes, I'm doing this for you and your dad. But I'm also doing this for me, and you know, I'm someone who went after corrupt presidential candidates, too," Ian said with a chuckle. "I won't put myself in danger. I promise."
"Okay. Love you."
"Kisses and hugs, little dragon."
Little dragon. That was the nickname Ian had given me when I was about seven, eight years old.
After having a conversation about Zodiac signs with his journalist friend based in China, Ian had teased me about how it was so fitting I was born in the year of the dragon.
"The way you look when you're angry- fumes coming out from your ears- you look just like a dragon," he's remarked with a snicker. "You're blessed with something your father and mother don't have- a temper. What a personality fitting for the journalism industry. You should become a journalist. A journalist needs to be angry about the world, to find out truths."
I chuckled. "Eew. Bye, talk to you later."
Just as I hung up, a knock came on the ajar front door, and Elliot stepped into the porch, sipping a can of coke, wearing a fresh dark blue tee shirt, his hair wet.
I stared. "Did you shower in my house?"
"Finished the call with Ian, and Sonia saw the coffee stain on my shirt. She let me use the guest bathroom," Elliot shrugged, leaning against the door. "Gave me an extra shirt."
Sonia, someone who always double-locked all doors and windows, and never let a guest into the house without staring through the peep hole for a minute?
I crossed my arms. "What did you do to Ian that he seems prepared to call you son-in-law?"
A mischievous grin tugged the corners of Elliot's mouth. "I know, he loves me already."
"Maybe Ian's getting old, lost his touch. Can't see through people as well as he'd done in his younger years," I sighed, shaking my head.
"I was genuine with him, like you told me to be."
"Uh-huh," I said without little attempt to hide my skepticism, standing. "You know what genuine means?"
"Yeah. Everyone has a face that they trust. Someone confident, someone kind, someone apologetic, someone smart, someone patient..." Elliot traced the rim of the coke can. "Being genuine means showing the face that person wants to see, with all your heart."
"What did I expect?" I mumbled. "You're going now, right?"
"No. Sonia's insisting I stay for dinner."
"I thought your mum's cooking?"
"No, my mum really wants to have dinner with me," Elliot smiled sheepishly, and as naturally as if he'd done it many times before, held my hand. "She's gotten into this new hobby of cooking."
Elliot raised his eyebrows, like he didn't know what I was talking about. "My mum disappeared nine years ago. C'mon, let's go in. Sonia's cooking your favorite salmon dish. You're not going to bring that delivery package in?"
Of course. Pap pics of Isabella Lockwood and Elliot going out for dinner were probably perfectly curated shots, too.
"It's probably a chopped up doll, or a beheaded cat. You wanna open it for me?"
"Chopped up doll or beheaded cat," Elliot mused, looking down at the box. Then, he looked at me in the eye. "Did you always get these kind of things delivered to your doorstep?"
"Why, you want to thank your dad on my behalf?" I chucked the box into the trash can.
"No, I'll repent, on my dad's behalf." Elliot gestured to himself. "By giving myself to you, till the end of the year. I'll teach you how to kiss, too. Properly."
With my lips pulled back into a wince of disgust, I opened the door, stepping into the house. "Ah, salmon for dinner. Lovely."