Heist Aches
by Carmela B.
The morning of November 14 in the little town of Avalon, New York began much like any other dreary autumn day. The sky was overcast, the trees were nearly bare, and there was a brisk wind that caused the leaves littering the ground to be strewn into the street. It was a quiet day, as very few were keen to venture outdoors. By all accounts, a rather forgettable morning.
On this particular day, Mrs. Amy Perliton was responsible for the opening shift of the Burnham & Burnham Luxury Depository Association. Upon entering the front doors at 8:06 am (she was a little late on account of struggling to locate her house keys), she was shocked to discover the building to have been breached. At closer inspection, the primary safety deposit box had been unlocked, and its contents missing.
The primary safe had been under the ownership of the Lexington family, who were well known old money in Avalon, as well as in the national jewelry market. Initial investigation estimated the value of the stolen goods to be approximately 10.2 million dollars.
Junior Senior Detective Libby H. Graves shut the thin case folder sitting in her lap. She glanced out the window of the black Mercedes she currently sat in, furrowing her brow. Something bothered her about this case. Burnham & Burnham was the most prestigious and secure vault in the state, possibly in the country, and yet some simple burglar broke into its most highly guarded safe under the cover of night? That was the type of case you heard about some local bank or museum, or maybe a gaudy family’s vacation home. It was not the type of crime that occured in a 150 year old highly guarded vault whose business model depended on its security. Something about this case was definitely odd. But then again, Libby’s nerves had been acting up all week. This was the most important case of her career so far, as it would decide if she would earn the promotion she had spent the last eight months working toward .
A harsh rap against the window shook Libby H. Graves, known simply as Graves to her fellow detectives, from her thoughts. Always one for a professional appearance, she straightened out her tie and brushed invisible dust from her pristinely ironed coffee-colored vest.
“Good morning, princess! Earth to Graves?” called a teasing voice from outside. Primary Detective Clark, one of the top investigators in the region, top lovers of espresso, and Libby’s associate. More of a mentor, really. Libby gave a tight grin, opening the door of the car and exiting into the cold air. She tied her tan trench coat around her waist and freed her curly hair from the collar. Before her stood the B&B bank, its main entrance roped off with yellow caution tape. Libby followed Detective Clark’s easy stride to the front doors, ducking under the plastic tape and into the building.
The first hour of her search had done little to aid Libby’s ability to solve the case. If anything, it made her more confused. The primary safe had seven layers of security, was located in the very center of the building (which ruled out a simple back-door entrance), and was thoroughly guarded by cameras. This was the aspect that irked Libby the most. It was one thing to surpass seven layers of industrial level security measures, but it was another thing entirely to do so without so much as triggering an alarm or being seen by a security camera. There had been no alarm last night alerting of someone entering the building, let alone breaking into its most precious vault.
Libby tapped her notepad against her forehead, trying to force her thoughts forward. She usually had at least a few leads or inklings by now, if she had not already reached conclusions about the case. She squeezed her eyes shut against the throbbing stress headache that sat rudely behind her eyes. It was certainly not helping that this case would decide if she qualified for promotion from Junior Senior Detective to simply Senior Detective.
Libby allowed herself a small groan of frustration, three deep breaths, and ten seconds before she returned to her investigation. There was obviously something she had missed. There is always evidence of the truth. She just needed to find it.
The morning of November 14 aboard the Eastern Express Railway Train #127 was shaping up to be one for the history books for one Mallory Q. Bexley. The sun shone through the pristinely clear windows, a rare occasion on the East Coast in late autumn. She closed her eyes and stretched, soaking in the warm embrace of the sun, which seemed to congratulate her on a job well done. After a few moments of golden warmth, Mallory opened her eyes and combed her pale blonde hair from its ponytail. Its tips were dyed deep jewel shades of sapphire and garnet, which seemed to blend together in certain light to be amethyst purple. She had needed to be seen on this train and remembered. Now that she was safely on board and en route to the beginning of her new life, she didn’t need to worry about that anymore.
Mallory couldn’t help but touch the small, smooth loop that sat under her shirt and jacket. She ran her fingers over its smooth and cool edges, proof that this was all real. Of course the rest of it was far, far away already; she wasn’t stupid, but she couldn’t resist taking a small piece of it with her as a token of the last eight months of her hard work. She wondered if the detectives had arrived yet at the vault. She wished she could see the look on her face, confounded by the scene. Of course, Mallory was sure there would be nothing pointing back to her, that was the first thing she made sure of, but she did wish she could be there to experience the greatest reward of her labor. Mallory pulled the chain that hung under her layers of clothing out to examine the delicate ring that hung upon it: the Lexington Diamond. It was a comforting weight against her heart. The deep blue hue of the oval gem sparkled in the morning sunlight and reminded Mallory of a clear night of stars. A smile spread across her lips. She couldn’t help it, victory tasted so sweet. Your move, Libby Graves.
About the Author
When Carmela isn’t writing, she enjoys drawing, dancing ballet, and catching up on her favorite shows. She hopes to eventually publish her stories.
youthambush.com 