* * *
Sleepy Lake got its name from a peaceful see-through lake on the outskirts of town. Surrounded by rolling hills and lush greenery, tiny cabins and family units dotted the landscape of this cozy American settlement, which lay very close to the border between the states of Kansas and Missouri. A small stream freely cut through the town’s rich geography en route to the Missouri from the highlands.
A strong bridge supported pedestrian and vehicular traffic across this stream, and the road from this bridge led one into the various public places that covered this part of Sleepy Lake.
Such public facilities included a police station, a train station, a post office, a fire service department and a large shopping mall all very close to one another. This arrangement was convenient due to the services these establishments rendered to the public. Nobody had any reason to complain about it since Sleepy Lake was a small community and everybody knew everybody.
The Quentins had always wanted to come down here even when Dad struggled to make ends meet in a new company. Of course, now that Mom could provide everything they’d ever wanted, a better life and a new home in this serene town, far away from the bustling urban city, was no longer a dream. Besides, Mrs. Quentin was a wannabe writer of children’s books and this unique quiet a jungle of skyscrapers could never provide was an added advantage for her.
Lora Quentin’s millions had come to her like a dream when a distant relative of hers, who had bequeathed all his wealth to his ‘dear niece,’ died. And almost immediately after this, the house in Sleepy Lake had come up for sale.
Supported by the pleas of her kids, the yearnings of her heart and the side-comments of her husband, Lora had grabbed this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to move from the city. She could now afford to care for everybody’s needs and have the time to pursue her writing hobby as well, although John, who happens to be her best friend and husband, had always stressed the need for him to continue working as head of the family.
Lora had never minded indulging him. She could afford to.
“I’m taking the Gucci, Mom,” Stephanie announced, pointing at a pink sweater with the popular label embossed on its front. They’d shopped for some groceries in the mall before getting to the clothes line.
“Oh, alright. How much?” Lora asked.
“A . . . hundred?” her younger daughter said, squinting to see the price tag on the jersey’s sleeve.
“Stephanie, that’s too . . .”
“Cheap?” Nora inserted wickedly. She had a big polythene bag and kept looking at some gloves displayed above their heads. Her mother sighed.
“But . . . I like it,” Stephanie cried.
“The sweater’s nice . . . I rather like it, too,” Lora agreed.
“Oh, Jeez. A gang up?” Nora raised her hands in mock despair.
Stephanie became all smiles, but quickly mouthed an ‘o’ when she picked out Nora’s shopping bag. “What are you doing?” she asked, fuming. “Buying the entire mall?”
“No, dearest,” the older girl said with poise, beaming. “Remember, I’m way out of your league?”
“Well, what do you have in there?” her younger sister demanded, peeping into the big polythene. “Soccer balls?”
“Dior undergarments, two Dolce bags, a Chloé high-collared mustard double-button coat,” Nora listed, “Prada shoes, three big shampoo bottles, four Gucci high-heeled pairs, three Armani belts, a pair of Vuitton black gloves, and a Prada dinner dress.” Then after some thought: “Should I get the red gloves as well? Just in case?”
“The Chloé is two thousand, five hundred and seventy dollars, Mom,” Stephanie exclaimed, staring at the price label on its collar. “Such extravagance.” She made a face.
But her mother only smiled. She knew her daughters better than they knew themselves. Nora was the fashion-conscious one and since she was going out on a date with Leonard in a week’s time, the black Prada dinner dress was a nice choice. Stephanie would faint if she noticed the tag on that one!
“Such extravagance,” the little girl repeated. She forgot her mother could easily pay for everything.
“C’mon girls,” Mrs. Quentin announced with a laugh. “I better hurry home to prepare dinner.” A large Harry Potter poster caught her attention and she stood looking at it for a while. Her daughters knew her too well to wait behind her and study the picture with her. Stephanie couldn’t stop giggling and Nora couldn’t help joining her after restraining herself for some time. “What now?” their mother noticed. “You think I won’t get a story like that?”
“You’re rich already, Mom,” Nora said. “Why bother?”
“Being an author . . . exhilarates, dear,” her mother tried to explain. “Life’s not just about riches and wealth, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Any title yet?” Stephanie wondered.
“Still working on it,” Lora confessed. “I have so many I don’t know which one to choose, really.”
“What’s it all about?” Nora asked her.
“Afraid it’s still secret,” her mother refused cheerfully.
“The Fairy Pumpkin?” Stephanie tried.
“Maybe you’ll keep that for your own story,” Nora proposed, laughing.
The Black Book Page 3