Snow White and the Seven Murders

by Amorette Anderson

  She was anxious to return Amir Malick’s call.

  Hopefully, he would have some interesting information to offer her so that she could spice up her article.

  2

  While returning to her desk, Sara whispered the name of her caller from Sand Hills under her breath, trying out different pronunciations.

  “Ah-meer Ma-leek,” she said.

  Then, “A-mir, Ma-lick. Leek? Lick? Ah-meer Ma-lick.” She didn’t want to get the conversation off on the wrong foot by pronouncing his name wrong, but it was an unfamiliar name that felt cumbersome on her tongue. Was it Egyptian? Indian? Something else?

  Taking a seat at her desk, she lifted her office phone and dialed the number right away. Getting the quote from this man was priority number one.

  The number was an international one, and she had to punch in her employee long distance code to complete the call. She waited while it was connected, imagining her request bouncing up to a satellite in space and being received on a cell tower somewhere in the middle east.

  She expected the person on the other end of the line to speak choppy English at best, or perhaps no English whatsoever. Seeing as the company was trying to buy a mine in the US, she hoped that he had studied some English, but with these international deals, you just never knew.

  He must be able to speak some English, she told herself, as she listened to the phone ring. I just hope his accent isn’t too thick, so I can understand what he’s saying.

  She was surprised when the man on the other end of the line answered in smooth, flowing English, completely void of an accent—except for perhaps a hint of a British lilt.

  “Hello, this is Amir speaking.” His voice was deep. He sounded relatively young—in his thirties or forties perhaps.

  “Hi, Amir?” She was relieved to simply repeat his name back to him, pronouncing it just as he had: Ah-meer. “This is Sara White. I’m a reporter from the Dayton City Newspaper, and I’m calling because I’d love to ask you a few questions about your possible acquisition of the Peak Mine.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Hello Sara. My assistant told me that you’d left her a message with our PR department.” His tone was warm, and surprisingly friendly for a businessman. He sounded refreshingly un-hurried, as though he might be sitting outside somewhere, looking out over water or a garden.

  Sara thought again of her own front yard—and the rose bushes that her roommates so meticulously pruned.

  “Do you have a moment?” she asked Amir, though she picked up from his tone that he had all the time in the world.

  “I do,” Amir said. “Thank you for your interest in the deal. It’s my sincere hope that Sand Hills will gain ownership of the Peak Mine within the next few days. Well... between you and me... the next few hours, really. Our lawyers are working on it as we speak.”

  “Thank you, Amir. Actually, I’m looking for information that you’re willing to share with the public. Can I quote you there?” She was jotting down words as she spoke. She read them back to Amir. “You said, ‘It’s my sincere hope that Sand Hills will gain ownership of the Peak Mine within the next few days’... and then, ‘well, the next few hours, really’. Is it alright to share that?”

  “Yes, Sara, you may.” Amir said. Then he chuckled. “You’re very polite for a reporter.”

  “You catch more bees with honey than vinegar,” Sara said.

  Amir offered another easy laugh. “It seems to me that bees catch people with honey, and not the other way around.”

  Sara smiled at Amir’s observation. He was witty, too. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But what I mean is, in my profession, it pays off to be nice. Business articles tend to be mutually beneficial. You help me out by delivering interesting information, and I help you by spreading that information. Most companies want the press.”

  “And Sand Hills is no different,” Amir agreed. “Yes, absolutely, use the quote if you think it’s suitable. What else would you like to know?”

  “What’s your final offer for the mine?”

  “At this time, our offer stands at 20.8 million,” Amir said. “As I mentioned, our company lawyers are in a meeting right now, and we’ll see if that number changes.”

  “What is the New York company offering?” Sara asked. Her eyes quickly went to the Post-it Note stuck to the edge of her computer screen, where she’d jotted down the company name. “HiTech Minerals—can you divulge what they’ve put on the table?”

  “20.6 million,” Amir answered. “We just out bid them two hours ago. I believe we found their hard limit.” He sounded quite happy about this fact.

  “If you acquire the mine, will you manage it from...” She hesitated and then tried to pronounce the awkward sounding name, “Qu’abar?”

  “No, no,” Amir said. “I only return home to Qu’abar once a quarter. I spend most of my time here in the States. Hence, the acquisition. I’m interested in building up Sand Hills’ state-side assets.”

  Sara felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment over her assumption. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just saw that Sand Hills had foreign headquarters and I thought you must live there. Your number is international as well...”

  “I really need to change that,” Amir said warmly. “It’s not a problem at all. Most people hear my name and imagine I might ride into the next business meeting on a camel.”

  Sara felt her blush grow deeper. She had pictured Amir in traditional Egyptian attire, and riding a camel wasn’t far from her imaginings.

  “Where are you located in the States?” she asked.

  “Not far from Peak Mine, actually. I’m in Washton.”

  “You live in Washton?” Sara’s surprise grew with each word Amir spoke. She felt strangely happy to know that this kind man lived in just the next town over, a suburb of Dayton known for being very well-to-do. “My father lives in Washton!” she exclaimed. “I grew up there!”

  Then, realizing that she was getting off track, she fired off another question. “What is your position within the Sand Hills company? Are you a manager, or a partner, or...” She trailed off, leaving room for him to supply an answer.

  His voice sounded young—too young to be the owner of a well-established business. However, she didn’t want to stick her foot in her mouth for a second time.

  “I’m the owner,” Amir said, surprising Sara yet again.

  He sounds so young! she thought to herself. Surely not over forty. How is it that he owns such a well-established business?

  That question was beyond the boundaries of the conversation at hand, so again she forced herself to get back on track.

  “And what is your interest in owning assets in the US, exactly?” she asked, while reaching for a second legal pad that was filled with notes off of her desk. “I see that your company owns several REE mines, all across the globe. Why not focus on one area?”

  “We live in a very turbulent times,” Amir said thoughtfully.

  Sara jotted down his words as she spoke. The beginning had the makings of a great quote.

  He continued. “Instead of owning assets in one country, our company likes to spread across several so that we can weather political storms. I learned this from my father, King Masuda Malick, who owned a car manufacturing company in China. His business ventures suffered when China experienced political upheaval in the eighties. He gained stability when he moved his manufacturing plants to several different countries—the States, Switzerland, and Japan.”

  Sara stopped writing, stunned by Amir’s words. “Your father is a King?” she asked, just to make sure she heard him right. “You mean...” she flipped backwards to a previous page on her legal pad. She scanned the notes she’d scrawled down about Qu’abar. It was definitely a monarchy. She continued. “Is he the ruler of your country?”

  “That’s correct,” Amir said.

  “Then that makes you... a prince?” She was having a hard time believing that this relaxed, friendly man from Washton was actually royalty.

&nbs
p; “Technically,” Amir said. “Yes, I am.”

  Sara was so stunned that for a few seconds, she could think of nothing at all to say.

  Amir soothed over the silence by continuing un-prompted. “My country is very small, Sara. When I am there, I am treated as a member of the royal family. But when I am not there, I am just a regular guy.”

  Just a regular guy! Sara grinned to herself. Not only was he friendly, witty, and successful, but he was humble as well.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to keep my family lineage out of your article,” Amir said. “I prefer to build my reputation in the business world based solely on my deeds and actions, not on my father’s position as ruler.”

  “I understand how that is,” Sara said, crossing out the word “Prince” on her notepad.

  “You do?” Amir asked.

  “A little bit too well,” Sara said, and then left it at that. She had no intention of telling Amir her own family history. It was her job to get information from him—not the other way around.

  She flipped the page over again, returning to the quote she had been writing. “Let me repeat that back to you,” she said. “I want to make sure I have it right. You said, ‘Instead of owning assets in one country, our company likes to spread across several so that we can weather political storms.’ Did I get it?”

  “That’s it,” Amir said.

  “Great,” Sara said, glancing at the digital clock on the lower corner of her screen. It was now 3:00, and she had only an hour left to finish up the article. “I think I have what I need.”

  She scanned the page. 20.8 million on the table, his motivation for buying, and two possible quotes to boot.

  She tapped her pen on the page. “Yes, this is great. Thank you for your time, Amir.”

  “My pleasure,” Amir said graciously. “Perhaps we’ll speak again once the sale goes through, which I am confident it will. It’s going to be good for the industry, as well. Did you know that HiTech Minerals is closing in on a monopoly of REE mines in the US? The Peak Mine is the only REE mine in the US that they don’t own.”

  “I wasn’t aware...” Sara said, while writing furiously. This was more good stuff. She wanted to catch every word.

  Amir continued. “If HiTech gets it, they’re going to be able to raise prices unchecked. We both know that’s not good for the economy. I assume as a business reporter you have some background in economics?”

  Sara felt herself flush. She liked talking to this man, but she wasn’t about to divulge her educational background—or lack thereof—to him.

  That topic was strictly off limits—to everyone.

  “I understand a thing or two about the economy,” she said vaguely. Then, before he could ask another question, she added, “I wasn’t aware that HiTech had a monopoly. Or rather, that they’re close to having one.”

  “They won’t, if I can help it,” Amir said happily. “You have my number. This is my private cell. Call any time, Sara.”

  “Thank you, Amir. Good luck with your purchase.”

  She hung up the phone and then sat for a minute in silence. It wasn’t long lasting, because soon Cinda’s head poked around the edge of her cubicle. “Did I hear you ask that guy if he was a prince?” Cinda asked, raising her brows.

  Sara nodded. “It’s probably not that big of a deal. I think the country is about the size of Connecticut. I was looking at a map earlier—”

  “But still!” Cinda interjected. “A prince!”

  “He says that it’s only when he’s home that he’s treated as royalty,” Sara said, trying to recall Amir’s exact words. “I guess that makes sense. He may be a prince in his homeland, but here he’s just... a regular guy.” She smiled as she repeated Amir’s words, recalling the honey-warm tone of his deep voice as he’d said the same phrase.

  “What’s that?” Cinda said, motioning with her pointer finger to the smile flitting over Sara’s lips. “That... look. What is that?”

  Sara quickly rearranged her lips.

  “Do you like this guy, Sara?” Cinda asked.

  “I don’t even know him!” Sara said. “How could I possibly like him? I had one conversation with the man. Now, I’d really better get to work on this article. I think I have an idea about how I can spice it up a bit.”

  As usual, her conversation with Amir had presented her with plenty of juicy details that her hours of research had lacked. That was usually the case. Nothing could beat information that came straight from the horse's mouth.

  She scanned over her article, noting the parts where the pace dragged and the facts fell flat. It was interesting that HiTech was closing in on a monopoly over the REE industry. I’ll use that, she thought, as she began typing. After pumping out two paragraphs of prose, she paused to do some research.

  What other mines had HiTech snapped up? A bit of digging online revealed several names, and she began to form a list on one of her yellow legal pads.

  As she dug, the list continued to grow longer and longer.

  Soon she had six names written on the pad—all of REE mines that HiTech had snapped up within the last two years.

  They’re moving awfully fast, she thought to herself, as she clicked on an article about a recent acquisition.

  The piece started out in much the same way that her own would—with a quick background about what rare earth elements are, and what they’re used for. Then the article transitioned into a discussion about why the mine was up for sale.

  The previous owner had died—in a car crash, at night.

  What a weird coincidence, Sara thought. She jotted down a few notes on her pad.

  These mine owners must be working long hours... to the point of exhaustion. Does everybody work long hours these days? What stressful times we live in, she thought.

  She moved on, quickly pulling up another article.

  Goosebumps erupted on her arms as she scanned the page and familiar words popped out at her. The mine was up for sale because the owner had “... died in an unfortunate accident on a remote road at night.”

  Sara bit the end of her pen, and glanced at the computer clock. It was 3:30. She had to start typing if she had any hope of turning her article in for tomorrow’s paper.

  Curiosity got the best of her. She pulled up information about the four other mine sales. Now her goosebumps turned to shiver of fright as she read the same words, four more times. Car accident. Nighttime. Tragic death.

  Seven mine owners had died in the past two years in exactly the same way... by accident? Impossible.

  But what was the alternative?

  Did someone kill the owners?

  Had she just uncovered seven murders—all with the same means?

  That meant serial killer. Did she really have a serial killer on her hands?

  She closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. She felt eerily like someone might be watching her, over her shoulder. The sensation was uncomfortable, and she opened her eyes to look over her shoulder.

  No one was there.

  She took another deep breath, and then closed down the most recent article she’d been reading. Her almost-complete draft filled the screen once again. A habitual sense of responsibility to complete her work on time took over, and she forced her fingers to type out a final paragraph and a conclusion.

  She mentioned HiTech’s recent spree of acquisitions, but did not bring up the deaths. I need to research more, she thought to herself. There must be a logical explanation for this.

  With shaky hands, she printed her draft, and placed it in a manila folder. With the folder under her arm, she marched towards Ed’s office, determined not to be late.

  3

  Sara stepped into Ed’s office at exactly 4:00, and was happy to see that she was the first to arrive to the meeting.

  That meant she had Ed all to herself, for just a moment.

  Ed had thick, sandy blonde hair, chiseled features, and was fit for his age—sixty-two. He smiled as Sara entered, but he didn’t stand. />
  She frowned. “You look pale,” she said. It was the first she’d seen him all day. “Did you sleep last night?”

  “It’s nothing,” Ed said, maintaining his smile despite Sara’s concern.

  “No... it’s not nothing. Have you been skipping meals again?”

  “Stop your worrying, Snow,” he said, using his nickname for her. “I’m okay. How are you? You look beautiful, as usual. You got my message from Bea, I see?”

  “You could have just texted me,” Sara said.

  “No, no. You said no calls to your private cell at work,” Ed said. He smiled. “I’ll play by the rules.”

  Sara returned the grin. “Thanks, Dad,” she said. She reached his side and he stood, finally, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

  Yes, he was still fit, but slighter than he used to be. Sara squeezed his biceps as they parted. “You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?” she asked.

  Her father had been away on business for the past three days, and in that short amount of time he already looked different. “Have you been drinking the protein shakes that I recommended?”

  A crease of worry formed on her brow. She moved one hand from his bicep to his forehead. “Are you warm? Dad... you’re warm. Do you feel alright?”

  Ed sat. “Darling, I’m fine. I have cancer, not the plague. And I’m getting treatments. Plus, those shakes taste like liquid chalk.”

  “They’re good for you,” Sara said, just as the office door opened. Sara swiftly changed her expression, posture, and the tone of her voice. Straightening her spine, she placed the manila folder on Ed’s desk, as if delivering it was the reason for her close proximity. “And there’s my feature for tomorrow,” she said briskly.

  “Thank you, Sara,” Ed said, his tone purely professional as well. He placed a palm on top of the folder. “I’ll get it to your section editor straight away.” Ed looked up to greet the newcomer and Sara followed suit.