Free On the Avenue by Antonio Pagliarulo Page B

more to go!”
    “I'm gonna be sick,” Lex mumbled. “I
hate
highspeed chases.”
    Clarence watched in the mirror as the second van, still two blocks behind, cut into the left lane and gained speed. He kept his foot heavy on the metal. He weaved through the traffic smoothly, dodging cabs and cars and a horse-drawn carriage. At the corner of Sixty-eighth Street, he swung a right and sped across Central Park. The narrow lane cutting across to the West Side was mercifully clear. Clarence checked the rearview mirror again and smiled when he didn't see the gleam of the van's headlights. Goddamn photographers. Little shits would sell their own grandmothers for a snap of the lens. He continued driving way above the speed limit, not slowing down until he reached the West Side and the busy intersection at Broadway. He turned right and eased into the traffic. Then he cleared his throat and said, “You girls mind telling me what the hell's going on?”
    “To give you the abbreviated version, we're suspects in a murder investigation,” Park told him calmly.
    Clarence gasped and nearly lost control of the limo. “What? Are you shittin' me?”
    “Only about fifty percent,” Madison said. “But it'sobvious the cops are going to try and pin some of this on us.” She gave a quick rundown, telling him about Lex's dress, the scarf around Zahara Bell's neck, and the psycho photographer.
    “Wait a minute,” Clarence cut in, panic rising in his voice. “You mean someone broke into the penthouse and went into Lex's closet? That's
impossible
!”
    “Apparently it isn't,” Lex replied. “I
never
leave my pieces anywhere but my bedroom closet. How the hell it got on Zahara Bell's body is anybody's guess.”
    “Do any of you even
care
that the Avenue diamond is missing?” Park nearly wailed. She threw her arms up in a gesture of desperation, then sighed dramatically.
    Glancing in the rearview, Clarence saw that her eyes had gone glassy. God knew, he had heard the story of the Avenue diamond and its almost mythical connection to the Hamilton family a dozen times. He wished there were something reassuring he could say, but words eluded him.
    “Of course we care,” Madison said softly. “But the diamond isn't really our biggest concern here.”
    “The hell it isn't!” Park shot back. “Do you know what'll happen to this city if the diamond isn't found? Do you know what might happen to
us
? It's the reason the three of us even
exist,
let me remind you.”
    Lex rolled her eyes. “We don't need reminding, thanks.”
    There wasn't a single person on earth who neededreminding. Everyone knew the story of Venturina Baci and the Avenue diamond. The night she'd worn it in public—one of the few celebrities ever allowed to do so— was the very night she and Trevor Hamilton had conceived their daughters. While pregnant, Venturina spoke publicly about the diamond's unimaginable beauty—and its mystical powers. It was no ordinary rock. The legend, she told reporters, was absolutely true. Just before her twentieth birthday, doctors had told Venturina that she would never be able to have children because of a rare genetic defect, but then she wore the diamond to a premiere and got a little frisky with her husband and
bam:
babies on the way. Coincidence? She thought not. And in honor of the triple blessing the Avenue diamond had bestowed upon her, Venturina promised to name her daughters accordingly.
    It was a glittery, dreamy sort of story. Madison and Lex enjoyed hearing it every so often, but they didn't really believe it. Besides, who would even want to
think
about anything having to do with your parents and sex?
Eeewww.
The thought was totally rank. Unlike her sisters, however, Park accepted the story as the gospel truth; this had everything to do with her innate love of jewelry, not fantasy. She recited the tale to anyone who would listen and took pride in the fact that she was inexorably linked to something so powerful and so