"Morning! Venti mocha latte with whip and cinnamon, two percent milk and double shot of espresso, and a cranberry muffin, hot, to go, please." The tall, blond woman says as she runs her app code through the scanner.
"Your name, please?" Replies a friendly barista, black sharpie and large paper cup in hand.
She looks up at the girl from her phone app and grins. "Emma."
The girl smiles back, "Ok Emma, you'll get your drink at the end of the bar, please. Have a great day!"
"You too, Sharon."
Emma always made a point of looking at name tags; her mentor Cleo Fox told her to always, always look at a person's name tag, even when not in the line of duty. Mainly, for two reasons: One, it always gives working people a sense of importance and pride in their work if you actually do call them by their names and smile, brightening an otherwise stressful rush hour at least to some extent. And two, because in the event of a pursuit, one always has an advantage when the perp or subject has his or her name attached to their chest;, it had landed private eye Emma Swan more than a few good paychecks.
This time, however, the person in question was not friendly, curly haired, freckle-faced barista Sharon, but another customer at the coffee bar. A tall, slender woman, with a handsome kind of beauty; tons of hair that dangled in seamless curls down her back, blue eyes that seemed to gaze into everything and nothing at the same time, looking and deep-set in a long and slender, pale oval face. Her name was Milah Gold. From what Emma had seen in previous days of the hunt, she had an apparent strength of character, the kind that comes from deep within, and an all-around aura of freedom and adventure; the kind of person that would likely knock anyone down through sheer use of her personality. Milah sits at a sofa, some six meters away from the bar, searching in her somewhat flower-power-y brown suede handbag, and produces what seemed to be a trashy romance paperback. Emma discreetly shuffles over to the meeting table, her eyes fixed on the phone and the lens of the camera fixed on the mysterious dark woman. To everyone else, she just looks like a regular, browsing her mobile while enjoying coffee when, in fact, her commission is to register every move of Milah's, her whereabouts, who she speaks to, where she goes, what she does. Everything.
"Whatcha got there, Milah?" Emma mumbles to herself with a grin as she zooms into the book in the woman's hands, and grimaces with a hiss. "Sssss…. The Arms of Untamed Desire?" She chuckles softly. "That's… cheesy." Snap, picture, snap-snap. "I kinda had you pinned for, I dunno, Allen Ginsberg, or something." Snap-snap.
Milah's attention is suddenly drawn to her handbag. She ruffles through her bag's contents and produces a phone; after one look at the caller's ID, a huge smile crosses her face and she happily takes the phone to her ear; her entire attitude changes immediately: She twirls her hair, she pouts, she grins.
"Yyyyyup…" Emma smiles, snapping more and more photos. "That's what I'm talking about, baby, bring mama's wages home."
She makes a brief pause in her photo shoot to call back to her older half-brother and partner, David Nolan, a former cop and her best friend in every single way that counts. "Hello? Hi, Dave… yeah, I'm looking at her right now. She's on the phone. I need a phone record, I believe she's in Verizon? Ok…. Well, because she's kinda… flirting. No, no, she's TOTALLY flirting, she's totally talking to some guy or girl, I dunno, but it's sexual, that's for sure. What'ya mean? Because her entire body language screams 'I'm getting laid with this person', that's why!... Ok… ok, let me know when you find something. Thanks. Ok see you soon, bye…"
Emma hangs up and keeps looking at Milah through her phone.
Dave Nolan goes through the database and system and checks Milah Gold's phone line; he and Emma make a hell of a spying team, so good that sometimes he wonders if they should be working for the CIA.
"Ok Milah, what have you got?" He squints and goes through her calls of the day. "Ok, here we go." He sits up suddenly and jots down. "Active call, to one…. Killian Jones. Well, well, well!" He grins. "If Emma's right about you Milah, I think Mr. Gold will have a thing or two to say about this little secret, huh…"
Immediately, David turns his search over to find out about that Killian Jones. "Let's see… who are you, buddy? Killian Jones, 34, sailing and navigation store owner in downtown Manhattan, has a shop called "The Jolly Roger"… Original." He giggles. "A pirate wannabe. Ok. Hmmm… Former Olympic medal winner in double Olympic dinghy sailing for England with brother and teammate Liam Jones, winning gold in Athens 2004 and Beijing 2008 and silver under the singles category in London 2012. " David whistles and shakes his head in awe. "Olympian guy, are you? Let's see what you look like, Killian…" As he clicks and a smiling picture of Killian Jones emerges, Dave raises his eyebrows. "Well! No problem in the looks department I see. So, you're another rich, handsome English playboy yuppie… no wonder Mila'h got the hots for you… Ok what else is there?" He reads on. "Now retired from active sport due to a handicap that came as consequence of an accident during the London 2012 Olympics during the doubles, Killian lives quietly in New York city… Oh? what happened to you, Killian? Killian Jones and his brother Liam Jones were sailing in competition when the rigging of their double- handed monohull dinghy broke, breaking the rudder loose; the vessel capsized and collided with the Greek dinghy that hit them head on at a speed of sixty two knots, which translates to an estimate 70-75 miles per hour. Whew…" Dave shook his head. "The accident claimed the life of Liam Jones at 33, making it the third double-dinghy race death in an Olympic competition in history; the younger Killian Jones lost his left hand and received a blow to the head; to this day, Killian Jones is…" David gulped and sat back. "…blind… oh god… as a result of severe occipital head trauma…" David shakes his head, guilt suddenly washing over him. "The gold medal was won by Australian team Malcom Page and Matthew Belcher." David runs a hand down his face and stops to cover his mouth with a sigh. "What a rough deal…"
Emma Swan receives an e-mail with all of Dave's findings just as Milah stands up and leaves the café. She reads his findings and sneers. "Her hairdresser? Are you fucking kidding me?" She grunts and she immediately calls Dave as she makes her way out in pursuit of Milah. "Dave? What the hell is this? There's NO WAY she could have been calling her hairdresser, man, come on! She was totally-"
"Emma, that's all I found. Call was made exactly 2.5 minutes ago to Jean Baptiste's Hair Studio on Madison and 63rd. "
Emma huffs. "Well, something's off; She doesn't strike me as the fancy hair studio type, she's more of a… rock n' roll, hippie-drippy kind of gal, that place is kind of… high class." She opens the door to her yellow Volkswagen 1985 Beetle and gets behind the wheel as Milah flashes down a cab. "Unless she's on to us and wants to throw us off?"
"That's unlikely, Emma. Just… follow her, see where she takes you to."
"Ok… you try to hack her phone, see if we can check into her Facebook profile or something. I dunno, Dave…" Emma sighs. "Sounds to me like this girl's got an ace up her sleeve and is just playing her husband like an old fiddle."
"Old is the key word, sis."
"That's not our problem; we're paid to follow her and have a solid amount of evidence for his divorce claim, not to judge them on their marital age difference."
She hangs up.
Dave puts the phone down and once again looks at the YouTube video of the handsome, then 21 year old English athlete, standing on a 1st place podium next to an equally handsome Liam Jones, both smiling and waving to the crowd after the sound of God Save the Queen fills the waves and a loud roar of resounding victory takes over.
"Gotta draw the line somewhere…" He sighs.
He knows he's lying to Emma; he knows she might eventually find out and that she will be livid. But he also knows that whether he knows him or not, he does not want to mess with the life of Killian Jones. Not after what he learned what he now knows about the guy.
Even a private dec sometimes needs to respect the privacy of others.
When he gets a call from Emma not twenty minutes later, telling him Milah just entered some sailboat and maritime store, David gulps, but all is well when, an hour later, she emerges from the shop with a large canopy bag with the shop logo on it. "Do we know if the Golds are into sailing?" She asks Dave.
"We know that she is. She has a Catamaran off the coast of Cancun."
"Ok that explains it." She sighs as she once again starts her car. "Guess they can afford it…"
"You mean, SHE can afford it…" Dave rummages through the open file on his desk. "She is stupid rich, comes from a wealthy family of art dealers with a murky reputation for piracy, and Gold pretty much married into good money. So she's the one with the bucks."
Emma nodded. "Do we have reason to suspect Gold wants to divorce her and somehow make allegations that she was unfaithful to pocket some of that money?"
"This is New York, Emma, I wouldn't doubt it." He huffed and looked at the wedding image of Robert and Milah Gold. "Still… I can't for the life of me understand why she'd want to marry this guy."
"Love?"
"Certainly not looks and power…" He chuckled. "Just seems a bit off how this super rich mob daughter somehow ties the knot to a middle class guy twice her age, these people usually like to keep the gold in the family… no pun intended."
"Well, whatever it is, he's the one paying for our services. Let's find out what she's up to."
David sighs hard.
"Emma, aren't you hungry?"
"What?"
"Come back to the office Em. I'll get some grilled cheese."
"Are you nuts? We have a hot target here, why would you-"
"Let it go for a while, sis, we have all we need for the next few hours, we can pick this up tomorrow. Come on." He grins. "What would Cleo say right now?"
Emma heaves. "The better hunter is the one with less leftovers on her plate…"
"Atta girl."
"Fine." She moans. "You'd better have those grilled cheese sandwiches steaming hot and with onion rings, or you will be the next guy to meet with Jimmy Hoffa." She hangs up and looks on as Milah takes another taxi and disappears down the street. Emma knows better than to leave a hot trail on the loose, but she can also hear her stomach growl just as she swivels out of the curb to the street.
When they hand Robert Gold all their findings a week and a half later, they receive a fat paycheck for just over 35 k for their sleuthing services.
It takes a month for them find out about Socialite Milah Gold washing up beaten and strangled to death on the Hudson bay, not long after they received their pay. And while Emma can't shake the image of a vibrant, happy woman with long black wavy hair and piercing blue eyes enjoying a romance novel from her guilty conscience, Dave knows that this death might have been prevented… had Emma known about Killian Jones. In fact, Dave is sure that Gold is directly responsible.
Best left untouched now, he figures. At least he hopes the cops won't come banging on their business door, or he will have to come clean about his findings, incriminate a man who obviously strives to be left alone, and incur in Emma's wrath.
Best left alone.
Emma, however, has had enough; She sets up a private business, a flower shop, just across the street from that sailing articles business The Jolly Roger on Central Park West. A few days before she's open for business, she sees a young, somewhat handsome blind man with sunglasses lock down at six and walk away with the aid of a big black dog.
Next day, she arrives early. Too early. Not because, you know, sailors are up early and need to find their stores open for supplies; also not because she waits to see the handsome blind guy arrive, coffee in his right hand and red dog leash in what looks to be a prosthetic left hand, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Not because he's kinda cute to look at. No.
It's just for… reasons. New business. Setting up shop and shit.
Maybe in one week, when "Swan's Flower Lake" opens for business, she might, maybe, just stroll over there to invite him to the opening.