Chapter 7 Chicago, 1928—Remy #7
Remy joined her on the sidewalk, clearing his throat. “We’re in Chicago, not New York City.” He put his hand on her forehead. “You doan have a fever, but I bet you’re exhausted. You need sleep and lots of it.”
Marcelle stared at him for a moment, then her jaw dropped as realization sank in. “You’re right. The house I’m remembering is on New York City’s Upper East Side, and I am tired.”
“Come on.” Skye took Marcelle’s hand and led her toward the front door. “Don’t give it a second thought. If I traveled as much as you, I’d get confused, too. And your evening started with that horrible shooting.”
“What shooting?” Clay asked, his voice tight.
Remy instantly tensed. A gust of wind rustled the leaves across the street, startling him. He reached for his Sig but didn’t draw it. “You didn’t mention that. Who got shot?”
“I was at an intersection when three men jumped out of a car with guns blazing and shot two men. It was violent and bloody. Skye found me and tried to pull me away, but I had to see the men’s faces. I didn’t know where Bastien was and was terrified—”
Remy put his arm around her, squeezing her to his side. “Bastien wouldn’t have let himself get caught in that situation. Wherever he is, he’s okay.” While Marcelle acted unfazed, he knew it must have terrified her. “I’m so sorry you were alone.”
Skye piped up. “She wasn’t! I was there, and no one saw us.”
“Knowing Marcelle, she probably wanted to wait for the police,” Remy said.
Skye unlocked the door and invited them inside. “She did, but I dragged her into an alley, and we drank whisky instead.”
A fresh wave of anger flooded over Remy, and he understood what Bastien would do when he found out what had happened. Blame Remy. It was illogical but likely to be true.
“Getting involved would have been a disaster. I’m glad you listened to Skye.”
“So that’s what happened to the contents of that flask,” Clay said, trying to add humor to the conversation. “Good call.”
They all followed Skye into the living room. “This is a beautiful room. The style’s Art Deco, right?” Marcelle asked.
“I’d describe it as feathers and fringes with a hint of frivolity mixed with glamour.
It sets the perfect party mood. Don’t you think?
It’s all about curves, especially that bar trolley,” Skye pointed out.
“It’s functional, stylish, and perfect for storing the prohibited products of the 1920s. Can I offer anyone a drink?”
Remy would gladly accept a drink, but his mind was more interested in the curves—Skye’s, not the furniture.
Marcelle yawned. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m exhausted. If you’ll point me in the right direction, I need sleep, and I’ll be glad to sleep on the sofa with feathers and fringes.”
“Don’t be silly. Come with me, and I’ll show you to your room,” Skye said.
“Where do you want us?” Remy said. “The sofa is fine with me.”
“Bring your bags, and I’ll show you to your rooms. There are two bedrooms on the second floor. Remy, you, and Clay can have those. My room and another guest room are on the third floor. Marcelle can sleep in the one next to me.”
“Sounds perfect,” Marcelle said. “Lead the way.”
When they reached the second floor, Skye said, “Your bedrooms are down the hall. The bathroom is between them, and there’s a library in that room,” she said, pointing. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Remy set his duffel on a desk in the hallway and opened it. “You might like to have this.” He handed a Dopp Kit to Marcelle. “It’s prepacked with generic toiletries. You can go shopping and get whatever else you need.”
“We’ll add a stop at Walgreens to our list and get a malted milk while we’re there.”
“Bodies nourished and brains alert,” Remy said.
Skye laughed. “Sounds like their ad.”
“I read the newspaper and saw the ad. I’m up for it.”
Marcelle stood on tiptoes and kissed Remy’s cheek. “Thank you for everything. Tomorrow, we’ll find Bastien.”
“And a trumpet,” Skye said.
“We’ll find Bastien and get you a trumpet. Anything else?” Remy asked.
Marcelle sighed. “I wouldn’t mind going home.”
“As soon as we find your brother.”
“And the Robertsons,” Clay added.
“Who are they?” Skye asked.
“Friends of friends, I’m heading to the Annual St. Andrew’s Day ‘Feast of the Haggis’ at the Palmer House on Friday night to look for them. Want to come?”
“When my parents were alive, we tried to go every year, but missed it the last few years. I’d love to go,” Skye said. “What about you, Remy? Marcelle? Want to join?”
“Sure. Why not? I haven’t had haggis for a while.” Remy thought he’d get out of it, but if Skye was going, so was he. “If it’s a black-tie event, I need a tux.”
“And I need a MacIntyre kilt.”
“And I need a dress,” Marcelle said. “Sounds like we’ll spend most of the day on the Magnificent Mile.”
“Where’s that?”
Marcelle gave Skye a curious look. “Isn’t that where the Marshall Field’s Department Store is?”
“The department store is between East Randolph and East Washington. Where’s the Magnificent Mile?”
Marcelle looked panicked, and Remy wasn’t sure how to bail her out of another awkward situation. He signaled Clay, hoping he could.
Clay ran his hand along the spines of the books in the built-in bookcase in the hallway. “You must’ve been reading the 1909 Burnham Plan of Chicago, Marcelle. The concept for the Magnificent Mile is part of that plan.”
“Really?” Marcelle asked in a slightly bewildered tone. “I must have missed that chapter.”
“It’s been a while since I read it, but the document’s purpose was to outline how to reshape Chicago’s central area. It was such a good idea that the plan has influenced a new field of urban planning.”
Marcelle gazed at Clay with genuine uncertainty. “Your random knowledge, Mr. MacIntyre, is impressive. I guess you did an investigation of corrupt city planners.”
“Corruption at any level undermines government credibility and public trust. But that wasn’t the case with the Burnham Plan.”
She met his gaze and smiled. “Good to hear.”
Skye watched the conversation with curiosity. “The three of you are speaking in a language I don’t understand.”
Marcelle looked from Clay to Remy. “Let’s be more considerate. Okay?”
Skye linked her arm with Marcelle’s and headed toward the stairs. “I appreciate the effort. Now, come with me. Goodnight, boys.”
Remy couldn’t take his eyes off Skye as she climbed the wooden stairs covered with an oriental carpet runner.
He didn’t want her to go, but he had no legitimate reason to ask her to stay.
His eyes remained glued to her until she and Marcelle disappeared on the third-floor landing.
He pictured her in her bedroom with the drapes drawn, slipping out of that swingy dress and unbinding her breasts, which were probably a handful and sexy as hell.
His erection, already giving him trouble, turned to granite.
Clay gave Remy a playful swat on the arm. “She’s gone now. Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do when we get up.”
Remy followed Clay down the hall, unable to think of anything other than seeing Skye again. “At least we found Marcelle.”
“According to the reports I’ve read, finding Marcelle was as easy as Jack and Matt finding Aislinn in New York City in 1896.”
“Those guys had it easy finding Aislinn with bankers she trusted with her brooch. Finding Marcelle with Capone was alarming and could complicate the situation. Can you imagine what he’d do with a brooch?” Remy shivered.
“Capone would fit right in with the Illuminati.”
That thought gave Remy an even icier shiver. “God forbid. With luck, we’ll find Bastien tomorrow. With even more luck, we’ll find the Robertsons this weekend and go home.”
“We should’ve brought the Robertsons’ pictures. We could have shown them to all the Scots at the gala.”
Remy opened the door to the first bedroom. “Braham hid them in my duffel. Guess he knew something we didn’t.”
“I like Braham and David. They both possess superpowers. You always know where you stand with Braham, but David is discreet and guarded. He keeps information to himself without being deceitful. You learn a lot about a man when you play chess.”
Remy entered the bedroom and placed his duffel on a folding wooden luggage rack. “What have you learned about Elliott from all the games you’ve played?”
Clay’s five o’clock shadow had crept up on him hours ago, and he scratched the stubble on his chin.
“Elliott aims for perfection in everything he does and genuinely enjoys the journey. He has the patience of Job and a strong character, which he shows in all aspects of his life. Also, he has a powerful presence that commands a room, yet he listens with a quiet intensity, absorbing others’ opinions.
And he doesn’t just learn from his mistakes—he forges them into stepping stones, turning setbacks into triumphs. ”
“Fuck,” Remy said. “I didn’t expect a psychological evaluation.”
“Did I say anything you disagree with?”
“Not a damn thing. I hope to hell nobody asks you what you learned while traveling with me.”
“You’re loyal to a fault, naturally empathetic, trustworthy, and dependable.
Honesty is non-negotiable for you, and you value transparency above all else.
You choose the truth, even when it’s difficult.
You recognize relationships aren’t transactional but built on mutual respect, care, and unconditional support, and people trust you to keep your promises. ”
“Who the hell are you? A damn psychiatrist?”
“I study people. I always want to know if they’re who they seem to be. However, your interaction with Rachel yesterday surprised me because it didn’t match what I already knew. When you said you gave her what she wanted, and it cost you nothing, it made sense.”
“Remind me not to ask again what you think of someone. It’s unnerving.”
“I usually keep all that to myself. It helps me write better because I have a deeper understanding of my subjects. But I can’t always react to that understanding.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“On the one hand, I might know what a person needs, but I don’t know how to give it. You knew what Rachel needed. I didn’t.”
Remy moved to close the door and go to bed, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Give me your analysis of Skye and Marcelle.”
Clay leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “I’ll give you one similarity, but I won’t break it down. You’re insightful and will figure it out on your own.”
“Doan keep me in suspense.”
“Both women reveal their souls to the audience through their performances. You can hear the emotion in Marcelle’s trumpet and Skye’s vocals.
Music is an auditory art form that begins with how listeners perceive and communicate what they hear.
A talented musician can take the audience to another place with only sounds, making them forget everything else.
Both women do that exceptionally well, connecting with everyone who hears them. ”
Remy’s heavy sigh shattered the room’s quiet stillness.
“It’s all about making connections, but our connection to Skye is built on a foundation of dishonesty.
I hope she’ll see who we truly are before she discovers the extent of what we’ve done.
” Remy moved decisively to close the door. “We need to be out of here by nine.”
Clay pushed off the doorjamb. “Sounds like a plan. See you in the morning.”
Remy closed the door, his mind replaying every moment of the last few hours, especially those with Skye. She was smart, funny, talented, and beautiful. How was he going to manage this? Carefully and with respect.
He could do that.