Chapter 8 Chicago, 1928—Marcelle
Skye stepped into the first bedroom. Marcelle, following close behind, caught a heel in the oriental rug’s fringe and stumbled.
Instead of face-planting, she careened forward, plowing straight into Skye.
They both sprawled across the bed in a tangled heap, the sudden shock stealing their breath.
Then high-pitched giggles erupted from them both.
After regaining composure, Marcelle sat up, wiping away tears. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I’m fine. The rug has needed repairs for a while, but I rarely come in here, and I forgot about it. I’m so sorry.”
“I hope my shoe didn’t make it worse.”
“It didn’t.” Skye knelt and started rolling up the rug.
Marcelle joined her. “Where should we put it?”
“Against the wall. I’ll tell my housekeeper to have it picked up tomorrow.”
Marcelle stood and brushed her hands. “This is a beautiful room, even without that gorgeous rug.”
The interior design was a sophisticated blend of exotic and bold elements, showcasing dramatic colors like dark rose and jade green.
Like the living room, the bedroom was a bold showcase of high-sheen metals, geometric shapes, oversized mirrors, and striking paintings.
Glass chandeliers cast soft shadows over the floor.
Marcelle, stepping out of the fog, would’ve believed she’d landed on a 1920s movie set.
“This was my mother’s room when she was sick,” Skye said. “It offers the best view of the park. My decorator remodeled it a couple of years ago. Everyone who stays here has a restful night’s sleep. My mother’s spirit still lingers here, bringing peace and inspiration to my guests.”
Goose bumps covered Marcelle’s arms. “Why don’t you use this room?”
“I have the owner’s suite. I don’t need to sleep here to feel her. She’s always with me, but for people who’ve never met her, they get a sense of her when they sleep here.”
Marcelle made a mental note to say something thoughtful about her restful sleep, even if she had nightmares about the men in the street. “Do you resemble her?”
Skye crossed the room, picked up a framed photograph from the dresser, and showed it to Marcelle. “My father had this taken right after she got sick. He never said it, but I knew he was worried her illness would steal her beauty, but it never did.”
“If she were sick, you’d never know by looking at this picture. She was beautiful, and you look so much like her.”
“She had a mood-lifting smile. And it was usually my mood she lifted, not hers. She seemed unaffected by her illness. If I ever get that sick, I hope I have her courage.” Skye returned the photograph to its spot on the dresser and sat on the loveseat.
“Come sit down and show me what’s in the little bag Remy gave you. ”
Marcelle wasn’t sure she wanted to show Skye the contents. It would be hard to explain where the products came from, but she didn’t want to cause a fuss. She handed Skye the Dopp kit.
Skye unsnapped the bag. “Tell me about Remy. Did you ever date him?”
“Date Remy? No way. We would have killed each other.”
Skye gave her a curious look. “Why? You seem so comfortable together.”
“I’ve known Remy since I was a kid, and our love for Bastien is the only thing we have in common.”
“You’re both jazz musicians.”
“That too, but he’s like a brother. We could never be romantically involved. After watching the looks you gave each other, you see him differently than I do.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Only to someone paying attention.”
Skye chuckled. “You were paying more attention to Clay than to what Remy and I were doing. But what else can you tell me about him?”
“What do you want to know?” Marcelle plopped onto the teal-tufted loveseat and leaned her head back. She was exhausted and would have preferred to wait until morning, but saying no to Skye wasn’t an option.
“Everything you know.”
“He’s loyal, talented, polite, and uses foul language.”
“You left off handsome.”
“And smart, but he plays that off.”
“How so?”
“Remy doesn’t want people to know that he’s well-educated. He graduated from the University of Kentucky with degrees in statistics and biology.”
“Oh, he is smart. Statistics is demanding, and so is biology. So why is he working as a bodyguard?”
Marcelle shook her head. “I don’t know exactly what he does, but he’s more than a bodyguard. He’s close to the man he works for, and they live on a big plantation near Richmond, Virginia, and raise Thoroughbreds.”
“And Remy has a house there?”
“He has a suite in the main house, but he could build a house on the plantation if he wanted one.”
“If he had a family, you mean?”
“I suppose if Remy ever settled down, he’d want a place of his own. Anyway, after college, he and Bastien joined the Army.”
“He fought in the war?”
Marcelle nodded. Keeping her identity secret from Skye was harder than Marcelle initially thought. It was so easy to slip up.
“What about Clay?”
“I’ve never met him before. He’s cute, though, isn’t he?”
“He is, but Remy’s cuter.”
“Oh, I see where this is going. No wonder you wanted Remy and me to go with you on Friday night.”
Skye blushed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I thought it would be more fun if we all went.”
“I haven’t double-dated since high school. And that was a long time ago. We can enjoy the music and not have to perform.”
“Speaking of performing, we have to find you a trumpet.”
“You’re right.” Marcelle flexed her fingers as if feeling the weight of an instrument that wasn’t there. “I don’t want to keep playing someone else’s.”
“I’ll ask Sidney if he’ll sell his unless you want a new one.”
Marcelle considered it, lips pursed, then smiled. “I’ve never wanted a used trumpet—but Sidney’s is amazing. I’d gladly buy it.”
“I’ll call Earl when I get up to tell him about Mr. Capone’s offer to play at the Sunset Café and ask him to talk to Sidney about the trumpet.”
Marcelle yawned, covering her mouth as the long night finally caught up with her. “Sounds like a plan.”
Skye dug into the overstuffed Dopp kit and pulled out a travel-sized bottle of whisky. “Look at this. It has a horse and rider on top. It’s Blanton’s Single Barrel Bourbon.”
“That’s cute.” Marcelle yawned again. “You can have it. I’m sure Remy has more.”
Skye set the bag aside. “Your bathroom is through that door. Each bedroom on this floor has one. I’ll get you a nightgown and a robe. Don’t fall asleep before I get back.”
While Skye went to her room, Marcelle checked out the bathroom and was almost giddy when she saw a clawfoot bathtub. A long soak was exactly what her body needed.
Skye returned a few minutes later and laid a neatly folded gown and robe on the edge of the bed, smoothing the fabric with her palm. “Get some sleep,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
Marcelle smiled faintly as she toed off her shoes. “You mean later today.”
“You’re right. It’s four o’clock.” Skye rolled her shoulders, fatigue finally showing. “In this business, my personal victory is going to bed before the sun comes up.”
“Looks like we’re going to make it.” Marcelle stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Skye, holding on a second longer than politeness required. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what would have happened to me if we hadn’t met.”
Skye hugged her back without hesitation, warm and steady. “You would have figured it out, and you would’ve found Remy and Clay.”
Marcelle leaned back, shaking her head. She knew better. If Skye hadn’t pulled her out of that alley, she’d still be hiding—silent, terrified, alone. “I don’t think so.”
Skye squeezed her once more, reassuring. “We’re going to have so much fun,” she said, stepping back and gesturing toward the bed. “Sweet dreams.”
Marcelle watched her go, the room suddenly quiet and safe. She slipped into the robe, climbed onto the bed, and let herself believe—just for a few hours—that everything might actually be all right.