Chapter 11 #6
“I haven’t known him long enough to answer that question.”
“What you’ve picked up already will surprise you. Come on. Let’s get the girls.” Remy led the way to the cigar shop, and they found Skye paying for her purchases, while Marcelle stood guard at the door.
“Did you talk to her?” Marcelle asked.
“She vanished.”
Marcelle squinted and tilted her head. “Like… You know—”
“Poof! Just like that.” Clay turned to Skye and asked, “If you can find a phone, will you call your house to see if you have any messages? I don’t know when the paper comes out, but Bastien could’ve seen the ad by now.”
“Or, the dealership found our car,” Remy said.
“There’s a phone on the third floor,” Skye said. “Do you want to go with me or wait here?”
“I’ll go,” Remy said.
“Let’s sit on our bench while we wait.” Clay clenched his jaw, then slowly released the tension from his shoulders.
He and Marcelle sat down, and Clay stretched out his legs.
The scuff mark on his right two-toned spectator oxfords surprised him.
When did that happen? Focusing on the scuff mark was easier to deal with than his time-traveling parents.
“What’s going on here, Clay? I don’t understand any of this. Why are your parents here? Why are we here? And why did Bastien and I get separated? Is this all a coincidence?”
“There are no coincidences. There are reasons why you met Skye, why my parents are here, and why Bastien is missing. Eventually, we’ll find out.”
“Then I shouldn’t worry?”
“Oh, no. You should worry. We’re pawns on a cosmic chessboard, and we can’t see the entire pattern.”
Her face turned white. “Are you saying Bastien could be dead?”
“No, I’m saying you have different purposes. We have to be patient—even though every instinct is telling us to fix it.”
“And if we’re patient, we’ll find answers?” she asked.
“I think so, but I’ve only been on one trip. I hiked the Adirondacks with Teddy Roosevelt and was with him when he learned McKinley had died—and that he was now the twenty-sixth president.”
Marcelle’s jaw dropped. “I want to hear all about that trip.”
Remy and Skye returned a moment later, Skye pulling on her gloves as she walked.
“That was quick,” Marcelle said.
“We found a public telephone near the elevator,” Skye said, tugging the second glove into place. Her smile faded as she shook her head. “There’s no word from Bastien.”
Marcelle’s shoulders sank. “Maybe he’s not here.”
“We’ll find him,” Remy said easily, as if refusing to let the doubt settle. “We still have options.” He glanced at Skye. “But in the meantime, there’s a drum kit to assemble at Skye’s house.”
“And songs to learn,” Skye added, already turning toward the door.
Marcelle followed, quickening her pace. “Do we need sheet music for the songs on Capone’s list?”
“My father stopped by Mr. Mac’s often and bought songbooks and records. There are books I’ve never opened. I’m sure I have all the music we need.”
They walked outside, and Skye waved to Jason. He waved back and pointed to the car parked at the curb. He ran toward them. “My boss said I could park it there since it was a new vehicle.”
“That was sweet.” Skye handed Jason another five dollars, took the key from him, and headed toward the car.
Clay hung back and asked Jason, “Did Mr. Capone have anything to do with where you parked the vehicle?”
Jason blushed. “He paid my manager.”
“Did your manager share any of the money with you?”
Jason shook his head.
“What a jerk.” Clay slid a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into Jason’s palm. “I hope this squares things with what Capone gave your boss.”
Jason’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “Sir, this more than settles it. Thank you.” He sprinted back to the parking attendant’s booth, tucking the generous tip away.
“You made his day,” Marcelle said.
Clay escorted Marcelle toward the car. “Thanks for understanding why I didn’t return to the table and left you to deal with that gangster by yourself.”
“Remy was there, and I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to us.”
“I shouldn’t have been gone that long.”
“Are you kidding? If I could see my parents, I wouldn’t talk to anyone else for days. You weren’t rude. At least, I didn’t think so. Capone might have had a different opinion. He glared at you a few times.”
“I’m sure Capone was curious about Archibald, but there’s no point in giving the gangster information he can use against us. The same goes for you. Don’t mention Bastien to him.”
Clay guided Marcelle into the rumble seat and settled beside her for the return trip to Skye’s house. An unexpected pang twisted in his chest. She had utterly captivated him.
His arm tightened around her, drawing her closer, and his cheek came to rest on her head. That was the moment he spotted Capone’s men. “Remy, check your nine o’clock.”
“Yeah. I see the bastards.”
As Remy pulled away from the curb, Clay’s eyes remained fixed on the street.
Two cars ahead, a woman was sliding behind the wheel of a gunmetal blue two-seater—the coolest car he’d ever seen.
He barely glanced away from the sleek lines of the English racing car to notice the woman, but when she turned, his chest seized.
Violet!
Her gaze burned into him as the car surged past. Their eyes locked, a silent shockwave. He flung his attention back to the road, his heart suddenly a frantic drum against his ribs, but the trace of her smile lingered in his peripheral vision.