Chapter 14 Chicago, 1928—Remy #2
“If Archibald doesn’t mind going up two more flights, there’s a room with a bath on the fourth floor,” Skye said.
Archibald managed a flimsy smile. “The stairs don’t bother me.”
“You can have my room on this floor,” Clay said. “I’d hate for your bad hip to complain about all these steps.”
Archibald winked at Skye. “That’s thoughtful, Clay, but my hip has never bothered me. Ye keep yer room.”
They reached the second-floor library, and Clay offered to pour drinks. “Marcelle and Remy are going to search for Bastien tomorrow. Do you want to go with them?”
“I thought ye were going,” Archibald said.
“Change of plans.”
Skye faked a pout. “How long will you be gone?”
Remy considered silencing her pout with a kiss. “Not long. A few hours, maybe.”
“You’ll be back in time for tomorrow night’s show?”
“We should be.” If the brooch took him and Marcelle directly to Bastien, they should be right back. However, they’d have to come up with a story about why they found him so quickly.
Archibald accepted a drink. “Since I won’t be with Violet, I thought I’d search for yer other friends.”
Skye sat at the desk and opened the portfolio. “Who’s Violet? And who are your other friends?”
Clay and Archibald shared a knowing look. “Violet is a… family friend,” Archibald said.
“And the Robertsons are acquaintances we’re also trying to find,” Clay added.
“If you find them, they’re also welcome to stay here. Where do you plan to search?”
“Probably on the north side for Bastien,” Remy said. “The Robertsons could be anywhere. Now that we have a second car, it should make the search easier.”
Anita glided into the room expertly balancing a serving tray laden with finger sandwiches, deviled eggs, egg rolls, meatballs, salted nuts, canapés, and baked ham. “I’m roasting a chicken for dinner.”
“We probably won’t be here, Anita, but we’ll storm the kitchen the second we get back,” Skye said.
“I’ll leave plenty of food for you.” Anita gave Archibald an odd look. “You must be Mr. MacIntyre’s older brother.”
“I like the sound of that. But I’m his father, Archibald.”
“You look like his brother to me.” Anita placed the tray on a pedestal table and set out plates, napkins, and utensils. “I’ll be back for this when you leave to dress for your show.”
“Thanks, Anita. After all this, we might not be too hungry,” Skye said.
Remy’s arm curled around Anita’s shoulders in a comforting grip. “Doan listen to her. Clay and I will always eat.”
Anita gazed at him pointedly. “You didn’t get to the market to buy ingredients to make gumbo.”
“We had a busy day. I’ll go tomorrow.”
Anita tsk-tsked dismissively, shaking her head as she gathered the abandoned empty cups they had left earlier in the day. “The music sure was pretty this afternoon. Who was playing the grand piano? It reminded me of Skye’s late father’s playing.”
Skye looked confused. “He didn’t play the piano.”
“He quit playing after you were born. I never understood why, but he played beautifully. Most songs he made up. I’ve never heard of them before or since. You played one earlier that reminded me of a song he used to sing.”
“Which one was it?” Skye asked.
“Something about a beautiful world.”
“Was it ‘What a Wonderful World?’” Clay asked.
“That’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
Anita’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Perhaps not,” she conceded tentatively. “But that was a lovely song you were singing.”
Archibald grinned. “One of my favorites.”
“You’ll have to sing it for me,” Skye said. “How does it go?”
“Wait until tomorrow,” Remy commanded, his features drawn and serious. “Our heads are bursting with what we need for tonight. There’s no room—no space at all—for a song we won’t even be singing.”
“Good idea.” Skye sipped her drink. “I’m sorry your friend left, Archibald. I don’t want you to sit alone in the audience. Why don’t you stay backstage with us tonight?”
Skye said, her tone warm—but watchful. “Great idea,” Marcelle said. “That way, we can drag you out on stage to sing at least one song.”
“How about a duet?” Skye said. “Do you know ‘I’ll See You in My Dreams’?”
Archibald sang unaccompanied, his voice beautifully gravelly.
“The road is long and seeming without end / The days go on, I remember ye my friend / And though ye’re gone and my heart’s been emptied it seems / I’ll see ye in my dreams.”
Skye joined him, singing…
“I got your guitar here by the bed / All your favorite records and all the books that you read / And though my soul feels like it’s been split at the seams / I’ll see you in my dreams.”
Marcelle clapped, glancing at Clay. “Do you know the song?”
Clay joined in, strumming an air guitar…
“I’ll see you in my dreams / When all our summers have come to an end.”
Marcelle clapped again. “Sing that with just the guitar tonight. It’ll be a showstopper.”
Is that what they wanted? The thought gnawed at Remy. Was drawing more attention to them desire—or disaster? He didn’t think so, convinced it was a reckless move. The situation was temporary, though—just another couple of days until he and Clay could successfully wrangle the group and return home.
But the question lingered. What kind of mess would the travelers leave for Skye to manage? Since Archibald was already dead in their own time, he couldn’t return with them. Perhaps he would stay behind and watch over her.
Or maybe…
The thought hung unfinished. No, Remy abruptly dismissed the notion, forcing himself to stay focused on the immediate job. Putting Skye front and center could ruin everything—or make it impossible to walk away.