Chapter 60 Chicago, 1927—Tavis #2
The men quickly stacked the bags into a small mountain of luggage. One of them, after setting down his last load, pulled a small object from his pocket. “I have a car key here for Mr. Stuart.” His eyes scanned the room, flicking between the three men gathered there.
Tavis stepped forward, his hand out. “That’s mine,” he confirmed, taking the key.
His gaze immediately darted toward the pile of luggage, his eyes searching for the small piece of tape Braham had meticulously placed on each bag’s clasp.
It was still there on every single one—unbroken, untampered with.
A wave of relief washed over him. “Thanks for bringing these up so quickly.” He pressed some bills into the hands of the waiting men, and the moment the door clicked shut behind them, Tavis seized the nearest duffel bag and plunged his arm into the interior.
“No whisky in this one?” He moved to the next, his search becoming almost frantic.
If the next bag came up empty, he’d resort to drinking from his flask.
“Found it,” Rick announced triumphantly from his own search, pulling aside layers of protective bubble wrap.
He presented Tavis with a bottle of The Macallan and a polished wooden box of Ashton Aged Maduro cigars.
“What would we do without Braham’s almost religious passion for good whisky and premium hand-rolled cigars? ”
“Figure it out for ourselves and constantly be disappointed.” Tavis opened one of the bottles and filled three heavy crystal glasses, the amber liquid catching the light. “To our success,” he proposed. They clinked the rims together, creating a satisfying chime.
Rick commandeered the sofa, taking his drink with him, getting comfortable as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.
Tavis opened the cigar box, extracted a dark, oily cigar, and glanced around the suite, seeking a match. He spotted a shallow bowl on a table near the door, overflowing with matchbooks. He crossed the room and snatched one up with “World’s Largest Hotel” imprinted on the cover.
Clay picked up a brochure from the coffee table. “Look at this. The cover is a picture of Charles Lindbergh, fresh off his transatlantic flight. He’ll be here in a couple of weeks. Want to stick around to meet him?”
“No!” Rick and Tavis said in unison.
“Take it home and say you met him,” Tavis said. “It’ll make a better story.”
Clay scoffed, “I don’t write fiction. I report facts.”
Rick chuckled, the sound low and rich. “When you finish your Roosevelt book, readers will assume you do.”
“I don’t care about Lindbergh, but I still want to meet Eliot Ness. I missed him before, but this time I’m determined to make it happen. He joined the U.S. Treasury Department’s Bureau of Prohibition this year and is now assembling ‘The Untouchables.’”
Tavis raised a skeptical eyebrow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “If you’re going to interview him, you’d better come up with a good background story. I doubt he’ll believe you traveled with Teddy Roosevelt.”
“I’ll tell him my dad was on that trip to the Adirondacks,” Clay said.
“That’d be more believable, but you’ll still be lying, and Ness might not believe you,” Tavis said, a note of genuine concern threading his voice.
He held the rich cigar to his nose for a moment, eyes half-closed, taking in the sweet aroma of aged tobacco and memory before lighting it. “Be careful, Clay.”
Rick extracted a cigar from the box and removed the wrapper. “Let me know in advance, so I’ll be ready to bail you out of jail. Now, somebody toss me a matchbook.” Tavis threw one at Rick, and he snatched it out of the air.
Tavis rolled his cigar between his thumb and fingers, thinking of the face Aislinn would make if she saw him right now.
Whisky in one hand, cigar in the other. None of the women liked it when the guys smoked and accused them of being on a hunt for their masculinity.
They denied it, claiming that the unhurried process of smoking a cigar was a meditative experience that allowed for introspection and helped them let go of their worries.
It was like the women’s visits to the spa.
The women, of course, didn’t accept that, and the men, of course, continued to enjoy their moments of indulgence.
The parties agreed to a draw with one caveat. Cigar smoking could only occur outside.
But since they weren’t here…
Tavis struck a match and held the foot of his cigar above the eager blue and yellow flame, drawing smoke into his mouth. Pleased with the slow, even cherry of the burn, he let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into a comfortable, funky-patterned armchair and propping his boots on the coffee table.
Rick removed his cigar from his mouth and studied the glowing ember at its tip. “Do either of you think Skye might be a traveler?”
“No,” Clay offered with a shrug.
Rick flicked his cigar’s column of gray ash into the ashtray that sat on the table beside the sofa. “Remy has waited a long time for his soulmate. If Skye isn’t who she claims to be, it won’t just hurt him. It’ll destroy him.”
“I don’t buy that she’s a traveler for a second,” Tavis waved a dismissive hand. “I think we’re getting way out over our skis.”
“Then explain why she looked at you the way she did,” Rick countered.
Tavis just puffed slowly on his cigar. “Come on, man. I’m a good-looking guy. Why wouldn’t she look at me?”
“Tomorrow, I’m going to find her and see if she gives me the look,” Rick said.
“Good luck with that, old man.”
“Didn’t you hear our duets in New Orleans? They sizzled. Skye will give me the look.”
“Sounds like a bet to me.”
“What will it prove if she gives Rick the look?” Clay asked. “That she’s looking for a boyfriend? And it won’t be one of you. You forgot how to flirt the day you met your soulmates.”
“What about you?” Tavis asked. “I saw that kiss in the barn. I thought you and Marcelle were taking it slow.”
“We are, but that doesn’t mean no physical contact.”
Tavis and Rick burst out laughing. “If you think you’re taking it slow, think again. That kind of kiss will lead you straight to Charlotte’s cabin,” Rick said.
“Not until we’re ready.” Clay crossed the room and opened the windows. Instead of letting the smoke out, it let in the earthy lakefront air. Clay returned to the coffee table and refilled his glass. “If Skye gives Rick the look, maybe she just wants companionship right now. Somebody to talk to.”
“Then stay away from her, Rick,” Tavis said. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. This situation could go to shit, and Skye might end up hating us.”
Rick rolled his cigar between his fingers as he sipped his drink. “Do you think she could be part of the Illuminati and know about time travel?”
“God, I hope not. You two were in the car when she mentioned finding the file in her father’s safe,” Tavis said. “Was she surprised?”
“She was curious,” Clay said. “I’m not sure I’d say surprised, but when Remy said the organization could be responsible for Alistair’s death, she got upset.”
“There’s a question that keeps circling in my brain,” Tavis mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Why did Skye invite you and Remy to stay in her home within mere hours of your meeting?”
“Because we were friends of Marcelle, and she was staying there,” Clay said.
“You didn’t think that was strange?”
“She insisted. She said she had plenty of room and often had musicians staying with her. We didn’t want to let Marcelle out of our sight, and since she wouldn’t come with us to the hotel, we took Skye up on her offer.”
“Did you ever wonder why Skye was standing on the sidewalk just as Marcelle emerged from the thick fog? Then, instantly, she becomes Marcelle’s BFF and conveniently needs a trumpet player. It all seems a little too perfectly choreographed,” Tavis observed.
“Are you trying to tarnish Skye’s character?
If you are, you’re dead wrong,” Clay said curtly.
“Kit met Cullen right after she arrived in Independence. Amber met Daniel right after she arrived in Leadville. David met Kenzie shortly after he arrived in London. People arrive where they’re supposed to be. ”
“So, these meetings are prearranged?” Tavis finished his drink, a weighty debate playing out in his mind over whether to pour another.
“Sure. By whoever controls the brooches,” Clay said.
“You’re the only one of us who was there when Skye came through the fog and landed in the clean room. Did she seem bewildered or even scared?” Rick asked.
“I didn’t notice her reacting to anything,” Clay said. “She sat on a stool outside of Charlotte’s surgery and watched Charlotte and Remy operate on Archibald. Then she left with Marcelle and me. She didn’t seem awed by her surroundings.”
“Charlotte and Braham’s house awes everybody. Why not her?” Rick pressed, puffing on his cigar. “Maybe she is a traveler and has seen the most stunning castles and mansions in the world, and that’s why she wasn’t impressed.”
“I don’t think so,” Clay said. “But why didn’t anybody ask her if Alistair ever mentioned time travel?”
“Maybe Remy asked her. We won’t know until we get home,” Tavis said.
“We’re spinning our wheels, overthinking this.
” Clay leaned forward, his gaze intense.
“As for seeing Skye earlier, you nearly jumped out of your skin coming face to face with her. Do you know what your expression looked like? No, you couldn’t see the shock plastered across your face.
Maybe her reaction was a reaction to you.
And how could she even travel? Her parents didn’t have a brooch. ”
“Maybe she hitched a ride with someone else. It could’ve been a member of the Illuminati.”
“This is crazy,” Clay said. “I don’t buy any of it. If Skye and her father had been able to travel, they would have taken Sheena to the future for medical care. I refuse to believe she isn’t the person Remy fell in love with.”
“Then let’s assume she’s that person and start planning our next move,” Tavis said.