Chapter 60 Chicago, 1927—Tavis #3
“Did you notice anything about the house that would help us break in?” Rick asked.
“Not from the front. If we’re going to get in, we’ll have to go through the rear of the house, and I didn’t drive back there,” Tavis said. “Clay will need to draw a layout of the place, so we won’t go in blind.”
“I’ll do that tonight.”
“Did you notice the date when you checked us in?” Tavis asked.
“It’s the nineteenth,” Rick said. “Skye’s mother will die tomorrow. Then we have eight days before the boat sinks.”
“We need to find out where the funeral will be and hope it’s not in the home. Maybe we can use that time to break into the house,” Tavis said.
“It will be in the obituary.” Clay skimmed through the brochure.
“This hotel has a bowling alley, ice cream factory, hospital with an operating room, lending library, barber shop, beauty shop, jewelry store, haberdashery, newsstand, men’s manicure parlor, and several restaurants.
The Colchester Grill is on the ground floor, offering English dishes and live vaudeville acts. The full feast costs $2.50.”
“I think we can afford that,” Tavis said.
Rick stood and drained his glass. “Let’s not talk about why we’re here for the rest of the night.”
Tavis thought about that, then nodded. “Good idea. Our brains can disengage, and maybe a solution or two will pop into our heads by morning.”
Clay laughed. “The thought of either of you disengaging is somewhere between probably not and absolutely not. But you can try.”
Tavis pulled his cell phone from his pocket out of sheer habit, intending to scroll through his messages, only to be struck by the hollow realization that there wouldn’t be a single word from Aislinn.
He couldn’t even call her. Since their fiery reunion a few months ago, they’d never gone longer than a couple of hours without a call or text.
This trip would be a grueling test for both him and Rick, who was rarely away from Penny.
Rick chomped down on his cigar, the smoke curling in thick, gray plumes, as he returned the half-empty bottle of whisky and box of cigars to the duffel bag. “Do you think anybody will search our room?”
“Staff will come in for turndown service, and I guess they could pilfer through our bags. Leave a large tip, and maybe they won’t,” Tavis said.
Rick stepped over to the desk and jotted a note on a piece of paper, then put the note and cash in an envelope. “Just as long as nobody takes the whisky and cigars, I’ll be okay.” He wrote THANK YOU in large letters on the envelope and left it on the desk where the staff could easily find it.
Clay opened a brown leather duffel with his initials engraved below the handle and pulled out a journal and a box of pencils. “I’m ready. Let’s go eat.”
“Do you think you’ll see someone worth sketching?”
Clay glanced at his watch. “It’s too early in the evening for Capone, and Eliot Ness never dined at high-profiled locations, but Vice President Dawes was a reported guest, along with other prominent politicians.
You never know.” Clay opened the journal and flipped through a few pages. “Crap. I brought the wrong one.”
“You can probably find a store on the first floor that sells them,” Rick said.
Clay unfolded a piece of paper he found tucked inside the back cover of the journal and studied it.
“I’ll be damned. When Remy and I first investigated Bastien and Marcelle’s disappearance, we discovered the brooch Marcelle bought came from a woman in Dallas named Edith Robertson.
Her brother, Alistair, married Sheena Marshall, and they disappeared from Inverness in 1972.
Elliott remembered their disappearance. Guess why? ”
“I have no fucking idea,” Rick said.
“I don’t either,” Tavis chimed in. “Go on, man. Don’t leave us hanging.”
“Edith and Alistair were siblings, but they had another sister, Ellena. Ellena Robertson married Roger Graham, and they had a daughter, Evelyn,” Clay said.
“I don’t see where the thread you’re tugging on will take us,” Tavis said.
“Evelyn Graham is Louise Milne’s partner. They own a B&B in Edinburgh. You’ve met them,” Clay said.
“Wait,” Tavis interrupted. “Isn’t Evelyn related to Elliott?”
“He calls her his stepsister, but it’s a loose connection at best. Elliott’s mother, Aileen McGregor Fraser, essentially ran off with Evelyn’s father, Roger Graham. They both died in a car crash years ago.”
“I’m still not following this story,” Tavis said.
“I’ll simplify it,” Clay said. “Alistair, Skye’s father, had a sister named Ellena.
Ellena married Roger Graham. The same Roger Graham, who then abandoned her to run off with Elliott’s mother.
It’s convoluted, I know. But the bottom line is that Skye’s uncle Roger had an affair with Elliott’s mother. ”
“Oh, shit!” Tavis said.
“Oh, shit is right,” Rick echoed. “But even that doesn’t explain the missing piece. Why did the Robertsons change their name to Marshall?”
“What if the brooch came from the Marshall side of the family, not the Robertsons?” Tavis proposed. “What if Alistair and Sheena changed their last names to Marshall, hoping to find relatives who could help them get back to their time?”
“That actually makes sense,” Rick said. “No wonder they went to the Annual St. Andrew’s Day ‘Feast of the Haggis’ at the Palmer House. They never gave up hope.”
A heavy silence settled in the room before Clay said, “I wish there was some way we could get to Sheena before she dies to let her know Skye would fall in love and raise her children in the twenty-first century.”
“We could,” Tavis said. “We could tell Alistair we’re here, and he could tell Sheena before it’s too late. But that means making contact tomorrow.”
“We can’t risk it. Not yet,” Rick interjected. “Not until we’re certain Alistair’s not involved with the Illuminati.”
Clay threw his hands up. “Why does it always feel like we’re stuck in a looping nightmare?”
“Because damn it, we are,” Tavis said.
“Why did Elliott keep quiet about knowing Alistair, Edith, and Ellena all this time?” Clay asked.
“I guess he didn’t want to dredge up the trauma of his mother’s deep betrayal. And honestly, I can’t blame him. Besides, I’m done trying to analyze him. He’s far too complicated,” Tavis said.
“I won’t argue with that,” Rick pointed to the sheet of paper Clay found in his journal. “Where did that note come from? You act like you’ve never seen it.”
“I haven’t, and I don’t know how it got inside the journal.”
“I do,” Tavis said. “Elliott put it there. He wanted us to know the full story.”
“That means he swapped my new journal with this one. When’d he do it?”
“Braham and Elliott hauled our bags to the new barn. He could have done it then.”
“Why didn’t he just tell us?”
Tavis strode across the polished floorboards, the quiet thud of his boots echoing the turmoil in his mind.
He halted before the window, staring out at the gathering dusk, his hands settling on his hips.
The fingers of one hand began a light, nervous tattoo against the fine weave of his woolen trousers.
“Tavis,” Rick said.
He didn’t answer.
“Tavis,” Clay said. “What are you thinking?”
“That Elliott’s a cunning, manipulative son of a bitch.
He wanted us to know the story. But like Erik, he decides what, when, and how much to tell us.
” Tavis dragged a deep breath into his lungs, then expelled it in a frustrated gust that fogged the cool windowpane.
“If we’re forced to make a split-second decision to risk our lives for Alistair, Elliott wants us to know who we’re risking it for. ”
“I don’t follow the twisted logic,” Rick admitted. “Does Elliott want us to risk everything for him, or let him die?”
“That’s precisely why he smuggled in that piece of paper,” Tavis said, turning from the window. “Elliott didn’t want us to ask what we should do because he was terrified of his own answer.”
“Which is what, precisely?” Rick demanded.
“Alistair and Roger were more than friends. They were like brothers,” Clay interjected. “Alistair knew Roger was planning to run away with Aileen, knew the danger, and yet he didn’t raise a hand to stop him.”
“So,” Rick said. “Elliott blames Alistair for Aileen’s death?”
“Elliott blames Roger and Aileen for running off, but Alistair could have told someone or tried to stop them,” Clay said.
“How do you know?” Rick’s question hung in the air like a pall of smoke.
“I saw it happening in a vision a long time ago. I didn’t know who the people were.
” Clay blinked several times, shook his head, and smoothed his pencil-thin mustache.
“There’s a piece of the puzzle that Elliott doesn’t know.
Alistair tried to stop Roger. They got into a fight.
Roger hit Alistair, knocked him out, and drove off. ”
“Son of a bitch,” Tavis said.