Chapter 61 Chicago, 1927—Tavis
The paper crinkled crisply as he flicked to the next page.
Above the fold was a listing for a long-term rental for a picturesque home on N.
State Parkway. Was that the residence across the street from Skye’s imposing house he had seen the day before?
Probably. Would their loosely knit plan work better if they lived across the street from her?
They could discreetly spy on the family and visitors.
Unless Braham anticipated the need for surveillance equipment, they didn’t have any.
Rick didn’t just walk in. He sauntered, confidence parting the air around him. He balanced a book in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, his gaze soft as it landed on Tavis. “Anything interesting in the paper?”
Rick’s low rumble pulled Tavis instantly from his own thoughts.
“Yeah, a little.” Tavis moved with an almost jarring motion, reclaiming a copy of The Chicagoan magazine and yesterday’s late afternoon issue of the Chicago Daily News from the adjacent chair and placing them on the table.
“Every time I see you, you have a book in your hand.”
Rick settled into the chair and topped off his cup from a nearby carafe, the rich, dark liquid pouring in a silent stream. “I’m reading more, but I’m also trying to set an example for Jean.”
“I should do more of that. Joseph picks up on everything I do or don’t do.” A genuine hint of self-reflection colored Tavis’s tone.
“You can’t go wrong with books.” Rick sipped his coffee. “Although most of the books I read now are about grapes, terroir, and all that.”
Tavis leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. He leaned closer to study the title and cover of Rick’s book, a thick, classic-looking tome. “That doesn’t look like it’s about grapes, climate, soil, or terrain.”
“It’s not anywhere near it,” Rick said. “There’s a small bookstore downstairs. A woman saw me browsing, recommended it, and then stood by the cash register watching me like a hawk to make sure I bought it.”
Tavis crossed his arms. “Elmer Gantry, huh? Never heard of it.”
“From what the woman said, it’s a bestseller and a biting satire of religious hypocrisy by Sinclair Lewis, and an absolute must-read. I figured, why not? If I couldn’t contribute to a conversation while we’re here, I could always mention the book and see what kind of rise I get out of people.”
“As long as you don’t mention the book to older women with umbrellas who’d rather bonk you on the head than take part in a literary discussion.”
Rick teasingly threw up his hands in mock surrender. “That settles it. I won’t discuss books with anyone—anyone—holding an umbrella.”
Tavis felt a warmth bloom in his chest. “Do you have literary discussions in Napa?”
“I steer clear of controversial books. It’s bad for business.”
“I’m sure Meredith appreciates that.”
“Meredith is rarely in Napa these days. She and Elliott spend most of their time at Mallory Plantation. These days, they prefer family over business associates, and that suits JL and Kevin just fine. They can manage MacKlenna Farm without Elliott’s looming shadow.”
Tavis knew Meredith was spending a lot of time at Mallory Plantation, but he thought she’d have more of a presence in Napa. “Isn’t she helping with the gala?”
“She is, but our meetings are all video calls. I could pen a piece on video conferencing etiquette and how to ensure productive interactions. It drives me nuts, though. I’d rather meet in person unless she launches into one of her recent diatribes about my latest executive decision. Which has been happening a lot lately.”
Tavis planted his elbows firmly on the table. “Is there a reason for all her stress?”
“JC’s getting married in a few months. As for the winery, we’re on target to have a legendary party.
Every detail is polished. Penny swears to me daily that nothing is falling through the cracks.
” Rick took a measured sip of his coffee.
“Honestly, I can’t pinpoint the shift in Meredith.
Penny let slip the other day that she’s worried about Meredith’s health.
On their last morning run, Meredith turned back, which is out of character for her, but Penny dismissed it as just another symptom of the stress she’s under. ”
“Did Penny express any concern that Meredith’s cancer had returned? I know from my late-night research that hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer can remain dormant for years before reactivating.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Rick asked. “That’s deep in the weeds—that’s stuff you only know if you’ve lived it.”
Tavis stiffened, the sudden tension pulling his shirt tight across the solid width of his shoulders.
He tried to physically ease the rigid line of his spine, but when the subject was his mother, control was impossible.
“Sam had breast cancer, but Mark and I didn’t find out until she’d already endured the full brutality of surgery and chemo. ”
Rick’s eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. “How could you not know that about your own mother?”
“We thought she was halfway across the world on a dig, chasing ancient artifacts. The truth? She was in Germany getting treatment, enduring it alone. She didn’t want us to know. God only knows why she’d choose isolation over family.”
“Does Sam know about Meredith’s cancer?”
“Sam’s a very private person. It’s unlikely she breathed a word to anyone. I haven’t even told Elliott, but he probably unearthed that skeleton when he investigated my entire family.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. You must have been furious when you found out, but on the flip side, you didn’t have to live with the daily terror of worrying about her.”
Tavis thought about that, then nodded. “You know there’s nothing wrong with worrying. It just shows how much you love and care about someone. And now I’m going to worry more about Meredith.”
“That’s the last thing Meredith would want.
In fact, Charlotte, Meredith, and Kit are planning a trip to Scotland to conduct research at the Archives in Edinburgh.
Those three share a unique bond—shared history and deep trust,” Rick said, his voice laced with affection.
“Occasionally, they’ll let others inside their circle for outings. ”
“Usually on Charlotte’s pontoon. Aislinn has heard the whispered tales and is desperate for an invitation,” Tavis said, carefully folding the morning newspaper with a crisp snap and setting it aside.
“Changing subjects, there’s a house for rent across the street from the Marshalls. What do you think about renting it?”
Rick took a slow sip, his gaze fixed on some unseen point outside the window. “Can we get it today?”
Tavis chuckled. “It’s fine to take a minute to think about it, you know.”
“Fifteen seconds is enough time for anything important. Is there a phone number, or shall we stop by and charm them in person?”
Tavis tipped his chin toward the ad. “Why don’t you call and schedule an appointment?”
“What’s wrong with you today?” Rick asked, an amused glint in his eyes.
“Nothing,” Tavis said. “But I’ve found your commanding, New York City cop tone of voice is often far more… persuasive.”
“The criminals I used to tackle on the gritty streets of New York City never seemed to think so. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather use the velvet-smooth tone of a California vintner.”
“Use whichever one you want, but we should come up with a plausible answer for why we’re here in case the owner asks,” Tavis said.
“We could say we’re here to buy Thoroughbred racehorses for the prestigious MacKlenna Farm. That usually works wonders.”
“Before you bring the farm into the mix, we should call Sean and let him know we’re here. And leave Clay out of the conversation. In Sean’s world, he hasn’t met Clay yet.”
Rick unfolded the newspaper. “Let’s see if there’s a track open today.
” He scanned down the columns until he almost reached the last page.
A slow, speculative grin spread across his face.
“Hot damn. Hawthorne Race Course is open, and if my memory serves, pari-mutuel betting is now legal in Chicago. Let’s go to the races, feel the adrenaline rush, and maybe, just maybe, throw down enough money to draw some interesting attention. ”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
Rick’s hands fell away from the paper, which rustled softly. “When I look at the reasons we’re here, and what we’re doing, a knot bunches in my stomach, thinking about Skye. We formed a special bond singing together, and I feel like I’m betraying every note of that experience.”
Tavis settled his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “When we get home, when the dust settles, tell her about how you felt.”
“By then,” Rick sighed. “It’ll be too late. The moment will have passed.”
“Then rent the goddamn house,” Tavis insisted, his voice firm with purpose. “Then hang out on the street until you see her. When you do, look her in the eyes and tell her how sorry you are to hear about her mother’s passing.”
“If she’s anything like I was at the end of my mother’s life, she won’t want to be alone,” Rick said. “She’ll want to talk to someone who understands the ache of losing a mom.”
“Tell her that. Open up to her. Shared grief can become its own kind of bond.”
“You don’t think I’m being unfair to Penny, do you?”
Tavis shook his head. “No. Penny knows how you feel about Skye—how Skye feels about Remy—and how you feel about Penny. And you’re no stranger to grief. If anyone besides Remy can reach her, it’s you.”
“You’re not a stranger to it either.”
The reminder clenched Tavis’s gut. He drew a slow breath, then another. “I know it too well.”
“If I lost Penny,” Rick said quietly, “my world would stop. Shatter.”