A Suit stopped her near the door. “Aquarium’s not open. We’ve got a private event tonight.”
“But I’m on the list. I’m a friend of Owen Taylor.”
He eyed her, then checked for her name. With a nod he allowed her to continue. Notes from an orchestra became her roadmap. The sound led her to the huge room she remembered from childhood field trips as the Caribbean Reef. The high ceilings and Greek-style architecture added to the opulent feel. Circle tables with crisp linen, china, and towering rose centerpieces completed the look. Whitney rubbed her arms. Party-goers gathered together, chatting with champagne flutes in their hands, the men in formal suits or tuxedos, women in floor-length gowns.
It would have been a setting perfect for the Queen of England, if not for the warm, fishy smell that forever lingered in the aquarium.
She scanned the room for Owen but didn’t see him or his mother. Queasiness slapped her stomach. What was wrong with her? Big group situations didn’t cause normal people to break out in hives and start sweating. Everyone seemed to know each other so Whitney continued on into the Oceanarium to watch the white-sided Pacific dolphins play while in the next tank creamy white beluga whales broke the water’s surface.
“There you are.” Owen’s mother joined her as she leaned on the glass half-wall near the tanks. Mrs. Taylor’s deep blue gown was tailored to perfection, making her already tiny frame look supermodel trim. No hair out of place, and makeup that looked professionally done.
Next to her, Whitney felt like a cow in a suburban backyard—entirely out of place. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Taylor. You look great.”
“You—” His mother pursed her lips. “Should have worn something different. You won’t be able to sit at the head table in that.” The woman could have made Attila the Hun cry, all the while wearing a smile.
Whitney’s throat went dry. She’d interviewed actors, musicians, and heads of multi-million dollar corporations without a second of nerves—yet Mrs. Taylor set her knees knocking.
“I know. All my other things needed to be cleaned. I decided to come at the last minute because I haven’t gotten to see Owen all week and—”
Mrs. Taylor stopped sipping her champagne. “Next time, please use your common sense. Your poor choices reflect on him.”
Whitney took a step back, hoping to end the conversation. “Do you know where I can find him?”
“He’s busy. You know that.”
Have courage. She needed to stop wilting around this woman. If she’d learned anything from Ellen’s story so far, it was to take action, speak up, and be brave.
She squared her shoulders and faced Mrs. Taylor again. “It’s pretty clear that you don’t like me, but going forward—”
Owen’s mother ate up the distance between them in a heartbeat. “We are not having this conversation right now. Not here. Not with people listening.” She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then turned to greet a partygoer with a huge smile.
Whitney spun around to head toward the exit and ended up nose-to-nose with Owen.
Resplendent in a fitted gray-blue suit that matched the color of his eyes, he wore his politician smile. Not the real one Whitney knew came out when he watched old I Love Lucy episodes. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I think that might be best.” She touched his arm.
He took a step closer and whispered, “I saw you talking to my mother.” His eyebrows rose.
Whitney nodded.
Owen winked. “She’s gone now.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve got to talk to her. She hates me. Stand up for me to her.”
“You know I can’t do that. She’s the only family I have.” He leaned against the tank, looking out the windows at Lake Michigan instead of her.
Men like Ellen’s James just didn’t exist anymore. James was willing to give up everything for Ellen and risk his life spying. Modern men seemed to have lost the ability to cherish women the way men had in earlier times.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come tonight.” Whitney turned.
Owen grabbed her hand and offered a genuine smile. “Hey, I like when you’re around.”
“But you mom clearly doesn’t and I can’t take any more comments from her about what I’m wearing or what I’m not doing right.”
He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the top of her hand. “Just dress a little nicer next time. My mom’s right. People know we’re together. Whatever you do reflects on me. I hate to be like that with you. You know that, don’t you? I’d be happy to see you if you were wearing an oversized sweat suit and hadn’t showered in a week. It’s just the media and with this election I have to care about stupid stuff like that.” He placed her hand on his chest and covered it with both of his. “That’s why that story about your ancestor got me so mad. I want to be with you Whitney, but I can’t let anything jeopardize this path I’m on.”
She bristled at his words. Would it always be like this? Him telling her what she could and couldn’t do? Bowing to his mother’s crazy ideas?
Then again, who was she to question what he needed? It wasn’t like she’d ever seen a normal, functioning relationship up close. Mom’s boyfriends were hardly worth keeping around. Perhaps what Owen asked was normal. It would do her well to remember she wanted this—him—the stability a life with Owen Taylor would offer.
Shoving the emotions swirling in her heart away, Whitney wrapped her arms around him. With her head near his neck she breathed in his cologne and closed her eyes and forced her lips to say words her heart didn’t want to. “I understand.”
“Really? That’s great because I need to go visit with people and secure donations. You can’t cling to me like usual. I want to see you talking with all the supporters too.”
“Owen.” Whitney latched onto his arm when he turned to leave her. “I … I don’t schmooze well. I never know what to say. I’m not comfortable just walking up to people I don’t know and starting a conversation.”
He framed her face. “And you never will be until you just force yourself to do it. If we’re going to be together I need you to be approachable. You have to be someone the public will adore and want to emulate. Now go be that girl. For me.” He sauntered away, joining a group of ladies in evening gowns. His laugh bounded off the walls as he threw his head back at something they said.
Whitney slipped into a bathroom and plunked her purse onto the counter. She gripped the cool marble edge and leaned toward the mirror. “Go out there and do what Owen wants. He believes in you.”
But even thinking of trying to talk to all those strangers made her wish for a bad case of hives. At least then she could excuse herself. Owen knew she couldn’t handle events like this without him at her side.
But she had to. She would. Have courage.
Whitney forced herself to walk back to the Caribbean Reef and watched a diver plunge into the turquoise habitat and hand-feed the fish. A waiter offered her a lobster spring roll, but she declined. It seemed treacherous to eat something from the sea with all the aquatic life watching them.
Tightness pulled at her lungs. Why couldn’t she function at public events? This was why she’d decided against becoming a reporter. Being on the front lines and speaking up wasn’t what she enjoyed. Staying behind the scenes, researching, and being locked away with her desk and her computer sounded much better.
She approached two matronly women and offered a shy, “Hi.”
The women eyed her then raised their brows in unison.
“Are you … enjoying your evening?” Whitney forced a smile.
“What’s not to enjoy?” The slimmer one set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray.
“Well, have a good rest of your time.” With slow steps she backed away.
The women turned their backs and resumed their conversation.
After four more attempts at stilted conversations with people who treated her like wait staff, she left without finding Owen. He wouldn’t miss her
. Even if he did, she couldn’t deal with another talk from him. Not tonight. Not after spending time with Gran and with thoughts of James and Ellen nagging her.
She drove the Pilot back to her apartment and didn’t realize until she pulled into the designated parking spot that she hadn’t turned on the radio. After weeks of paling around with Nate, silence in the car relaxed her.
Pulling off her heels the minute she closed the door to the complex, Whitney stumbled up the stairs on sore feet. When she looked up from finding her keys she noticed a small package wrapped in brown paper at her doorstep. After scooping it up she entered her apartment and plopped into her ratty orange overstuffed chair, a priceless Goodwill find during college. With careful fingers she opened the attached envelope and pulled out a message jotted on a yellowing three by five notecard.
Whitney,
Because no one should have to part with a best friend.
-Nate
The blocky handwriting suited him. Even the first word that he’d scratched out three times made her smile. Nate was uncomplicated, just as he should be.
She cut the ribbon holding the brown paper secure and gasped when a first edition of Watership Down fell onto her lap. With a touch gentle enough to cradle the Crown Jewels; Whitney caressed the cover which bore the exact same picture that had graced her lost copy. She opened the book with tender reverence for the old pages and found Nate had written a note in the cover as well.
Last thing. The bunnies left what would have killed them for the new and the unknown, kinda neat to think about. –Nate
Finding his number on her cell she punched in a text:
You’re amazing. Thank you for the book. You didn’t have to.
Seconds later, her phone beeped. She flipped it open to read his message:
Wanted to. Hope you had a good night. Pick you up in the a.m. b/c they say rain.
After grabbing a box of Kleenex from the bathroom, Whitney hunkered down in bed with the book in hand. No fresh tears would mar the pages tonight.
***
Nate’s prediction of rain came true. His Camry idled outside her complex as she toed into her pink rain boots and yanked on a green raincoat. She adjusted her orange hat, slung her purple bag over her shoulder and had to laugh.
With a leap she cleared a pond-sized pothole puddle and climbed into Nate’s car. “Sorry, I just realized I look like a rainbow threw up on me.”
“Naw.” His dimple came out to play. “I like it. It’s cheery.”
“I have to thank you again for the book, Nate you don’t know how much that meant to me.” She clicked her seatbelt as he pulled onto Halsted.
“No problem.” He drove with one hand. “So Rita called me late last night and said she found something having to do with both Ellen and Lewis.”
“I’m amazed how many papers are uncategorized at the Foundation.”
“We’re always looking for more volunteers to help sort the artifacts.” He took a swig from a generic cherry cola can. Pop, the breakfast of champions.
“Don’t sound too eager. I might take you up on the offer. Then you’d be stuck with my company even after we crack this spy ring.”
Nate gave a soft smile. “I could get used to an arrangement like that.” His blinker clicked. “So how was the thing at the Shedd?”
Whitney closed her eyes. “Very glitzy. Very Owen.”
“Did you have a good time?”
She shrugged. “It’s something that comes with the territory, it doesn’t matter if I enjoy it or not.”
“Would you be happy going to events like that for the rest of your life?”
“I’m sure I’d get used to them at some point. At least, I hope so.”
After taking a parking stub from the machine, Nate pulled into a public lot that serviced the Chicago Historical Foundation. When he turned off the engine Whitney tossed open the passenger door to make a dash toward the building.
Nate sloshed after her. “Hey! Slow down.”
Bringing her hand up to shield her face from the sky’s watery onslaught, she waited for him. “It’s raining!”
“I can see that!” Water dripped down his sheepdog hair. “But didn’t anyone ever tell you to take it easy and enjoy the little things? Like a walk in the rain.”
She tossed her hands in the air. Fingertips wet. “And how do you suppose I enjoy getting drenched?” A laugh filled her voice.
“Like this.” He grabbed Whitney’s hand and sent her spinning away only to pull her back in a twirl with the snap of his wrist. Whitney laughed as she landed, hands splayed across his chest. Nate’s arms came around to encircle her, pulling her snug against him. For a moment, their foreheads touched and a raindrop that started on his head cascaded down her cheek. Inches away, her eyes locked with his warm hazels. His gaze dipped to her lips.
“You’re crazy.” She breathed.
A slight grin pulled the corner of his mouth. “I thought girls liked stuff like this. Dancing in the rain.”
She pushed out of his arms, yanked up her hood, and started toward the building again. “I think that’s only when you’re headed home, or when you don’t have the prospect of wet jeans for the rest of the day.”
They climbed the steps together, Nate knew of her aversion to elevators by now.
“Oh, hey.” He held open the employees-only door. “I got hold of a woman named Gloria in Wheaton. Their historical foundation is called History Speaks.”
“Does she have Lewis stuff?” Whitney dropped her bag on the table nearest the curator’s desk.
Phone to her ear, Rita Warden waved.
Nate peeled off his army coat. “It took her some searching, but she has a couple boxes. She put them aside and I promised we’d come take a look this weekend. I mean, that is, if you want me to come with you to see them.” He palmed the back of his neck.
“Of course … I mean … if you want to come. Don’t feel like you have to.” Whitney pulled out the Ingram binder she’d started almost a month ago.
“I’ve been along for the ride this long. I’m just as interested as piecing the puzzle together as you are.”
“Even though I don’t have to anymore, I’m still determined to clear Lewis’s name.” She tapped the binder with a pen.
Rita summoned Nate to the desk, which happened to be three feet from where Whitney sat. “Phone call.”
The eccentric older lady stepped near Whitney, a faded letter in her hand. “He’s just the sweetest guy, isn’t he? Goes out of his way to do the right thing with never a thought of what it could cost him.”
Whitney glanced over her shoulder at Nate. His back faced her and his shoulders became rigid. Whatever news he heard on the phone couldn’t be good.
His voice though low, carried. “You’re not supposed to call me. You know that. I can’t talk to you.” Pause. “I know. I know. There’s nothing we can do about it though. You can’t call me again and don’t make Rita go against what she knows is right.”
When Whitney faced Rita again, the woman gave a knowing look. Caught snooping! Whitney face went hot. “Nate’s been a great research assistant. You should give him a raise.”
Rita laughed. “The man works for free. I guess I could offer to buy him dinner one of these days.”
Nate stepped back up to the table, his face betraying nothing. “All right, Rita, show us this letter you found.”
“It’s another note from Ellen to her cousin, Alice.”
CHAPTER TEN
Chicago, April 29, 1886
Ellen shook as she came back to consciousness. Humid air swirled in the bag over her head. She tugged against the restraints that held her arms behind a splintery chair and gritted her teeth. Madame De Molineus School for the Enrichment of Young Ladies had not prepared her for such a situation. Utterly useless school.
“Settle down, deary.” A man with a rough voice spoke from within the room.
What would they do with her? Kidnapping would garnish them no money—her stepfather was
unlikely to pay. Maybe her aunt would. Hopefully. Hadn’t James said these people thought she was a spy? What if they … if they killed her? They wouldn’t dare, would they? Then again they’d thought little of shoving her off a ship into frigid water.
Squinting, she tried to see through the bag, but darkness surrounded her. A moment later, someone jerked the bag from her head. She rapid-fire blinked, but it did little to improve her senses.
“Wh-what do you want with me?” Ellen tried to make out the features of the man who sat in the far corner, but shadows painted his face.
“I want you not to scream. If you do, I’d sure hate getting your blood on my best trousers.” He crossed his legs. “Besides, I’d like to know what business a girl like you had in the alley outside of such an establishment.” His voice held the hint of an accent, but for the life of her, she couldn’t place from where.
Ellen wracked her brain. She didn’t even know what sort of establishment The Rat Palace was. “I heard a rumor that The Rat Palace had the best entertainment.”
The shadow-man guffawed. “Sure do tonight. Got ourselves a preacher man down in the tavern going on and on about hell and damnation. Pays the bills as well as the liquor, but I sure hate listening to him.”
She grabbed upon that bit of information like a lifejacket. “I wanted to attend the revival. I couldn’t find the door and I became turned around in that dark alley. Please, let me go.” Ellen picked at her bindings with her loose fingers.
“Lies do not become you, Miss Ingram. You do your fine brother a disservice showing up. Now we’ll have to go and question his commitment.” He shifted, and the rickety chair moaned. “Will he choose you? Or will he choose our cause?”
“Lewis is in New York.” Her eyes began to adjust.
“Ah, again, lying’s not your strong suite.” He rose from the chair and circled her in the darkness, a prowling lion. The floorboards creaked with each galumph of his unlaced boots. He stopped behind her, and a foul-smelling kerchief wound around her face, over her lips. It pinched the sides of her mouth and scraped against her tongue. A wave of nausea washed over her.
Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) Page 12
