by Jack Parker
Scott was speaking. She didn't answer right away, her gaze focused straight ahead.
"Do you see something?" he repeated.
Her halfhearted "No" must have caught his attention.
"Let me guess. You don't like heights," he ventured.
Tessa waited patiently for the lecture, which didn't come. Beside her, she could hear Scott moving. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, mortified to see he'd shifted and was now sitting at an angle in his seat; his body and attention directed towards her.
The ride started to climb again. Scott's neck bent back slightly, allowing his head to rest against the metal cage. "Okay," he said, "sometimes it helps to focus on something across the way." Chuckling softly, he concluded, "Or you could just look at me and tell me how cute I am."
Exhaling quickly, Tessa didn't take the time to check her words nor her tone. "It's not funny," she snapped at his attempt to lighten the mood, but it came out resembling more a hurt child than a grown woman.
Some help she turned out to be; white-knuckling the ride, barely able to breathe.
Scott smirked, "Pride get in your way often?"
She wouldn't lift her eyes. Her ego was hurt; she felt like a kitten in a tree that needed gentle coaxing to get down. Finally she relented; with the crimson still evident in her cheeks, she turned to face her would-be rescuer.
The ride continued on but with little notice from Tessa; her smile faded as blue eyes met green. They locked not on the horizon or a building in the distance but on the kindness revealed. With a moment's silence between the two, and her guard relaxed, she forgot all about the terrifying ride, being shot at, and racing through town.
The smile he offered was flirty as ever. "You mention this to anyone and I'll deny it." The surge of bravado served to relax her. She took comfort that no one would believe him anyway; her persona dictated a tough-as-nails, no-fear kind of woman.
Tessa could feel the small cage go up and over. It swung softly as the weight shifted on the arc and the butterflies in the pit of her stomach, continued their little dance. The air grew thick as the breeze stilled. The ride seemed to slow.
Scott moved, leaning closer. "Tessa."
She blinked at the sound of her name. The spell shattered. Another breath and she realized the ride was over.
"Everybody out," the ride operator said as he opened their door.
Scott didn't need to be told twice nor could he unbuckle and get off the ride fast enough, making a beeline for a small souvenir kiosk on the promenade.
Tessa hustled to keep up, trotting on her much shorter legs. "Did you see something?"
"No...yes. Well, not really," Scott replied.
Her companion appeared intent on a spinning rack of postcards that had caught his attention. To any bystander, he looked like nothing more than a tourist interested in the meager selection. He didn't find the one he wanted. Tessa watched as Scott held up the card they already owned, careful to conceal the words written on the back. "We're looking for another one like this," he asked the vendor, "but I don't see any on the stand."
The clerk glanced up and took a peek at the post card. "Sorry, I don't carry that one," she said. "Must by in the gift shop at the Smith Museum of Stained Glass Windows. Try there."
His response was bland, "I suppose that will be our next stop." Taking a few steps away, he mumbled his thoughts out loud, "How can you have an entire museum dedicated to glass? Why couldn't it be an aquarium, that's more my style."
A soft giggle slipped between her lips. Her hand moved to her mouth to shield the grin that threatened to reveal that she could enjoy herself. Grumbling under his breath with little-boy charm, Scott had shown a side that was quite unexpected,. She relaxed into the new-found camaraderie, forgetting the tension of only a few minutes ago.
The museum was actually less than 100 feet away from their last stop, but as they went to the door, Scott pointed out that it was closed. He read aloud the placard which indicated the museum had 150 stained glass windows on display depicting religious and cultural history, but that public tours were only available at 2 p.m. on Thursdays.
"Fortunately, tomorrow is Thursday," he said. "I still think there's something to this location, but I guess we'll have to wait to see. Unless of course, you know someone here too?"
"Me?
"Happen to know the curator?"
"Not that I'm aware of," her tone was as brisk as the wind that blew off the nearby water.
She turned and began walking back towards the car, confident there was nothing they could do, and restless from the waiting. "The glass exhibit isn't so bad, you know. Many are from local landmarks. The front altar windows from many of the old churches are there, and they are some of the most impressive in the museum." The details she included and passion that she spoke with, revealed more than just a fan of stained glass; she'd obviously been there before.
Scott shrugged. "Well, I guess there's nothing else to do, unless you want to wait for the fireworks?"
Her cell phone rang. She started at the sound, looking around the pier for the musical peal before realizing that the ringtone belonged to her. For the moment, she'd forgotten she was waiting on a call. Flipping open the phone, she answered with a harried, "Yeah."
"Tessa, it's Marcus."
"Hey, Marcus," she said, suddenly wary, reminding herself what led to having to make a call to him in the first place, "do you have a name that goes with that plate number?"
"Yeah. But I don't think you're going to like it."
Self-conscious, Tessa took a step away from Scott, "What is it?"
"The car is registered to Christopher Perelli."
She couldn't help the loss of color from her cheeks or the shock in her voice. "What?"
Scott hovered close, but didn't interrupt. She could see his stoic presence in her peripheral vision as she pushed aside ugly memories. "Could there be a mistake, or an old plate?"
"No." Marcus was adamant. "It's current. Renewed just recently."
"A person's gotta watch what they ask for." Tessa mumbled.
It was Marcus' turn to ask, "What?"
"I've got to go."
"Tess, if there's trouble, you'd better call your father," he said.
She shivered. "I never said there was trouble."
"Yeah, you did…as soon as you 'made' Cy." Marcus warned, uttering the man's name that was more commonly used. "I can only guess that you've seen this car Tessa. And if that's true. Then he's seen you."
Chapter 6
Art History
BOOM
Whatever Tessa was about to say, was blown from her mind by the sound of the first fireworks exploding. On reflex, her head turned towards the noise, just in time to see the sparkle of white and yellow, light up the sky. She dropped her eyes from the festive show. Life wasn't pretty.
She closed the phone; hanging up on her old friend Marcus without saying goodbye.
The action on the boardwalk almost came to a standstill. The strolling people stopped, heads arched skyward to enjoy the brightly colored flashes.
All, but three men.
Seemingly in quite a rush, the men snaked their way around the stationary spectators on the Pier. Neatly clad in dark jeans and white shirts, their attire did not beg for the attention they were drawing from Tessa. They hurried, oblivious to the noise and action around them. Curious, her eyes followed the three men until they rounded a corner, disappearing from sight.
The last of the fireworks faded. Scott asked, "Who was on the phone?"
Tessa turned at the sound of his voice. "Marcus from the DMV. He gave me a name to go with that license plate."
"You don't seem too happy with the answer—someone you know?"
And again, he was calm, patiently waiting for the answer as though nothing would surprise him.
She wanted to shock him. "You could say that. Cy Perelli, Darla's big bad brother. The same Cy Perelli that went underground the day my brother Rhen was killed."
His eyes flickered over her. "Doesn't mean he was driving."
"That would be wishful thinking." The cotton candy smell in the air was no longer pleasant. The sickening sweetness mixed with burnt hot dogs and spilled coke.
She exhaled sharply.
Scott took his time and seemed to consider all she'd said, and perhaps more importantly, how she'd said it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Well, that puts a different spin on things. This could be about you, rather than Darla and a postcard."
She grunted, unwilling to commit one way or the other.
"We should stick together," Scott continued, "and you should call the police. Have him picked up."
"I don't think so," she responded curtly.
The frown on his face almost had her wishing she could share her reasons, but years of tradition kept her lips sealed.
But the moment was short lived, something distracted him. Tessa was standing with her back to the museum, however, Scott could see through the glass into the building. Someone was inside.
Moving past Tessa, he tapped on the glass front door. A man in black jeans and white shirt turned at the noise, making eye contact. Scott knocked a second time as the man inside hesitated to acknowledge him.
His face was in the shadows as he turned the lock. He didn't open the door fully, and barely poked his head out. "We're closed."
"We need to see the gift shop," Scott said, even while his mind scrambled for some sort of story.
"No one here to help you," the man responded, already retreating back inside. "Come back tomorrow."
Scott moved forward. "We're with the Chicago Pier and Exhibition Authority."
There it was again, a slight hesitation, like a bat testing the light. "You don't say." The man pushed the door open, looking Scott up and down. "You don't have an appointment, and now isn't the best time."
"I want to see the curator." Scott replied, ignoring the fact it was after business hours.
The request was slightly different than his original one but it didn't seem to matter to the man at the door; causing no question or confusion. Tessa was ignored and she started to wonder what the CPEA might be to the museum.
Shoulders set, the man still blocked the entrance. "He's not here."
"Place a call," Scott pressed.
"Alright," the man agreed. Something in his voice made Tessa uneasy, even more so as the door opened and they were granted access. "Wait here."
"What are you up to?" she asked.
The lobby wasn't large. Scott took a few steps towards the gift shop, but Tessa hung back near the entrance, more interested in the first display of windows that caught her attention.
Lighting in the floor effectively showed off the art in glass as it hung upright, suspended from the ceiling. The window was large—12 feet tall by 18 feet wide. It swayed slightly, like a hangman's noose.
Tessa knew what window she was staring at, even without a fancy plaque to declare that it was the bestowed gift to St. Joseph's that was now here. It was not a joyous piece, it had a most negative presence, striking Tessa as morbid more than celebratory. Several figures, four men and two women were depicted. They could have been saints or angels, it was difficult to tell, but one had wings and one was adorned with a halo. Some immortalized in glass were standing, some sitting, one man was lying down. Along the edges, the plagues that God had once set upon Egypt were displayed: floods, pestilence, famine, and locusts.
As she walked around the window, surveying it from all angles, Scott studied the gift shop display. "The shop clerk was right," he called over his shoulder, before he turned to see what was holding Tessa's attention. "Our mysterious postcard was probably bought here. Maybe sent by someone who works here," he added, allowing his thoughts to emerge without any consideration or proof.
She looked down the hall in the direction the man in black pants had disappeared. An uneasy feeling swept through her. "We should leave," Tessa whispered.
"No," Scott countered, coming to stand next to her, "give it a minute. I want to see how far the case of mistaken identity takes us. If he had any idea we were a couple of nosy reporters, he wouldn't have let us in. There's something going on, and I'd like to see—" He paused, then pointed at the window she was studying, "I hope the exhibits get better further in, 'cause this one is really ugly."
At the base of the window were two biblical references, one in the left corner, and one in the right: Matthew 5:17 and Matthew 2:14. Removing her camera phone from her purse, she snapped a couple pictures of the window. "I need a Bible."
"What?"
Nervous, she didn't wait for Scott, but pushed open the door and returned to the Pier. Scott was left to follow. Tessa was walking fast, and this time it was his turn to jog to catch up.
"What's the matter?" He didn't know her well enough to react to the shift in mood. As they approached the car, he asked gently, "You having some sort of religious experience or something?"
"Or something."
"So what's with that window—why'd you take a picture of that one?" Scott pushed.
Tessa didn't bother to hesitate with the information, it would be public record if he wanted to check, "Word has it, that window was bestowed onto St. Joseph's after DeMarco's death."
"Well then, maybe I'm reading too much Da Vinci Code into this—but Darla's body was found on Locust Street. Let's see the picture."
She flipped her phone around for him to view the picture she'd just taken, deliberately pointing out the related plague depicted on the stained glass window "Are you talking about his?" she gave a small snort "You watch too much tv," and she quickly shut the phone.
Scott looked behind him. No one from the museum appeared to be missing them. Maybe she was right and they'd seen all there was to see. Nevertheless, he didn't like being left in the dark. One hand rested on the Alpha Romeo before he made his decision. He'd roll with it. "Where to?"
"Let's go to your place."
"What?" he found himself saying for the second time in as many minutes.
Tessa got in the car, and fastened her seat belt. "I need a Bible. And I know I don't have one at my place. Libraries are closed, we can't talk in a bookstore, and going back to the office will only give Candice something to talk about. So..."
"Okay, you've totally lost me." Scott said, looking a little bewildered.
"I don't think Darla's murder had anything to do with that window but I would like to see what those two Bible quotes are."
Shaking his head, Scott started the car and backed out of the parking space. "If my mother ever heard that a woman wanted me for my Bible, I'd never hear the end of it." He eased into traffic. "Start talking. What's so exciting about that damn window?"
"Where's the postcard?" she said, ignoring his question and asking her own.
"Someplace safe," he answered, patting the pocket of his slacks.
"Can I have it?"
"Sure. After you explain what's going on."
The car responded to his touch and shifted smoothly, maneuvering through the traffic like a dark shadow. Occasionally Scott looked in the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following them. So far, the events of today had hit fairly close to home for the woman beside him. That disturbed him. It could all be coincidence; merely a random string of events, or it could be something else.
Tessa didn't respond but rather turned and stared out the passenger window.
Scott started in again. "Okay, here's what I've got. It's looking like all the missing women disappeared on the 19th of the month; Gail in February, Darla March and Kate in April."
"Another thing they all have in common is their present occupation. Could be some sort of psycho having a problem with waitresses; but then why only once a month? I didn't see the other connection at first but after I realized that Gail was going by an anglicized version of her surname, Lorence, I had to add nationality to the list. I have to wonder why someone would change their name."
He paused and
when she didn't say anything he went on.
"And then…well…there is something else."
The wind whipped through the open window, nearly carrying off her softly spoken question, "And that is?"
"All these good Catholic families attending the same church."
She turned her head sharply to look at Scott; something flickered in her eyes. "Been doing your homework, I see. So? A lot of people go to that church, including Candice from work, even my friend Marcus. I'm not saying they make the trek every Sunday, but their families all share the parish."
She might have been focused on Darla and the others, but Scott saw another coincidence. "And you know this because…. it's your parish," he ventured.
Tessa raised an eyebrow at his fishing. "Once upon a time, yeah. And I'm sure if I still went to church, St. Joseph's would be my choice."
"And did you know DeMarco?"
A smirk formed across her full lips. "You can't step over a dead body in Chicago, and not look for DeMarco's prints."
"I'm new," Scott quipped, "haven't experienced everything this town has to offer."
Traffic fell off to a trickle as they entered the quiet suburban area where Scott lived. The townhouse was one of many identical models, relatively nondescript. He still counted the row houses sometimes, to confirm that he was putting his key in the right lock.
He parked and got out of the car. "Come on," Scott directed casually, standing on the pavement, anticipating that she would follow. He could hear crickets as he walked up the driveway. The sound was pleasant and homey, and a quiet contrast to the high-rise, downtown living he was used to. If he looked to his left he could see the etching of the Chicago skyline. They weren't as far outside the main part of town as the chirping would make one think, but, for some reason though, he was thankful for the sense of isolation.
He opened the front door and glanced around the interior, making sure nothing was unexpectedly waiting for them and then waved Tessa inside. "Make yourself at home," he said, waving a hand towards the living room.
"I take it you haven't had time to unpack," Tessa said, as she hovered on the threshold.