“Evelyn?” I croaked.
“I need you.”
Agitation and nerves tinged my best friend’s voice. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but have a bit of fun.
“It’s about time you finally admitted it,” I said. “You could have told me earlier. I’m not judging you—”
“Shut up, Jack. You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
I sat up and turned on a lamp. The soft golden glow, a little too reminiscent of Gwyneth’s eternal sunshine, caressed the black furniture and red brick wall that acted as my headboard. On a normal night, Evelyn would be sleeping in the next room over, her sheer presence radiating through the walls to envelop me in warmth and safety. But when she was halfway across the world, in the United States instead of here in London, our shared flat seemed cold and lonely.
“Ev, you’re preparing for a wedding, not a war,” I reminded her, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The alarm clock flashed six a.m. “What time is it there?”
“Midnight. I can’t sleep.”
“Jet lag?”
“Bridezilla,” she whispered.
“What did you just call me?”
I winced at the sound of Marie’s voice. Evelyn’s older sister exuded formidableness on the daily, but with her wedding less than two weeks away, she’d turned the harsher aspects of her personality up a notch. I didn’t envy Evelyn’s duties as the maid of honor. The only person I’d ever consider completing such ridiculous tasks for was Evelyn herself, but from my understanding, she wasn’t the type to entertain traditions like marriage.
“Nothing, Marie,” Evelyn said quickly.
“I am acting as every other woman in my position acts this close to her wedding,” Marie declared.
“Insane?” Evelyn quipped. A sharp smack echoed through the phone, and Evelyn said, “Ow! Christ, woman, you’ve officially lost it!”
“You haven’t seen insane yet.”
More smacking sounds emanated from the speaker. A sliding door squeaked open and shut again. Evelyn groaned and sighed.
“Did you escape?” I asked when the spat settled.
“I’m on the balcony. Shall I jump?”
“How high are you?”
“Not as high as I’d like to be.”
“I meant from the ground,” I teased.
Something creaked like a metal bridge in a high wind, and Evelyn swore creatively. My shoulders tensed up to my ears.
“You didn’t actually jump, did you?” I asked.
“No, but this railing is loose,” she replied. “I’m so tall that I almost tumbled right over it.”
Evelyn’s six feet stature was only one impressive aspect of her outstanding physique. The living embodiment of Gwyneth’s magical vitamin, she was gold, goddess-like, and glowing. With biceps like small melons, thighs like redwood tree trunks, and flowing tresses of smooth flaxen hair, she turned eyes wherever she went. If I hadn’t grown up with her and later spotted her on the street as a stranger, I would have knelt down and sworn fealty to her.
“Go inside,” I suggested.
“I can’t,” she moaned. “Marie’s watching a marathon of The Bachelor. Why does that inane show exist?”
“To entertain women like Marie,” I replied. “Did you have a reason for waking me up or did you simply miss the melodious tones of my radiant voice?”
“Right. I need you to come to Chicago early.”
I hadn’t realized how much I missed Evelyn until my heart leapt at her request. The first week at home without her had passed in slow motion. Without my best friend, I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and watch reruns of my favorite crime documentaries.
“You don’t have a case, right?” Evelyn asked when I didn’t answer right away. “I didn’t think your business had picked up yet.”
“I put advertisements out,” I said. “A few dead ends came in, but nothing good yet. It can wait until after the wedding anyway.”
My business, if it could be called that, was private investigation. Up until a few months ago, I’d had a bad habit of poking around in things—mostly unsolved homicide cases—that didn’t concern me. More than once, I’d been arrested for interfering with investigations. Last year, when I uncovered the true identity of a Jack the Ripper copycat wreaking havoc in London, Evelyn suggested that I make my position official. With her encouragement, I studied to become a P.I. and was now officially licensed. Ironically, business slowed to a halt after my professionalism solidified itself. I hadn’t set foot near a homicide case in months.
“So you’ll come?” Evelyn prompted eagerly. “I know it’s a few days early, but I’m afraid I’ll murder the bride if I don’t have you to remind me that all the tastings, fittings, and planning will be over shortly.”
I navigated to the travel app on my phone and searched for earlier flights. “I can be there by tomorrow night. Would that work?”
“You’re a godsend.”
“I know.”
Evelyn’s phone buzzed. “Ah, shite,” she said. “It’s my boss.”
“I thought you took vacation time.”
“No one ever really takes vacation from the Wagner Company. See you tomorrow, Jack. Travel safely.”
“Bye—”
The line disconnected. I set my phone aside and pulled the blankets over my head to block out the emptiness around me. I hated being alone. I wondered how I’d done it for so many years after my mom passed away. These days, I couldn’t go a few hours without needing to talk to someone. Earlier, I’d called to order a pizza and changed my toppings three times just to keep the guy on the phone a little longer.
Tomorrow, things would be different. Evelyn needed me in Chicago, a place I’d never been but had always wanted to explore. It was a city with rich history and dark secrets, a few of which might have been better off unearthed.
All I had to do was get through tonight.
The stale smell of recycled air, old coffee, and body odor lingered in my nostrils long after I’d stepped off the plane in Chicago. As always, the first thing I wanted to do after a long trip was shower, but in order to do that, I had to navigate a strange city alone to locate the famed Saint Angel Hotel.
People pushed past me, jostling my shoulders, as I made my way to the luggage pick-up
