Travelers lined up around the conveyor belt, forming a wall between me and my luggage. When I spotted my suitcase rounding the bend, I subtly shoved my bony elbows into a few rib cages.
“Oh, gosh, sorry!” I said, feigning sympathy as my victims winced and backed out of my way. “Didn’t see you there.”
I stepped into the free space, grasped my suitcase by the handle, and hauled it off the belt. My cheeks puffed with effort. All the winter coats and extra layers I’d packed to withstand the Windy City’s infamous breeze weighed a ton. If Evelyn were here, she’d make this part look easy.
Outside, I called a car and rode into the downtown area. As the skyline came into view, familiarity warmed my cold fingers and toes. Chicago, like London, was split in half by a river. Despite the chill in the air, the many windows reflected a blue sky. The sun gleamed off gemstone green water and glass skyscrapers.
Boats chugged along beneath the bridges. Most of them were filled with tourists and a guide at the helm, pointing out the various changes in architecture along the riverside. The buildings’ represented a variety of styles—Gothic, Greek, Modern, and so on—but the towering blocky aesthetics of Art Deco influences especially caught my eye.
The Saint Angel Hotel was one such example. As the car approached the colossal skyscraper, I craned my neck to take in the entire picture. The facade was built of polished black granite and green terra cotta. Gold leaf accents bloomed at the top corners of the building, making the whole thing look like a bizarrely-shaped flower stretching up to the sun. The entrance was gilded in gold, as was the hotel’s name, set across a black background on the terrace above.
“Here you are, ma’am,” the driver said, putting the car in park. “Saint Angel Hotel. Wish I could afford to stay here.”
“I’m not paying for it.”
I handed him a hefty tip, retrieved my luggage from the trunk, and headed toward the entrance. A man in a green and gold suit, complete with a matching round bellhop hat, appeared beside me before I could step into the revolving door chamber.
“Checking in?” he asked, swiftly relieving me of my heavy suitcase.
“Yes, please.”
He disappeared into the lobby. I darted in after him, taking short steps to make sure the speeding door didn’t nip at my heels. Once inside, my jaw dropped. Huge slabs of silvery marbled stone made up the lobby walls and supported the soaring ceiling. Decorative iron work twirled around the windows and doorways, and the elevators seemed to be made of solid gold. As my gaze turned upward, I spotted a familiar figure standing on the mezzanine above.
From far away, Evelyn resembled an angel looking down on her subjects. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders as she rested her forearms on the golden banister and casually leaned over the open air. She wore a men’s white dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. As I watched, a long golden chain fell away from her chest, and an unfamiliar pendant dangled freely before she tucked it into her shirt again.
She didn’t catch sight of me right away, which gave me a second longer to study the firm set of her eyebrows and the slight downward turn of her lips. Usually, she was a master of keeping her emotions in check, but I easily read the frustration and irritation on her face today. As she kicked her boot against the banister, her gaze roved the lobby. When her blue-gray eyes landed on me, she brightened immediately.
“Ma’am, would you like—?” the bellhop began, but his question was cut off by Evelyn’s pounding footsteps as she took the stairs two at a time and flung herself into my arms.
I squealed with joy and spun her around. This was no easy feat, though she made it easier on me by shuffling her weight along the tips of her toes. I held her at arm’s length and nearly broke my neck to look up at her.
“You look tired,” I said.
“Astute observation, Investigator Frye.” When she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled. “How was your flight?”
“The wine was warm.”
“Blasphemy.”
“Absolute sacrilege,” I agreed. “Do you have—ooph!” Evelyn knocked the wind out of me with another hug, squeezing so tightly around my rib cage, I thought I might burst. I patted her back. “Everything okay?”
She set me down and wiped her brow. “It’s been an absolute nightmare. I don’t know why I agreed to be maid of honor. She should have chosen one of her crazy friends.”
“You’re her sister,” I reminded her. “You were her first choice.”
“Out of obligation,” she said. “I wouldn’t have been offended if she picked Angelica or Jessica.”
“Bridesmaids?”
“They’ll be here soon.” Evelyn squeezed the bridge of her nose. “It’s my job to plan the hen do. Today, we’ve got a fitting. Someone kill me.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shouldn’t these things have been planned a little earlier?”
Evelyn threw up her hands. “I asked Marie these things months ago! At first, she insisted on a small wedding. Just family and close friends. Then everything blew out of proportion. She’s blaming it on Ned’s mum—”
“Ned?”
“Ned Delacourt, her almost husband. Keep up, Jack.”
“Right. Sorry. Go on.”
“Anyway, Ned’s mum picked this outrageous hotel,” she continued. “And she insisted we all get here two and a half weeks early to make sure the wedding is absolutely perfect.” She put on a high-pitched, haughty American accent. “Nothing but the best for my baby boy. He is a grown man, for God’s sake. This is why only children are
