Perfect Crime (6 page)

Scott reached and pulled the postcard gently from her hand, his soft fingers brushing across hers. Holding it up in the dim light, he took a hard look at the card.

She was surprised that she’d taken notice of the barely-there touch. Resisting the urge to snatch the card back, Tessa asked, “Theories?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Could be a completely random selection, but I suspect a hidden meaning, otherwise, why not use the phone or the classic cut-out newspaper clippings for a ransom note.”

“Why do people do a lot of things? This one’s a night shot….the other one was day.”

“Well, if the scenery is the point, then it’s the Ferris wheel that’s in the center.” Scott looked around and pocketed the card, seemingly ignorant to Tessa’s attempt to reclaim it before it disappeared into the folds of his Dockers. “Let’s get out of sight and have a look from above.”

She quickly tried to counter Scott’s reasoning, “It’s just a postcard. Probably picked with no thought to what was on the front. I don’t think we need to…” but Tessa could tell her words were falling on deaf ears.

The wait for the ride was short; too quick to catch sight of any suspicious characters. Before she knew it, they were being escorted into their car, helped into their seat belts and the small cage was closed. At the first jerk, as they made their way back and up, Tessa moved her left hand to the side rail of the cage, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles immediately lost color. She stared straight ahead at one chosen spot, right in the middle of the golden wire cage. Heart racing again, she wondered how much adrenaline one’s system could handle in the span of an hour.

With a great deal of focus, she concentrated on continuing to breathe, but the trained smile never left her face; like a mask, she slipped it on at will, obscuring what was real. A cool soft breeze blew off the water and through the cage, lifting the sounds of screams and laughter from the park below. But as the Ferris wheel came around, it jerked to a stop at the top, forcing the cage to swing back and forth; her control began to slip.

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut. Taking a few deep breaths, she forced them open again. A nervous laugh slipped and she quickly glanced over at Scott, who was busy looking straight down. It almost made her sick to watch him twist in his seat, leaning over the side to look at the park below.

What goes up, must come down.

She tried to keep her mind on why they were there, versus what they were doing, but the wheel started again, this time faster and without stopping for more riders. Her right hand moved to grip the edge of the seat and her eyes no longer could hide her angst.

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.