Chapter Five

“Very nifty,” Grace said stepping back to admire the flashy chrome headlights and whitewall tires of the sleek black-and-green Stutz Black Hawk parked at the curb. She stepped onto the running board and ran her hand over one of the dual side-mount tires. “I heard that Stutz came in second at Le Mans, first time out.” She stepped into the seat and smoothed her skirt gracefully over her legs.

“Best time an American car ever made.” Jared rounded the automobile and slid behind the wooden steering wheel. “Would have come in first, but those Bentley boys snuck by at the last minute. Brisson’s top speed was 68 miles an hour. Hard to beat that.”

He pulled the roadster into the line of traffic, savoring the sensual pleasure of handling the expensive machine. New York was another matter. In the city he let Henry Cobb, his chauffeur, fight the traffic.

“Interesting. You seem to know where you’re going,” Grace commented a few minutes later as they left the busy traffic behind and wound their way through the narrow streets into working class neighborhoods.

To Jared, Chicago was like a small town compared to New York or London. He felt comfortable here. An affinity derived from familiarity. A feeling he always came back to even though the memories held some ghosts for him.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh, no, should I get a priest?” Grace asked. “Father Keating at Sacred Heart hears confessions until 6:00 on Saturdays. But please remember he’s sixty-two and has a weak heart.”

“Very funny.” Jared deftly shifted gears. “Are you cold?” He glanced over at Grace, who shook her head no. She was busy examining the dials on the dashboard. “The weather turned out to be so mild today that I couldn’t resist taking out the roadster. Could be the last chance to run it this year.”

She sat back in the seat. “So what confession do you want to make? Could it have anything to do with the big lie you told about needing help to get the lay of the land?”

Jared pulled to the side of a dirt street in front of a restaurant named Clementi’s and turned off the car. He angled himself so he could see Grace and ran his arm along the back of the beige leather seat. He pointed to the sign over the red door. “The proprietor is a friend of mine.” One of the few men he called friend, he could have added. Salvatore Clementi and his wife, Theresa, owned and operated the small but lucrative enterprise. Sallie’s neighborhood restaurant sat on a back street far enough away from the action to be of little interest to mobsters and their protection rackets.

Sallie was a good man to know in a city that had more than its share of predators. Their relationship spanned many years and included a shared youth. “And yes, I did lie about not knowing my way around.” Jared rounded the vehicle, opened the door for Grace, and extended his hand.

Grace smiled up at him as she placed her hand in his.

If Jared could have pulled away without appearing a cad, he would have. A disturbing flash of laid-bare intimacy passed through their clasped hands. The startled expression on Grace’s face revealed she also felt it. By the force of sheer will power, he tugged her to her feet and quickly let go. She looked up at him, eyes wide, then shook her hand slightly and rubbed it against her thigh.

He didn’t have a name for what had just taken place. Even though it had been extremely pleasurable, he didn’t want to explore it too carefully. So he took in and expelled a deep breath, extended an arm toward the red door, and followed Grace through the entrance.

Jared knew Sal was comfortable in his life with his wife and his role as father, husband, and provider. And while he was slightly envious of his friend’s contentedness, Jared also recognized that he’d never felt the need or even the inclination to share his life with another person. He couldn’t remember any tenderness, any human warmth in his childhood.

Oh, he had longed for closeness once, for some show of affection; then the yearning died and he was comfortable with what remained. He found safety in it. He didn’t know if he could live with the responsibilities and emotional ties of love. Since he didn’t believe in the silly emotion, he had nothing to offer a spouse.

And he suspected if he ever did fall in love and lost, the blow would be fatal.

Sal greeted Jared and Grace at the door. A bear of a man with black, thick hair and bushy eyebrows, Sal towered over Jared by several inches. His wide smile and straight white teeth set off his dark coloring and illuminated his face. Throwing his enormous arms around Jared in a warm embrace, Sal kissed him on both cheeks as usual.

“It is good to see you my friend. You have stayed away too long. Come in, come in. Theresa!” Sal shouted to his wife. “Veni qui! Look who is here!”

Jared saw Theresa peek out of the kitchen and blow him a kiss. When she rounded the corner, Jared picked her up and twirled her around. “Why didn’t I meet you before this big bushy dago?” he laughed as his friend flashed him a rather obscene Italian gesture and tugged Theresa out of his arms.

“I saved your sorry ass in school a hundred times,” Sal scowled, “and this is how you repay me?”

Jared introduced Grace and spent several minutes exchanging pleasantries with his friends. Then Sal led them through the main dining room, where several families with children sat enjoying their supper at wooden tables covered with checkered oilcloth. They wound their way to the back of the restaurant, where a table was set into an alcove.

“Usually they are carbon copies of one another,” Sallie whispered to Jared as he led them toward the table. “Beautiful, but self-centered. This one seems different, my friend. Maybe there is hope for you.”

Italian music tinkled in the background from a Victrola. Soft light from candles melting over old wine jugs created an intimate atmosphere. “My best table for my friend and his friend,” Sal said as he winked at Jared. Leaning down he whispered, “Belladonna,” bringing three fingertips to his lips in a silent kiss as he seated them in the booth.

Jared smiled. “Thanks, Sallie. The usual for me and a menu for Miss Hathaway.”

“The usual will be fine with me, too, Sallie,” Grace said, sliding onto the wooden bench, closing her menu, and handing it to Sallie with a smile.

The huge Italian turned, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder. “Va bene—two usuals coming up.” He exited whistling his off-key version of “O Sole Mio.”

“Shame on you for leading me to believe you needed a tour of the area,” Grace scolded as she wagged a finger at him. “You can find your way around just fine, I see.” She set her purse on the seat.

Jared grinned across the white cotton tablecloth. He moved the candle to the side so he could see her better. “Actually, I spent a good deal of my youth in Chicago. Now I conduct most of my business in New York and London, so I keep homes there.”

What he didn’t tell her was that he felt a connection to the city, a bittersweet connection, and came back to Chicago occasionally to fill up, to center himself, to salve the hard parts of him that threatened to take over.

“Do you enjoy living here, Grace?” he inquired. Somehow she seemed out of place in the city. In his mind’s eye, he saw her surrounded by wildflowers, blending her subtle scent with the sweetness of clover and the smell of new grass after a summer rain. Damn! Where were these foolish thoughts coming from?

“I prefer the country, but there’s an excitement about the city that I love. Whenever I leave, I feel it when I return.” She went on to tell him of the family vacations of her youth to the seashore at Newport Beach, Long Island, The Hamptons. “Most of my mother’s family lived on the East Coast. It’s where she met my father.” She sighed. “It’s so different there. Sometimes I long for a breath of cool sea air without the dust and grime of the city.”

“Then why did you stay in the city after your father died?”

“My work is here. Leo Hollister was good enough to keep me on after Papa died. My father taught me everything I needed to know about the antique appraisal business.” She ran a finger down the melting candle wax. “My aunt moved here from Italy to care for me when my mother passed away. But now Bruna isn’t well. Another move would not have been in her best interests.”

“What type of jewelry do you appraise?”

“My father was considered an expert in Renaissance jewelry, and that’s where my reputation also lies. He left a small estate that helps pay the bills and allows me to care for Zia Bruna.”

“So you don’t need anything? You are content?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked twice at him then looked down.

“Yes, I’m content.”

Jared wondered briefly if maybe she had simply convinced herself so.

“Actually, my favorite place in the whole world is a tiny town called Allens Grove, population two hundred thirty-eight, in Wisconsin,” Grace said. “My parents owned a cabin on a pond there, surrounded by twenty acres of woods. It’s beautiful in the winter, like a picture postcard.”

Jared watched as her face became animated. She smiled often, a crooked little smile, and spoke with enthusiasm, using her graceful hands to paint invisible pictures of words and objects.

At one point she looked away wistfully. “I always wished I had a brother or sister to romp in the snow with—you know, snowmen, snow angels, ice skating…”

Jared chuckled. “Not really.”

Had he ever been that young? His only childhood memories seemed to be of survival. He’d left Chicago at fourteen and moved so many times he lost count. He had no roots, no affinity for any one place, a fact that never bothered him until recently.

“Tell me about your parents.”

Somberness flitted across her features. “I was ten when my mother died of influenza. Zia Bruna, my mother’s older sister, was widowed by then, so she came from Toscana, in the old country, to help raise me. Papa died in an accident, so Zia and I have been on our own now for over two years.”

“What kind of accident?” Jared inquired. Maybe there was a connection to Grace’s shadowy stranger.

“He...Papa didn’t deal well with my mother’s death. He always told me they fell in love at first sight.” She smiled at the memory. She ran a finger up and down the folds of the pristine white napkin. “He drank,” she finally said. “He fell, coming home one night. The police said he must have hit his head on the pilaster of the bridge and fallen into the water.”

“I’m sorry, Grace.”

“Thank you.” Her bright smile returned. “Bruna and I manage to stay out of trouble...usually. So far we’ve been able to resist the modern pursuits of smoking, swearing, petting, and disturbing the general peace of the community. Bruna, however, does like a little cicchétto once in a while.”

“Cicchétto?”

Grace held two fingers apart to measure the size of a shot glass. “A nip of whiskey, for medicinal purposes.” Grace chuckled.

Jared hesitated to bring up the subject of last night, but Grace seemed relaxed and amicable. “The city’s not exactly a safe place for a single woman.”

“Applesauce,” Grace said, squaring her shoulders. “If you respect the nuances of the city and use common sense, there’s no need to be afraid. And, besides, I can take care of myself. I assure you, last night was unusual.”

“Dash it, Grace! You were foolish to take chances with your safety,” he said, impatient with her blasé attitude. He knew the fetid side of life and how easily it could swallow a person. People like the little man last night were lurking around every corner, waiting for an opportunity to relieve their prey of their money or their life. And possibly, in her case, her virtue.

“Ah, but you came to my rescue, didn’t you?”

“And if I hadn’t opened my door?” he asked.

“Let’s change the subject, shall we? Were you born here, Jared?”

“I don’t know where I was born,” he answered simply, glancing up as Sallie arrived at the table with a flask of red wine, two glasses, and two dishes piled high with spaghetti in a red sauce. Pulling out a wicked-looking knife, he reached up and cut off several hunks of the assorted sausages that hung from the ceiling beams and added them to an overflowing antipasto basket of olives, cheeses, and crusty bread.

“Enjoy, my friend,” Sal said. “You know the routine.” He drew a wooden pocket door shut across the alcove and a lock clicked.

Grace’s eyes grew round as she found herself locked in the tiny space with Jared.

“So you see, Miss Hathaway, sometimes things aren’t always as they seem,” Jared said gauging her response. The dim candlelight danced across the soft features of Grace’s face. “Do you feel safe now?”