Buried Secrets Read online

  “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 so damn spoiled. No offense.”

  I shrugged. “None taken.”

  The bellhop, sensing a break in Evelyn’s diatribe, politely butted in. “Excuse me, ma’am? Would you like to check in now?”

  “She’s in my room,” Evelyn answered for me. “Jacqueline Frye. She’s part of the Grey-Delacourt wedding block.” She relieved the bellhop of my suitcase. “I’ll take that.”

  With empty hands, the bellhop wasn’t sure what to do with himself. I shot him an apologetic glance and handed him a tip then hurried to catch up with Evelyn as she strolled across the lobby. At the elevators, she hammered the up button.

  “We have the entire fourteenth floor to ourselves,” Evelyn explained. “Courtesy of Ned’s mother. Not quite a courtesy since she isn’t paying for our stay, but she insisted on keeping the family together.”

  As we stepped inside the ornate elevator, I noticed a button missing. “No thirteenth floor?”

  “Marie said that’s not uncommon here,” Evelyn answered. “Building managers and owners figure no one wants to stay on an unlucky floor, or they’re superstitious themselves. A thirteenth floor is bad for business, so it’s usually reserved for mechanical means or gets skipped altogether.”

  “But there’s still a thirteenth floor,” I insisted, “even if everyone ignores its existence.”

  Evelyn shrugged. “Don’t ask me to explain how the human brain asks for comfort. Here we are.”

  The elevator dinged and spat us out on the fourteenth floor. Evelyn rolled my suitcase to the first room on the right hand side and flashed her key card.

  “Wait a second,” I said, hesitating. “Are we sharing a room with your sister?”

  “Hell no.” She beckoned me inside. “The only reason I slept in her room last night was because she dreamt she walked down the aisle in a gown made of toilet paper. She woke up screaming.”

  “Guess it was a night for bad dreams.”

  “You too?” she asked, setting my suitcase on a stand. “I thought your nightmares went away.”

  “They did,” I said. “But they came back when you left. Being alone makes me nervous, I guess.”

  Evelyn gave me a short side hug. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  Once she stepped aside, I finally got my first look at our shared room. As expected, the level of opulence far exceeded my expectations. The walls and ceiling were painted matte black, creating a nightly effect even with the sun streaming in through the grand windows. The furniture, in contrast, was bright-white and trimmed in gold. The decor resembled the height of chic during the 1920s. I felt as though Jay Gatsby might come strolling in at any moment.

  “Where’s the bed?” I asked.

  “Upstairs?”

  “Upstairs—”

  Evelyn pointed to a thin staircase that led into a loft section of the suite. I gasped as I trotted up the steps. The loft featured an enormous king-sized bed with a curved headboard that cradled its occupants like a bassinet. On the other side of a sliding door, a freestanding bathtub with claw feet begged for someone to make use of it. Art Deco light fixtures framed the twin sinks and mirrors. A luscious black rug decorated the floor.

  Evelyn, wearing a grin, appeared in the mirror. “Go on. I know how much you love nice bathrooms.”

  I folded myself over the edge of the tub. “This place is so dreamy! Don’t tell Marie, but her future mother-in-law has impeccable taste. What’s the schedule for today? Do I have time for a bath?”

  Evelyn checked the slim gold watch on her wrist. Whether she liked it or not, she matched the slick decor around her. “We have an hour and a half until we need to meet the others for a fitting. Have at it.”

  Dancing happily, I turned on the water and filled the tub.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Evelyn’s frown curved so deeply that the corners of her lips were in danger of hitting the floor. A form-fitting green dress hugged the subtle curve of her hips but left her shoulders bare. It was perhaps the most feminine thing I’d ever seen her wear, and though she looked absolutely marvelous, her discomfort took center stage.

  “Why not?” Marie demanded. The hardest part of the fitting was over. Marie’s extravagant wedding dress—lacy, long-sleeved, and with a train long enough to trip a dragon—had been tailored to her exact shape. Like Evelyn, her height questioned the legality of her presence in the airspace above, but Marie’s figure was as slender as a length of thread. Her personality, appropriately, was as sharp as a needle. “It’s what all the other bridesmaids are wearing.”

  The private room in the dress shop shrank as Evelyn’s embarrassment morphed into a dull rage. When the woman attending us appeared with a tray of filled champagne flutes, Evelyn seized two and drained them both. In the trio of mirrors surrounding her, I watched the dress stretch as her back flexed. The seams strained, and the zipper threatened to burst.

  Evelyn wiped her mouth and set the empty glasses on the tray. “You said I could wear a suit.”

  “I don’t remember that.” Marie picked at her nails. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in a suit. Penelope will never allow it.”

  Penelope, I had quickly learned, was Ned’s mother. Each time Marie said her name, about twice per minute, her upper lip curled.

  “If you dislike Penelope so much, what’s the harm in letting Evelyn wear what she wants?” I ventured.

  Marie’s sharp gaze flickered to me. “She can’t wear a suit. It’s too—”

  “Too what?” Evelyn snapped.

  Marie pursed her lips.

  “Jack, get me out of this.”

  I hurried to Evelyn’s side, unzipped the dress, and held her hand for balance as she shimmied out of it. The fabric crumpled to the floor like dirty bed sheets until the seamstress darted over to pick it up.

  Evelyn stood, half-naked, in front of her sister. Free of the dress, her confidence returned. “If you want me in your wedding, I’m wearing pants. That’s the deal.”

  Sandra Grey, Evelyn and Marie’s mother, emerged from an adjacent fitting room, boldly grasping a glass of merlot despite wearing her cream-colored mother-of-the-bride skirt and suit top. The seamstress gave a defeated sigh.

  “Enough bickering,” Sandra said. “Marie, you know better than to argue with Evelyn over a pair of pants. Let her wear what she wants.”

  “But—”

  “She’s your sister,” Sandra went on. “Her comfort takes precedence over Penelope’s. Moving on.” Her eyebrows rose as she glanced at me. “Goodness, Jack. I didn’t see you there.”

  I smiled serenely. “I’ve been here the whole time, Mrs. Grey.”

  The last time I’d spoken to Sandra was when Evelyn had landed in the hospital due to complications from a shoulder injury. At the time, Evelyn’s true role as a bodyguard for the enigmatic Wagner Company was a secret to her family. Unaware of the circumstances, I’d revealed this to Sandra, and she had been wary of my influence over Evelyn ever since.

  Sandra simpered. “You’re so petite, you practically disappear against the wallpaper there.”

  My navy-blue sweater stood starkly against the flowery pastel wallpaper. “I suppose we can’t all be as lavish as you, Mrs. Grey.”

  A bright pink spot appeared on each of her cheeks and she turned her back to me in concession. The small victory didn’t satisfy me. I liked Evelyn’s mother, and it pained me to know she no longer trusted me around her daughter. Then again, Evelyn’s misfortunes last year—the injury complications and a major infection of her surgery site—had partially been my fault. Sandra had plenty of reasons to doubt me.

  “Ah, that’s better.” Evelyn tucked a white shirt into a pair of dark green dress pants, straightened the matching jacket, and examined herself in the mirror. Indeed, she looked much more like herself. She spun for Marie and grinned widely. “See? Not so bad.”

  “Fine,” Marie grumbled. “But put my head on a stake after the wedding, so Penelope doesn’t have to get blood on her hands.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Evelyn swiftly kissed her sister’s cheek before slipping out of the jacket and handing it off to the seamstress. “Jack and I have a few things to do tonight. Don’t wait up.” Once dressed, Evelyn grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the dress shop. “Let’s find a bar. I need a drink.”

  She ordered soda water. When I lifted an eyebrow at her choice, she shrugged. “I drank a lot of free champagne. Sue me.”

  The cozy bar, lit with fairy lights and fake candles, was the perfect place to catch Evelyn in a lie. I leaned across the darkened booth to get a better look at her face.

  “What’s really going on, Evelyn?” I asked. “Your sister seems fine, but your mother acts like I’m a grenade she plans to smother. Why did you have me come early if it was going to cause more drama?”

  Evelyn coughed as the soda water went up her nose. “Ignore Mum. She’s been acting a fool ever since she found out I was lying to her about my job.”

  “Why did you lie?” I asked. “What’s so bad about being a bodyguard?”

  Evelyn’s muscular stature wasn’t just for looks. She trained the way she did because her job required her to protect important people from whatever dangerous circumstances they might run into. More than once, she’d saved me from certain disaster.

  “It’s not a career they approve of,” Evelyn said. “My parents aren’t risk takers. They don’t understand why I would put myself in danger for someone else’s sake.”

  “Not to mention all your secrets.”

  Evelyn lifted an eyebrow. “What secrets?”

  “Everything you do is confidential,” I reminded her. “I live with you, and I hardly ever know where you are.”

  She grimaced apologetically. “You know how it is, Jack. I can’t tell you any more than I can tell my family. It’s for your own safety.”

  “More like for the safety of your clients.”

  “That too,” she agreed. “But you’re my number one priority.” She gazed wistfully across the bar. “Marie was on better behavior today, by the way. If you weren’t there, she never would have agreed to let me wear the suit.”

  “Your mom took care of that.”

  “But Marie would have thrown a much bigger fit,” Evelyn added. “You’re making things easier on me already.”

  She flashed me a smile, and my anxiety eased. I lifted my coffee cup and tapped it against Evelyn’s soda water. “To Marie.”

  “To Marie.”

  2

  According to Yelp, the Saint Angel Hotel had the best breakfast buffet in all of downtown Chicago, so when the morning sun joined us in bed, I woke Evelyn by pressing all ten of my cold toes against her warm calf. She yelped, scrambling to get away from me.

  “Why would you do that?” she demanded, a hand pressed over her heart. “It’s like sharing a bed with a ghost.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  She pulled the blankets over her head. “Order room service.”

  “Come downstairs with me.”

  “No way. You’re on your own.”

  I inched my toes toward her thighs.

  “Gah! Get away from me, sadist.”

  I crept closer, laughing as she nearly fell off the bed in her attempts to escape my freezing digits. Finally, she rolled out from under the covers and rose to her feet with a groan. Her oversized T-shirt rumpled around her thighs, making her look like a five-year-old who’d woken from a nightmare.

  “Are you happy?” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “I’m up.”

  I tossed her a pair of jeans from the dresser. “Did we pull a Freaky Friday? You’re usually the one dragging me out of bed.”

  “I figure the longer I stay asleep, the less time I have to spend as maid of honor.” Evelyn stepped into her pants then chose a cream-colored sweater to hide her pajama top. “You’re lucky you don’t have any siblings.”

  “You’re lucky you do,” I said. “You had built-in best friends growing up.”

  She scoffed. “More like more people to take care of. You were always a better friend than Marie.”

  “Don’t tell her that,” I advised. “Speaking of your siblings, why isn’t your brother here yet?”

  “Max is still in school.” In the bathroom, she splashed water over her face and used her fingers to comb through her hair. “Mum only excused him for two days. He’ll be here in time for the wedding.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Hiding from Marie and my mother.”

  “Smart man.” I tossed her a plush white towel. “They don’t really get along post-divorce, do they?”

  She patted her face dry. “It’s like sticking two tomcats in a cage and watching them fight. All they do is scratch and hiss at each other. I hate when they’re in the same room together.”

  “And the rest of your family? When are they getting here?”

  “They’ll be trickling in throughout this week and next,” Evelyn replied. “We’ve got a few coming in today. A few couldn’t afford to get here so early. They’ll be here in time for the ceremony though. Some of them are traveling from England, so it’s always a process. ”

  I unearthed my nicest pair of jeans and pulled them on. “I got here just fine.”

  “You are a functioning member of society.” She tweaked my nose. “Most of my family is not.”

  “It’s weird,” I said, buttoning my pants. “You’ve pretty much met all of my family, but I feel like I’ve never spent a lot of time with yours.”

  “That’s because I’m ashamed of them.” Her tone implied she was only half-joking. “My mother’s side of the family is quite, er, conservative.”

  “Ah.”

  Evelyn rushed on to clarify. “They have old, traditional ideals that no one can convince them to change. For instance, they’ll probably choke when they see Marie’s dress is cream rather than white.”

  “What’s wrong with cream?”

  “Well, white is supposed to symbolize purity and innocence of girlhood.” Gathering her hair at the top of her head, she pulled it into a smooth ponytail. No brush necessary. “Marie might as well admit she’s not a virgin by wearing cream.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s crazy.”

  She shrugged. “My dad’s side of the family isn’t much better. Irish and English biddies who like to gossip over tea.”

  “Then I know where you get it from.”

  Evelyn scowled and whacked me with a pillow. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

  The Saint Angel had various restaurants, bars, cafes, and ballrooms, but finding the one you wanted required a comprehensive map, a guide, and refreshments. Regrettably, we found ourselves short of guides and refreshments, so we resorted to wandering from sign to sign with absolutely no idea if we were headed in the right direction.

  “I think it’s this way,” Evelyn said, pointing down a long hallway. “Or no? Are we on the right floor?”

  I peered across the empty corridors. “Doesn’t anybody work here? You’d think a fancy place like this would have more people employees out and about.”

  Evelyn came to a dead end, groaned, and pulled an about-face. “These are all guest rooms. Where the hell are the restaurants?”

  A disembodied voice answered, “Ground floor or top floor.”

  I glanced skyward. “God? Is that you?”

  From a supplies closet stepped a small man wearing the signature green and gold colors of the Saint Angel Hotel. He held a toolbox in one hand and a greasy rag in the other. Despite the lines around his eyes and mouth, he had curiously boyish features. His plump cheeks, glinting eyes, and wide gap between his two front teeth made his age difficult to discern.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said merrily in an unusually high-pitched voice. “I’m Luis. Maintenance guy. I do a lot of lurking in air vents and broom closets. God, I assume, has more important items on his to-do list.”

  “You know what assuming does,” I said.

  “No, what?”

  “Never mind,” Evelyn cut in. “Can you point us to the breakfast buffet?”

  Luis jabbed his thumb over his shoulders. “You guys are way off. Head back to the lobby, cross to the other side behind the weird statue of the dude holding some other dude’s head, and keep walking that way until you feel like you might drop off the end of the earth. Buffet’s down there.”

  We stared at him in silence.

  He beckoned for us to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you. I have to stop by the front desk anyway.”

  With Luis’s guidance, we found our way back to the lobby. Once there, someone shouted Evelyn’s name from the mezzanine. We both glanced up to find Marie in a state of dishevelment. Her untucked shirt and messy hair indicated she had left her hotel room in a hurry.

  “Here we go,” Evelyn muttered as her sister thundered down the steps.

  “I need you,” Marie declared, seizing Evelyn’s hand and dragging her away. “It’ll only take a second.”