The Vengeful Dead (30 page)

Chapter 40

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you carry a purse,” Nick said, glancing over at the purple leather handbag in her lap.

“Shelby bought it,” Jackie said, the third time now she had used that excuse on their way to the Arts Center. “I don’t actually own a purse.”
Or, you know, anything else that makes me seem much like a woman.
“No, wait. Laurel gave me one for Christmas a few years ago, but it’s stored in a closet somewhere.”

“You can leave it here in the limo if you want. No reason to take it in, unless you want to show it off.”

Jackie spluttered. “A purse? That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised at the things people want to show off. Money brings out the worst in shopping. Should be worth a few laughs at least.”

“I’m going to feel like an idiot out there,” Jackie said, setting the purse down on the floor.

“Why?” Nick looked at her in disbelief. “You’re smart, you give as good as you get, and you look absolutely stunning. Nothing else is needed or required at these. And we can leave as soon as the dedication is done if you wish.”

“How long until that?”

“Hour at most,” Nick said. “It’s all drinks and schmoozing after that.”

Stunning. She looked stunning. It sent a little, pleasant flutter through her “I think I can handle that.”

He reached over and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Trust me. It’s not nearly as bad as you think, and we’ll do something hopefully kind of cool after we’re done.”

“Oh? What? I thought we were just doing the party thing.”

“No.” He smiled, with something more than amusement in his eyes. “That wouldn’t be much of a date, now, would it?”

“Please tell me,” Jackie said. “So I have something to look forward to besides trying to be social with politicians and lawyers.”

He leaned back in the seat, the perfectly fitted black suit and gleaming silver tie giving him an air Jackie had not expected to see from Nick. He looked debonair, and rather striking with the fresh scar along his jaw. “It has to do with music, but that’s all I will say.”

Music. A piano bar maybe? A recital? “That’s a shitty clue.”

“Wait and see, Ms. Rutledge. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jackie huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You suck.”

“Shelby was right. You really are cuter when you’re mad.”

She glared and fumed for all of ten seconds. Calm and relaxed. Having fun. He’s smiling. He’s enjoying himself. Just picking on the little purple girl with her leather purse. That was OK. She’d get back at him at some point. She would.

The limo had an espresso machine built in and Nick made them shots of espresso to sip along the way. It was Bloodwork’s limo apparently, built to suit its owner. Nick talked about the Center where they were going, what he had donated to, and what to expect at the party in general. It was useful and remotely interesting information, but more importantly it kept Jackie from having to carry on a conversation. She could smile and nod or ask the occasional question and it was all good.

They arrived like all the other limos and Mercedes and Bentleys, pulling into the parking turnaround at the Center’s front door. Jackie scanned the people on the grand front steps, two hundred feet across, and she and Nick did not stick out. If anything, they were underdressed. Tuxedos and flowing evening gowns abounded. It was a goddamned Cinderella ball. The driver closed the door after she stepped up onto the curb and waited until Nick came around.

He looked her up and down again, with the same wide-eyed, surprised gaze. “Don’t go far, Marcus. We’ll be less than an hour.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded and moved quickly back around the car.

Nick stuck out his arm toward Jackie and it took her a good three seconds of staring at it to understand what he was doing.
God, I really don’t belong here.
Maybe if she pounded on the window, Marcus would let her back in now.

“Ready, Ms. Rutledge?”

“No.” But she threaded her arm through his and let him lead her up the stairs.

The trip to their table, which was up on the stage of a grand ballroom, took at least fifteen minutes. It seemed that every other person knew who Nick was. Representatives, socialites, business executives, and a slew of other professions waved Nick over or made their way to him as he guided Jackie through the tables arranged throughout the ballroom. Off in a distant corner, Jackie could hear a string quartet playing.

She kept her mouth shut unless someone specifically said hello. Most treated her as though she wasn’t even there, especially the women, until Nick began to introduce her to everyone as a matter of course. Her mouth was beginning to hurt from smiling so much by the time they reached their seats. It was there that Nick actually made an effort to talk to someone. She was elderly, likely in her seventies, but still obviously sharp. She dressed like a baroness and chided Nick for not being more present in Chicago social life.

She was also the only woman they had run into who gave her equal attention. “And who is your lovely companion tonight, Nicholas?” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Jackie, who found herself hugging in return. “Have you managed to snag this wonderful man while our backs were turned?” She beamed and laughed, full of mirth.

Jackie felt the heat rushing into her cheeks. God! Please no blushing. “No, ma’am. My name is Jackie Rutledge. I’m a friend of Mr. Anderson’s.”

“Call me Gladys,” she said. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet anyone who catches this wary man’s eye, and who can dress so adorably.” She turned and gave Nick a hug. “Sit and enjoy. I expect you to say few words, Nicholas. No slipping out the back.”

After she walked away, Nick leaned over. “That was Gladys Wainwright,” he said. “We go back a few years.”

“Wait. Senator Wainwright’s wife?” Jackie turned to stare after the woman. The senator’s wife had just hugged her? Nick went back with a senator’s wife? “Man, this is so out of my league.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “They just have money. That’s all. Let me get a bottle of wine. I’ll be right back.”

He returned and poured them each a glass. “Here’s to everyone ignoring us the rest of the evening.”

“Yes, please!” Jackie said and smiled, clinking their glasses together.

Nick made small talk with the others at the table, and Jackie did her best to just smile and nod and sip her wine. Dinner was served, delectable in appearance, but Jackie only picked at it. There were several speeches about the new institute, dedicated to art created by cancer survivors. There was a standing ovation for the last, by a young female artist in a wheelchair who was missing her hair from chemo and spoke passionately about how art had saved her life. A screen set up on stage behind the speakers, which had been flashing pictures of various pieces, showed hers last. Jackie gave a little gasp when she saw it. The title of the piece, “Journey Back from Death,” struck a deep chord in her, beyond the intensity within the piece itself.

“Oh, my God. That one is phenomenal,” she said.

Nick leaned over. “Would look good on that wall by your piano.”

Without thinking about what he might be saying, Jackie readily agreed. “That would be amazing on my wall.”

After the ovation, Nick took Jackie’s hand again. “Come on. I want to check on something before we go.”

Thank God they were leaving. “What?”

He didn’t answer and led them over to the stair leading up to the stage.

“What are we doing?” They were going up on the stage, where several hundred people would be able to stare up at her to their heart’s content.

Nick’s hand pulled her along until they reached Gladys Wainwright, another elderly man and woman, and the wheelchair-bound woman. To their right, the slide of her art loomed larger than life.

“Nicholas!” Gladys said spreading her arms in greeting. “So glad to see you being social. This is Adam Parker, the director of the new institute and his wife, Dorothy.” Nick smiled and shook their hands. “And this is our special guest of honor, Melanie Armond.”

He took her hand, burying it in his. “Pleasure, Ms. Armond. Your work is quite impressive.”

Pink flushed her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. This is all rather overwhelming.”

“Unbelievably, I’m sure.” Jackie could see the woman was clearly enthralled and Nick had dropped his voice to a smooth, smoky sweetness. She imagined that would enthrall nearly any woman. Did he practice that voice? “This is my good friend, Jackie Rutledge. She’s also quite taken by your piece here.”

She turned and smiled up at Jackie, who found herself spluttering in reply. “Oh, hi. Glad to meet you.” She took the thin hand and shook it gently. “It really is amazing. I um . . . connected to it immediately.” What the hell were you suppose to say to artists about their work?

Melanie’s hand continued to hold hers, her eyes intent. “Are you a survivor, too?”

Jackie’s hand involuntarily squeezed Melanie’s. One could say that. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes, actually. I suppose I am.”

She smiled, both pleased and sympathetic. “I’m happy that it speaks to you.”

“We’d like to buy it, if the piece is going to be for sale,” Nick said.

“Really?” Melanie’s face lit up. “I, um . . . I don’t know if it is.”

She turned and looked up to Adam Parker, who beamed at her. “It will be on display at the institute for six weeks, but then, if you desire, the decision is yours, Ms. Armond.”

Jackie stared at Nick.
We are going to buy it?
He gave her a little half smile. “You aren’t interested in it?”

“Sure,” she said. What was she going to say? The artist was sitting right next to them. The fact was though, she would love to have it. “But, I mean, you’re going to buy it? Just like that?”

Melanie answered for him. “I’d be happy to sell it to you, Ms. Rutledge. Knowing it’s going to someone who can truly relate would make me happy.”

“Oh. OK then. Thank you very much.”

And just like that, Jackie found herself the likely new owner of the piece of art. Nick got them out of there as quickly as possible afterward, another fifteen minutes of handshaking and hugs, hellos and smiles. By the time they plopped back down in the limo, Jackie felt worn out.

“God. How do people do that for hours on end?”

Nick laughed. “Tiring, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said. “How much is that painting
we
bought, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? You can afford it. You have a good salary as head of the new Special Investigations Unit.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s a ghosthunter pull in these days?”

“You’ll have a company card to get whatever you need.”

“Like art for my apartment?”

“Whatever you want,” he said. “Money is not going to be issue for this endeavor.”

“OK.” She sighed and sagged back into the seat. “This is just all so strange.”

Nick’s hand covered hers, cool and comforting. “We’ll figure it out. I’m rather excited about it actually. Something to really sink my teeth into.”

She flashed him a startled glance, finding him looking halfway serious except for the smirk. A smile crept across her mouth and then laughter finally bubbled forth. “That was really bad.”

“Trying to take myself a little less seriously now,” he said. “I can milk vampire jokes for a few years I imagine.”

Jackie laughed harder. “Please don’t.”

Nick pulled out his cell. “Michael? Yes, it’s Nick. I’m good, thank you. We’re running just a few minutes late, but should be there shortly. Sounds good. See you then.”

“Now what are we doing?”

“I told you. It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, come on,” she insisted. “Tell me.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

Jackie huffed. “You’re a prick.”

“I know. Great, isn’t it?”

“Ugh. You’re worse than Laur.”

Jackie watched the skyline of downtown shift by them to the north. They were over by the lake, near the University of Chicago. What possible musicrelated venue could they be going to by the university? A concert perhaps? No, not if Nick was talking to someone about being late. It sounded more personalized than that.

They rolled by the university on Fifty-ninth Street, groups of students strolling along the sidewalks, going about their evening activities, actually knowing what they were doing. Nick sat in silence, a smug little smile upon his face. She wanted to smack him. Finally the limo slowed and turned up Woodlawn Avenue. It stopped and turned into a narrow circle drive.

Jackie stared out the window at the gothic stone edifice rising several stories above them. “A church? We’re going to a church?”

“It’s the Rockefeller Chapel,” Nick said.

She had heard of the place, but was she supposed to know its significance? “I’m still not getting it.”

An elderly man, short gray hair ringing his head and a priest’s collar around his neck stepped out of the shadows of a doorway at the edge of the drive. The limo stopped next to him. Nick opened the door and stepped out to greet him. “Michael! A pleasure to see you again.”

They shook hands and then embraced. “Likewise, Nicholas. Now tell me,” he said and leaned over to peek into the depths of the limo at Jackie who stared back with blank confusion, “who is your organ-loving companion?”

Nick motioned for her to get out and Jackie slid across the seat and stepped out. Organ-loving? Her brain was taking that in all the wrong directions for being in proximity to a church. “Jackie? This is an old friend, Reverend Michael Chambers. Michael, this is my good friend, Jackie Rutledge.”

“A pleasure, Ms. Rutledge,” he said, grasping her hand in both of his. “By that look on your face, I’d say you’ve never been to our fair chapel?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve heard of it, though.” She gave him a nervous smile. What in the world did Nick have in mind?

“Well then. Come.” He waved them toward the door. “You’re in for quite a treat.”

Nick smiled, clearly happy with himself, and waved a hand toward the door. “Please. Let’s go see.”

The door opened into the south side of the narthex, where stairs went up to the balcony overlooking the nave. To the right, double doors were swung wide to the nave, and the warm air, smelling of oak and incense brushed across Jackie’s face. Reverend Chambers stood in the doorway, arms stretched wide. “Welcome to the home of the greatest twentiethcentury pipe organ in the world, Ms. Rutledge.” With that he turned and opened his arms to the interior of the chapel.