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his level of intuition. "I lost my brother Rhen last year."
    Any response Scott would have made was cut off by a smattering of Italian from G.J. — something about a gun fight and how it broke families apart. Tessa quickly turned and put two of her fingers over his lips to stop the angry flow of words. Her eyes flashed as she refused to listen. "We all make choices," she said.
    G.J. kissed her fingers before she moved them away. He looked humble and contrite as he offered to make some coffee.
    "Any clues?" Tessa asked as she watched him walk around the bar and start the espresso machine.
    He looked over his shoulder for a moment, then said cryptically, "Just some mail."
    "Today?"
    "Yeah, a postcard." G.J. said, twisting the valve for more steam, raising his voice as he frothed milk.
    Scott pulled a seat up to the bar. He winced as the stool made a scraping sound on the Venetian tile. No one bothered to look in his direction.
    Tessa pressed, "Do you still have it?"
    "Yes. The police ushered Mom and Dad out without looking around," G.J. said, tossing a wary look at Scott before banging the first cup of cappuccino on the bar and returning to the machine for another cup. "I doubt the cops would see it as a crime to send a postcard of a Ferris wheel, and anyways, what does it matter now?"
    "That all depends on what it says," Tessa commented.
    G.J. opened the cash register and took out the postcard, passing it to Tessa. The picture of Navy Pier was different than the last version. This showed day, rather than night, at the popular local attraction.
    Scott leaned close to see the text. His brow was furrowed. Neither could find anything particularly revealing or threatening in the few simple sentences on the front.
    Wish you were here. See you soon.
    It sounded more like a request for a meeting than any sort of ominous demand. Tessa flipped the card over, held it up to the light as she'd done with the first one G.J. had brought her. Sure enough, another Bible verse was etched across the water in faint blue ink.
    2 CHRON 7 13-14
    "Did you show this to anyone?" Tessa asked.
    "No, I've showed no one," G.J. said, "except you. Dad wasn't too happy when he started looking for the other card."
    G.J. held out a hand, clearly expecting Tessa to give him something. "I need it back."
    "I don't have it."
    His shoulders stiffened. "What?"
    Scott's eyes followed the conversation like a man watches a tennis match. If he'd drawn his own conclusions about the cryptic conversation, he wisely kept them to himself.
    "I don't have it," she affirmed.
    Leaning forward, G.J. put his nose inches from her face. "Why do you think they found her in New York? Harlem is Harlem, right? That was so there was no mistaking who's responsible."
    Tessa clenched her eyes tight, as if this simple act would change what he was saying. North Harlem in Chicago was rich with Italian influence, a part of Little Italy. An area peppered with the best… and the worst that Italy had to offer.
    Scott's face was all innocence, "Who is 'they'?"
    A long uncomfortable pause followed before the response, "Everyone knows better than to ask." G.J. threw up his hands in an expressive gesture. "I never should have involved you. Don't play games, Contessa. Give me…"
    Eyes narrowed, a small growl escaped her; this is what she hated. One can talk for hours and still walk away knowing nothing. Some were willing to speak of what went on, but nobody was willing to utter a name.
    "My name is Tessa!" she snapped.
    "Fine," he glared back, "you want no part of us or them, then you'd better leave."
    The meeting was clearly over. Wisely, Scott remained quiet as he followed Tessa to the door and out into the street.
    A few streetlights blinked on in response to the growing dusk. They walked back towards the newspaper office in silence. Tessa felt cold, perhaps it was fear, perhaps rejection. Either way, she crossed her arms in deference to the imagined chill.
    "I take it, that didn't go as planned."