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Praise for Chicago Bound: A Jake McGreevy Novel (Book Two)

*****Art, mystery, music, humor, and adventure—Chicago Bound has it all. . . . This is a grand read.”

—Jack Magnus, Readers’ Favorite

“Chicago Bound is a powerful new Jake McGreevy novel for middle-grade audiences. . . . Readers will be fascinated to the end.”

—Diane Donovan, Senior eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

“Having spent many years searching for Mary Cassatt’s 1893 mural done for Chicago’s World’s Fair, I was delighted to encounter Sean Vogel’s Chicago Bound. . . . [A] thrill-packed adventure. . . . [it] is loving and eventful, and most of all a great read.”

—Sally Webster, author of Eve’s Daughter: Modern Woman, a Mural by Mary Cassatt

Praise for Celtic Run: A Jake McGreevy Novel (Book One)

“Romance, danger, intrigue, and personality clashes between peers . . . all make Celtic Run a vivid coming-of-age novel.”

—Diane Donovan, eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

*****“Celtic Run is a fast-paced, action-filled novel. . . . The action starts within the first couple of pages and doesn’t stop, as cars are hotwired, cliffs are dived off of, and fears are conquered.”

—Kayti Nika Raet, Readers’ Favorite

Awards for Celtic Run: A Jake McGreevy Novel

IBPA’s Benjamin Franklin Awards: A Silver Medal Winner (Young Reader: Fiction)

The Mom’s Choice Awards: A Gold Recipient (Juvenile Books)

Dan Poynter’s Global eBook Awards: Winner (Children’s Literature)

* * *

Jake’s plan for a carefree holiday at a musical performing arts camp in the Windy City hits a sour note when he stumbles upon a long-hidden message from his late mother, art historian Karen McGreevy. She had traveled to Chicago thirteen years earlier on a dream assignment, never to return home. With his violin and his mother’s mysterious letter in hand, Jake, his best friend Julie, and new pals Ben and Natalie are heading west, where they will follow the clues and uncover the truth about a missing masterpiece, the meaning of friendship, and the enduring bond between a mother and her son.

Chapter 1

Sunday Afternoon (December 21st)

Jake inspected the figure-eight knot that secured his harness to the climbing rope. He watched the slack tighten until he felt a slight upward tug and then reached back to grab a pinch of chalk. Rubbing his palms together, he prepared to make his first move onto the indoor rock wall.

“Climbing!” Jake shouted with a little more gusto than needed, given that his partner, Ben, was only a few feet away.

“Climb on,” Ben replied as he worked the ropes through his belaying device.

The rock-climbing gym was conveniently located near Jake’s home in Manhattan, but it was also insanely crowded. Consuming nearly a city block, the gym boasted the most diverse selection of routes of all the indoor fitness centers in the tri-state area. Membership was also wildly expensive, but Jake had splurged on it with some of his own money. Last summer, he’d had a fantastic and dangerous adventure in Ireland, culminating in the discovery of some long-hidden treasure, and once he’d returned home, he had zealously embarked on an exercise program, having come to the conclusion that it was important to be prepared for anything.

The beginner’s bouldering area was behind them near the entrance. And the gym’s most complex routes, with the most challenging holds, were farther down the line. To gain access to those routes, Jake and Ben would have to prove themselves on this 5.6 Yosemite Decimal System–rated climb. Attempting to tune out the masses of people around him, Jake placed his foot on the first climbing hold and hoisted himself onto the wall. His toes screamed in pain. Rats. Forgot to cut my toenails again. By design, rock shoes are extremely tight, and the millimeter of extra length his nails added quadrupled the pain factor.

With purpose and care, Jake made move after move until he was nearly forty feet in the air. He shook his head to flip his shaggier-than-normal sandy blond hair from his eyes. As best he could tell, the next handhold was a good eighteen inches higher than his reach. Although he’d hit a growth spurt over the summer, Jake was still well below average height for a fifteen-year-old. He looked down at Ben. “I’m not sure about this next move.”

Ben nodded and pulled any remaining slack out of the rope so that if Jake missed the hold, he wouldn’t fall too far. Tall and slim, with a mop of red curly hair, Ben had become a good friend of Jake’s. He occupied second-chair violin—right next to Jake, in first chair—in the school’s orchestra. They were both freshman at a large private New York City high school, and together they’d weathered the difficult middle-to-high-school transition. Knowing that later tonight they would be cramped inside a bus heading to a performing arts camp in Chicago, where they’d spend winter break, Jake and Ben were grateful to squeeze in some physical exercise before heading west.

Lunging, Jake stretched for the climbing hold. His fingers curled around the tiny grip and his muscles strained as his entire weight was suspended in the air, supported only by his right hand. He flexed and lifted himself up by one arm, just enough to get his other hand onto a hold. Moments later, he’d found decent footholds and took a minute to catch his breath.

“Nice move,” Ben called from below.

“Thanks!” Jake smiled down at him. Good thing I added pull-ups to my workout routine.

CRACK! The sound of metal cracking echoed throughout the facility, followed quickly by a scream. Jake swiveled his head in the direction of the noise. On the route next to his, a middle-aged woman swung suspended in the air. Jake tilted his head to examine the pulley system that was attached to the top of the rock wall. It had separated from its mount and appeared as if it could give way at any time. “Ben!” Jake called.

“Go, Jake, go!”

From the moment they’d met, Jake and Ben had instantly been on the same wavelength. Whether it was music, climbing, movies, or girls, they always seemed to know what was on the other’s mind. Jake let go of the rock holds and let the rope take his weight, snapping him into a position that was perpendicular to the wall. He ran sideways along the fake rock like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat as Ben expertly played out the slack. There was another loud snap, and Jake dove and wrapped his arms around the woman. She screamed as the pulley system gave way. Jake grunted as her entire weight bore down on him. Like a pendulum, Jake and the woman swung back toward his part of the rock wall. Ben let the rope slide freely and the two of them glided quickly but softly to the ground.

Immediately, the woman’s climbing partner and the facility’s staff descended upon them.

“You . . . you saved my life.” The woman was near tears.

“Well, it was teamwork.” Jake stood up and brushed himself off. He went to high-five Ben but stopped when he saw blood dripping from his friend’s fingers. “Wicked rope burn!”

“I wanted to make sure you two descended fast in case it was difficult to hold onto her,” Ben said, wiping the blood onto his shorts.

“Good call, Ben. Hope it doesn’t interfere with your violin playing, though.” Jake took a step backward from the crowd of people enveloping them.

* * *

By the time Jake made it home to the two-story brownstone he shared with his father, the cell phone video of the rescue had garnered thousands of hits.

“Quick thinking, son,” Mr. McGreevy said, greeting Jake as he walked through the door. “There are more than a few messages by the phone from reporters wanting to talk with you.”

“No thanks,” Jake said, as he shed his shoes by the front door and followed his dad into the kitchen. “After last summer, I think I’ve had enough of reporters. Besides, Ben and I were just at the right place at the right time—that’s all.”

“I understand, Jake,” his dad said, giving his son a quick pat.

Their townhouse was very similar to the other hundred or so in the neighborhood—with the exception of the widened doorways and the mini-elevator that went to the second floor. Mr. McGreevy had been paralyzed after a horse-riding accident nearly two years before, and their house had been modified to accommodate his wheelchair.

“Dinner smells good. What is it?” Jake bent down to peer into the oven.

“Osso buco with a savory rosemary-balsamic reduction,” Mr. McGreevy replied.

“I assumed it was pizza,” Jake said.

“Of course it’s pizza.” Mr. McGreevy smiled and Jake laughed, their running joke continuing for another night. Mr. McGreevy, despite his exacting architect’s mind, disliked following recipes and cooking, so they tended to eat a lot of pizza.

“It won’t be ready for a few more minutes. Remember our deal? You have to finish unpacking that last box before you leave tonight for Chicago,” he said as he rolled over to the cupboard to get some silverware.

“All right,” Jake grumbled, heading upstairs to his room. They’d moved into their brownstone two months ago, but Jake hadn’t yet finished going through the last box. He entered his room and padded over to it. Lifting the lid, he stared at the old things strewn about. What am I going to do with all this junk? He shuffled through the matchbox cars, empty CD jewel cases, and pieces of electronic gear that even he, with his knack for fixing things, couldn’t save. He spotted a medium-sized teddy bear. “The Art Institute of Chicago” read the bear’s shirt. Chicago: Jake hadn’t really thought about it before, but he suddenly realized that he was going to the same city where his mother had died.

He freed the stuffed animal from its cardboard dwelling and sat on the bed with it. My mom bought this for me, right before . . . Two years old then, Jake couldn’t remember receiving the gift, but he did recall his dad telling him when he was young that it was the last gift his mother had purchased. Dad was so angry when he found me roughhousing with the bear. After that incident, Jake had let the bear sit on a shelf in the closet. He gazed into the bear’s eyes. Who was she? Lately, his father had opened up a little more and discussed the mother he never knew, but he still felt a persistent emptiness.

Turning the bear over, he saw some brown thread, slightly off color from the rest of the stitching along the seam. Never noticed that before. The string was loose and Jake gently tugged on it. The bottom of the bear separated, revealing a yellowed piece of folded paper.

Dear Richard,

I’m sorry you couldn’t be here to explore the city with me. I took a break to clear my head and went to the Chicago Theatre. You simply must read the notes in my binder so you can understand what I experienced. The Art Deco sconces on the second floor remind me of our spectacular time in Paris together.

Love,

Karen

The date at the top nearly leapt off the page. The day she was killed! She died outside the theater, so she must have written this note just moments before. What’s it doing inside my bear?

Chapter 2

Sunday Evening (December 21st)

“Jake, dinner!” Mr. McGreevy’s voice echoed from downstairs. Jake stuffed the note back into the bear and placed it inside his backpack. Slowly making his way downstairs, he tried to compose himself so as not to give away the confusion roiling his mind. He entered the kitchen, grabbed a drink from the refrigerator, and plopped down at the table.

“Did you unpack the box?” Mr. McGreevy asked.

“Just about. I’m not sure what to do with it all. It’s mostly stuff that I should throw away,” Jake replied as he picked up a slice of pizza. He chewed without interest, the flavor lost on him.

“Looks like that pizza is eating you more than you’re eating it,” his father said.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what’s on your mind, son?”

I need a better poker face. “Sorry. I was just thinking that I was going to Chicago, and . . . well, that’s where Mom died.”

Mr. McGreevy stared at his son, his eyes almost misty. “I’ve thought about that every day since you showed me the flyer about the performing arts camp.”

“I don’t have to go,” Jake responded.

“No, you should go. The chance to learn from the best and experience new things is too good to pass up. I know nothing bad will happen, but it’s a father’s prerogative to worry about his son who’s going away for two weeks.”

Especially to the city where your wife died, Jake finished his dad’s thought. “What was she doing there?” Jake hated to push his father, knowing the pain of her death was still great, but he needed to know.

“You are so much like her, it’s amazing. When I learned you found that Spanish treasure last summer, I thought, ‘He’s just like Karen.’ You see, your mom was always trying to solve historical mysteries. She was a wonderful artist, but her real talent was verifying provenance.”

“What’s provenance?” Jake asked.

“It’s the backstory, or origin, of an artifact. For example, let’s say you have a baseball signed by Mickey Mantle that your grandfather gave to you. It might do well at auction. But if you have a signed baseball and a picture of your grandfather standing with Mickey Mantle, then the value increases because you can prove provenance.”

“Because you can clearly show it’s a genuine signature?” Jake said.

“Exactly.”

“So Mom was like a history detective?” Jake asked, referring to his dad’s favorite TV show.

“That’s a good way of putting it. Not only did she have the determination to follow trails and pursue leads, but she had a strong eye for artistic style and detail. I see that same analytical and tenacious mind in you, Jake.”

Jake felt his cheeks get red. His dad was great at building up his confidence, but it never failed to embarrass him, even though nobody else was in the kitchen to hear the compliment.

“So she went to Chicago to investigate something?”

“Not just something. A huge sixty-four-foot painting by the famous American Impressionist Mary Cassatt, which had been missing for more than a hundred years. The Art Institute contacted your mom and asked her to come to Chicago to validate it before they purchased it. She had already made quite a name for herself in the art world as one of the most thorough researchers in her field, but this assignment was going to be her biggest yet. And although she enjoyed her investigative work, her dream was to land a permanent position with a museum in New York City, so really, this opportunity would have helped her . . .” Mr. McGreevy’s voice trailed off.

Jake drained the last of his iced tea. His gut twisted as he tried to decide if he should tell his father about what he had just found inside the bear. No, he’s already struggling with my going to Chicago. It can wait for now.

* * *

After dinner, Jake scurried up to his room to finish packing. He and Ben, along with Jake’s lifelong friend Julie, were part of a select group headed to Chicago for a performing arts camp called Sound in Motion. Combining musicians from high school orchestras with rhythmic gymnasts, the camp offered daily mentorship from the top performers in their fields. The winter break program paired holiday music with the athletic but dancelike rhythmic gymnastics. The camp would be holding several concerts to raise money for music programs in underserved schools across the country that had been hit hard by the economy and Mother Nature. Jake and Ben were representing their school’s orchestra. Julie had managed to gain the last place on the gymnastics roster when she narrowly beat her chief rival in a head-to-head competition. At first, Jake was thrilled to be spending this time with his friends, but the stress of having to perform on stage with the best of the best, combined with the regret that his father would be alone for the holidays, made him wonder if he should be going.

Jake had filled his suitcase with the usual items, like clothes and toiletries, and his violin and accessories were packed and waiting by the door. But he had yet to select which gadgets to bring. He worked part-time at a security and spy shop, which gave him access to tons of cool gizmos. Two weeks in Chicago, crammed into an old school building with a hundred other students. What could I possibly need? Maybe I’ll just keep it simple. He spotted his fiber-optic camera sitting on a shelf and smiled at the memory of its use in Ireland. Camera—check. He also packed the essentials required by any gadget whiz: a Leatherman multi-tool, Maglite LED flashlight, and duct tape.

Satisfied, Jake zipped up his backpack and set it next to his luggage.

“Jake, the taxi is here to take you to the bus,” Mr. McGreevy called.

Jake grabbed his things and hustled down the stairs. “Wish we were flying instead of driving.”

“I can see the wisdom in taking a bus at night. It’s cheaper than airfare—and by driving all night, they’re hoping the kids will sleep instead of getting rowdy.” Mr. McGreevy stretched up from his chair to tussle Jake’s hair.

“Hey, Dad?” Jake paused in the doorway.

Jake’s dad stopped and spun his wheelchair on the hardwood floor.

“Yes?”

“I saw an advertisement for a school trip this spring from the civics department. Kids from around the world are going to spend ten days setting up a mock government and such.”

“You haven’t even gone on this trip yet. You keep running away like this and I’ll get a complex!” Mr. McGreevy winked at him.

“Maybe I just want to eat something other than pizza,” Jake laughed.

Mr. McGreevy fake snarled at him. “Where’s this one—the moon?”

“Closer. Paris.”

“We’ll talk about it when you return. I’m not so sure about another overseas excursion . . . although Paris does sound good. Your mom and I often talked about going but we never made the trip.” Mr. McGreevy hugged his son goodbye.

Jake stopped halfway to the taxi and turned to see his dad waving. He was so excited about the possibility of actually going to Paris that it took a moment for his dad’s answer to sink in.

He’s never been to Paris? But the note in the bear said “our time in Paris together.” Dad couldn’t have forgotten about a trip to Paris . . . My mom was trying to tell him something!