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Contents
Cover
Also by Wendy Church
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for the Shadows of Chicago Mysteries
About the author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Wendy Church
The Jesse O’Hara Series
MURDER ON THE SPANISH SEAS *MURDER BEYOND THE PALE *
MURDER IN THE GREEK ISLES *
The Shadows of Chicago Mysteries
KNIFE SKILLS *
TUNNEL VISION *
* available from Severn House
ROUGH CUT
Wendy Church
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2026
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
This eBook edition first published in 2026 by Severn House Digital an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Wendy Church, 2026
Cover and jacket design by Piers Tilbury
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Wendy Church to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1563-5 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1895-7 (paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1564-2 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Praise for the Shadows of Chicago Mysteries
“A gripping read with an unusual plot, a quirky heroine, and plenty of bizarre twists”
Booklist on Tunnel Vision
“Dizzying … Audiences who wished the TV series The Bear had made room for Russian mobsters are in for a treat”
Kirkus Reviews Starred Review of Knife Skills
“A riveting, entertaining read that will appeal to fans of Janet Evanovich”
Booklist on Knife Skills
“With brisk pacing and dynamic characters, Church keeps readers enthralled”
Publishers Weekly on Knife Skills
About the author
Wendy Church, PhD, is the author of the Shadows of Chicago Mysteries. Knife Skills, the first in the series, received a Starred Review from Kirkus Reviews. Her debut novel, and the first in her Jesse O’Hara series, Murder on the Spanish Seas, was named by Booklist as a Top 10 Debut Mystery & Thriller of 2023. She lives in Seattle, Washington with her partner and several animals.
wendyschurch.com
@wendychurchwriter
For Lynnette Church, who will never see this, but supported my love of books from the beginning. Rest in peace, mom.
ONE
I hadn’t been downtown at morning rush hour in a long time. Normally people would be streaming into the Loop to start their workday.
Instead, growing rivulets of humanity were moving toward the river. Some stopped to lean over the metal and stone barriers on the street above. Others poured down from the Riverwalk to the shallow steps at the shore. They were all looking at the water.
Every year on March 17th, the Chicago River was dyed bright kelly green to commemorate the holiday. Once, in 2016, they turned it “Cubbie Blue,” in honor of the team’s World Series championship.
Today it flowed like a bloody wound through the heart of the city, the rising sun revealing the naturally olive green water as deep crimson.
Too late for Halloween. Someone’s idea of a joke?
I stepped around the growing crowds and crossed the Dearborn bridge. As I reached the other side I heard shouting.
Hundreds of fingers were pointing in the same direction. Snagged on an underwater fixture at the base of the State Street Bridge bobbed a body. Its arms lay flat on the water’s surface, like wings, the head disappearing and resurfacing in rhythm with the gentle current.
I turned away and continued downtown. FBI Supervisory Special Agent Smith was waiting for me at the diner on Lake Street. He gave me a hard time when I was late, and I wanted to get it over with.
“Smith,” I said, sitting down across from him in the booth. The last one in the back, of course. I left my coat on.
“Sagarine. Thanks for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Do you want some coffee?” He waved to the waitress.
We stayed silent until she refilled his cup and poured one for me.
“How are things going?”
He didn’t call me here to catch up on my life. “Just spill it. What is it you want me to do?”
“I need you to cook for an event.”
When I didn’t respond, he continued. “There’s going to be a dinner party, a very exclusive dinner party, taking place on the Enterprise.”
“Nikky Bullware cooks on that boat.” I knew her fairly well; occasionally we slept together.
“She’s not going to be able to make this event.”
“How do you know that?”
He stared at me.
“OK … Can you tell me whose party it is?”
“It’s Richard Nottingham’s annual bash.”
“Nottingham? The diamond guy?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it so important that I cook for this particular party?”
“I’d rather not give you any more information right now. The most important thing is that you make the best meal of your life. Money is no object. And I really mean, no object. Do whatever it takes to impress them.”
“What’s wrong with Nikky?”
I’d been seeing her for six months. It wasn’t serious; we were both busy with our careers, and neither of us were looking for a long-term relationship. But I liked her, and I had no interest in taking over her gig. And I had my own restaurant to run.
“Nothing. She’s just being encouraged to say no to this event.”
This sounded sketchy, but it wasn’t like I could decline. In exchange for not arresting me a year ago for various transgressions, I was now on the hook to do favors for Smith and the FBI whenever he asked. And I had to agree to be a good girl from now on. Which, as far as he knew, I had been.
It wasn’t a bad deal for me. I’d stayed out of jail, and had also gotten my restaurant out of it. The FBI thought it would provide a good front for my continued participation in their activities, and gave it to me after confiscating it from the previous owner, a Russian mob boss who they’d put away. With my help.
“When is this dinner party?”
“Next Saturday night.”
Jesus. “Do you know how long it takes to plan and prep a meal like this? And they haven’t even asked me yet.”
“Don’t worry, they will. Ms. Bullware will decline with very little time for them to find a replacement, and she’s going to recommend you. I suggest you start preparing now.”
“What about staff? Servers? Cooks? The bar?” I wish he’d given me more notice on this stuff.
“The boat has its own bar and staff, but you can augment that with whatever servers or cooks you want. Other than Maude, or anyone else associated with law enforcement.”
No law enforcement. That meant criminals at the event. “Is this another Russian mob thing? The last time you made me do that I almost got killed. Several times.”
“No mob. I don’t expect anything dangerous to happen on the boat.”
I didn’t miss the fact that he’d said nothing dangerous “on the boat.”
“Can I get a guest list?”
“I’ll send it to you. In addition to Nottingham and his family will be a hundred or so very well connected, powerful, and wealthy people.” He picked up his menu and opened it.
I stared at him while he pretended to peruse the food options.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes, for now. Can I buy you breakfast?”
“No thanks.” I finished my coffee and stood up. “If I’m going to make the meal of my life I need to start getting ready now. It’s not like I have a restaurant to run, too, or anything.”
He looked up from his menu. “We’ll meet the day after the dinner. I’ll let you know where and when. And, obviously, don’t tell anyone about this discussion.”
I nodded distractedly and turned away.
“I mean it, Sagarine. Tell no one. That includes Maude.”
I was a little surprised at that. The two of them had been seeing each other, off and on, for over a year, and I assumed they shared everything. But after the leaks they’d had in the Chicago PD it wasn’t all that surprising he didn’t want me sharing his operations with anyone.
Still, she was my roommate, and best friend. It would be hard to keep it from her.
“Sure, fine.”
I left him sitting there with his menu and walked out. I headed for the Merchandise Mart L stop. Not the closest one, but I liked walking over the bridge.
By the time I made it back to Wacker Drive crime scene tape was blocking both ends of the State Street Bridge. Uniformed police and firefighters had replaced the onlookers on the steps. Two divers were in the water, bringing in the body.
I crossed the bridge to head back uptown. I didn’t need to see the body. I already knew who it was.
It took just under an hour to get to my restaurant, Saga, in Chicago’s northwest Portage Park neighborhood. I met with my sous chef Zoe to review the day’s menu, then I went upstairs to plan for the cruise dinner.
Smith had sent me the guest list, and I spent the first two hours doing research on Nottingham and his friends. He’d been right, the guests were a who’s who of the richest and most well-connected people in the city, as well as a fair number from outside of it.
Most of them represented businesses and countries important in the worldwide diamond supply and distribution chain: diamond moguls and ambassadors from diamond-producing counties, businessmen from Belgium and the United Arab Emirates, a few politicians in charge of regulations that affected the industry. I took careful notes of each guest, in particular Nottingham and his family. As one of the wealthiest in Chicago they were regularly in the news, although there was surprisingly little about Richard Nottingham.
Once I nailed down the menu I put together my shopping list. Time flew, and when I took a break, dinner service had started. I poked my head down the stairs to see if they needed any help.
Zoe was focused on the night’s amuse-bouche. Everyone else was at their stations, calmly prepping the seven courses that made up the tasting menu. I went back upstairs and started calling my food vendors.
By the time I was done dinner service was over and I could hear them cleaning up in the kitchen. I checked in again with Zoe. We discussed the menus for the next week, and I let her know I wouldn’t be around much but to call me if she needed something. When I finally left it was close to midnight.
It took another hour on the bus to get to our place in Andersonville. I used to be able to walk from the restaurant to our last place, an apartment in Portage Park, but we’d decided to buy our own house. I hadn’t been thrilled about moving, but we’d found a good deal, and Maude insisted. After spending three days last year wandering around alone and almost dying in Chicago’s tunnels, she was done living in a basement apartment.
What sealed the deal was that with Zoe running things at Saga I didn’t need to go in every day. She was good, at both cooking and managing a kitchen, and would have her own restaurant at some point. For my sake I hoped it would be later rather than sooner.
I got off at the Argyle stop, the only train station in the city with a pagoda embellishment above the tracks, and walked to our place on Ashland. Situated between two taller buildings, our house had been sold as a duplex, with two kitchens, four bedrooms, and four bathrooms spread out over three floors. I had the bottom floor bedroom and bathroom and we shared the upstairs living room and kitchen, leaving me free to use the lower one for recipe testing.
As was often the case Maude was still up when I got home, sitting on the floor in the living room working on her computer. I grabbed a beer and joined her.
“Writing, or working?”
In her spare time she wrote novels, under the pen name Betty Phang. Some people called them porn; she referred to them as “female-centered pleasure books.” Each one included a diagram with the relevant female anatomy in the back, complete with arrows, descriptions, and suggestions.
She’d written a bunch of them, with titles like It Rhymes with Delores, and Jurassic Cock, all published in paperback by a small house. She’d often give them out after dates, her book choice a reflection of what she thought about her date’s romantic acumen.
“Working. They’re putting me on another task force. Our first official meeting is tomorrow.”
Maude liked her job as an analyst, and was good at it, so it wasn’t a surprise that the PD put her on as many projects as possible. This despite the fact that she didn’t look the part, and put up with regular, albeit good-natured, ribbing about her spiked blonde hair and goth-themed makeup, wardrobe, and jewelry.
“You don’t sound too happy about it. What’s this one for?”
She normally didn’t mind being assigned to the task forces the department set up, even though the work on the teams was in addition to everyone’s regular duties, and meant working weekends, and canceling paid leave or vacations. She loved what she did, and it provided a solid outlet for her prodigious intellect.
“Did you hear about the river?”
“What about it?”
“Someone turned it red last night.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw it this morning.”
“This morning?” She looked up from her computer. “What were you doing downtown?”
Oops. “Checking out a fish vendor.” I hated lying to her, and was terrible at it. Smith would need to bring her in on his operation as soon as possible.
“A little dye in the river rates a task force? Why do they have you working on pranks?” They usually saved her for the really important stuff.
“I know. It shouldn’t. But it’s the second one of these that’s happened in the last two weeks.”
“Second one of what?”
“Last Wednesday someone left a huge pile of meat in front of Wrigley.”
“Meat?”
“Raw meat. Not-so-fresh raw meat. Dumped in the middle of the plaza, right underneath the sign.”
“That’s disgusting. Why do they think the river’s related to the raw meat?”
“At both sites whoever did it left a string of numbers nearby. Big, white spray-painted numbers. There was a set left at Wrigley, and another one written across the State bridge.”
She pulled up a picture on her computer, an up-close shot of the bridge. Across the metal supports was 007 245 679.
