river.”
“I saw movement,” Abby murmured.
Jackson didn’t question that. “Did you notice what she was wearing?” he asked.
“A lot of fabric,” Malachi said. “Let me guess—she was dressed as a wench?”
Jackson nodded. “She was wearing a costume like the one she wears when she works on the Black Swan.”
“Let’s see if we can get her to tell us anything,” Malachi said.
Helen Long’s hospital room was fairly large, which was a good thing since David Caswell, Jackson Crow, Abby and Malachi were all huddled in it, trying to be mindful of the patient but eager to hear what she had to say.
Malachi was aware of the hum of the IV monitors, of the hospital staff tending to the sick and injured. Outside the door was a chair; an officer would sit there day and night. They feared that whoever had wanted Helen dead would know where she was—and come back to finish the job.
Helen looked pale as she lay against the pillows. She was weak, but her eyes were bright and her mind seemed to be clear.
“Helen, Abby is here now. She’d like to talk to you. I know you can do it,” Jackson said gently.
Helen looked at Abby and tried to smile. “Thank you!” she whispered.
“Helen, thank you. You made it,” Abby said.
Helen’s eyes touched Malachi’s for a minute. “And thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he told her. “You’re a survivor, Helen. And we believe in your strength. You’re going to help us catch him.”
“Maybe.” Helen glanced down at her bandaged hand. It looked as if tears were welling in her eyes again but she blinked them furiously away.
Abby said, “Please, Helen, tell us—how did he get you? Or how did they get you? Please, help us catch him.”
“I don’t think you can catch him,” she whispered.
“Tell us what happened,” Malachi urged.
Helen took a deep breath and began. “I met a man on the Black Swan one day. He told me he wanted to bring a tourist attraction to Savannah. He wanted to open a haunted house. A pirate-themed haunted house. He was nice—just pleasant, not lecherous—and when we spoke, he was easy to talk to. He asked me if I could make any suggestions about properties that might be available and would work for a haunted house. I told him I knew the best guide in the city—Roger, of course—and that I knew where he might find the perfect spot. I said he’d have to follow certain historical guidelines, especially since it’s owned by a private restoration society. But the society hasn’t had the funds to restore it. Anyway, I got one of Roger’s maps and I remembered what I’d learned about the old church. Roger and I had talked about it. I had his map, I walked around, using it, and I was going to get together with the man I met on the Black Swan. It was...before Gus’s funeral, after we were all talking one afternoon—at the Dragonslayer.”
“Everyone remembers that day,” Abby said.
“Well, I thought we were meeting in the parking lot at the tavern, but I didn’t see him. Instead, there was a note on my car, along with his business card. He said to meet him at the church.”
“Helen,” Malachi asked urgently, “what did this man look like?”
“I...I don’t know. He was just a businessman. Maybe about six feet tall? I guess he was getting started early on his whole pirate-theme thing. He had long hair and a beard and mustache. Dark. You could barely see his face.”
“Did you know him? Had you ever seen him before?”
Helen frowned. “There was something familiar about him...I feel I should have known him, but I didn’t. Or maybe he reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t place who it was.”
“What was his name?” Malachi asked.
Helen frowned. “Chris...Chris Condent. Christopher on the card, I think. He told me to call him Chris.”
Malachi didn’t allow a flicker of change on his face but his mind was racing. Chris...Christopher Condent. Christopher Condent had been a pirate, active from about 1718 to 1720. After taking a great prize, he retired from the sea and lived in France until a ripe old age. He’d become very rich by taking his ill-gotten gains and investing them in a career as a merchant.
“So,” Malachi said, “you found the note on your car with the man’s business card, telling you to go to the church. What then?”
“I went there—and I was surprised. The church door was open. I figured the man had gotten hold of the owners or one of the owner’s representatives and been given a key,” Helen explained.
“And then?” Abby asked.
Helen let out a long breath. “I went in.” She stopped speaking and just stared ahead.
“Helen?” Malachi said quietly.
She didn’t move; she didn’t seem to hear.
Abby moved closer and squeezed her hand. “Helen, please, go on.”
Helen shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“What?” Abby said very softly. “What happened then?”
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “I walked in and suddenly I felt a searing pain in my head. Someone or something had hit me. I didn’t see anything, anything at all.”
She fell silent again, her expression anguished.
Malachi nodded at Abby, and she understood what he meant. Helen knew her, trusted her. She was the one who could probe where the rest of them couldn’t.
“You were hit—and you were unconscious. But...you came to?”
“I was tied up. My wrists were bound. And I was in a cabin. A ship’s cabin. At least, I think it was a ship’s cabin. It seemed like I could hear water...and whistles and ships’ horns. It was dark, really dark. There were portholes or windows but they were covered and I couldn’t move to try to see out.”
Abby sat on the bed next to Helen. “I know this is hard, but it’s important. What happened next?”
“He came in,” Helen said. “He came in...and he was horrible.”
“I’m so sorry, Helen,” Abby murmured.
“He...told me I was a captive. A pirate’s captive. So I’d better be good. Captives who caused problems didn’t live very long. He said he’d put out the call for my ransom, but if I gave him any trouble, if I tried to escape...he’d kill me.”
“Did you recognize this guy? Was it the businessman you met?” Abby asked.
Helen stared at Abby. “I—I don’t know. I really don’t know if they were the same.”
“What do you mean, Helen?” Abby asked.
“It was...the pirate. The real pirate.”
“Helen,” Malachi said, “was it someone acting as a pirate? You said that this Chris Condent wanted to open a pirate-themed haunted house.”
Helen shook her head, growing agitated. “He wasn’t Chris Condent anymore. He was the pirate, the real pirate. That’s who kidnapped me. And I had seen him before. He was very big and he had dark hair. Rich, dark hair. And blue eyes.” She took a shuddering breath. “It was the pirate, Abby. The pirate from the Dragonslayer.”
She paused, as if waiting for Abby’s comprehension.
“It was Blue,” she said. “The pirate, Blue Anderson.”
9
They left the hospital soon after Helen Long stated that she believed she’d been kidnapped and attacked by a pirate who had been dead for well over two hundred years.
Because it was private and they could watch the Dragonslayer on the screens at Abby’s home on Chippewa
