“Great. I’ve got to go.”
Malachi was anxious to be on the move.
They only had one real connection to the killer. Helen Long. He had to talk to her again.
There had to be some clue in her story. There was something he should be seeing clearly, but couldn’t, not yet. The answer to the riddle was in the back of his mind somewhere; he just hadn’t figured it out.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
14
“Pirates were really bad, right?” a little boy asked Abby, his smiling mother beside him. She might have been portraying a girl who was an utter nitwit, but the audience seemed to have sympathy for the damsel in distress.
“Hmm. Well, yes, piracy is bad. There are still pirates out there today, and they’re very bad,” Abby said, crouching down to his height. “But Blue Anderson walked a middle ground. He started out as a privateer. That means, more or less, that he was asked to be a pirate.”
“People can ask you to be a pirate?” The towheaded boy stared at her, eyes wide.
“Back then, we weren’t a country yet. We were a group of colonies governed by the English. England and Spain always seemed to be at war. So the king or queen of each country would allow men to seize ships—as long as they were ships that sailed under the enemy’s flag. So, Blue was a privateer to begin with. He never did seize an English ship. You remember the story in today’s show? He actually saved the crew of a foundering ship, but kept Missy because he thought he was owed something for his work.”
“What happened to Blue?” the boy asked.
“Tyler, you’re driving the lady crazy,” his mother said apologetically.
“Not at all,” Abby assured her. “Blue never begged for a pardon, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Legend had it that the Royal Navy could have sunk his ship several times, but they let him sail by. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. One day he sailed out—and he never came back. No one heard from him or any of his crew again, so history records that he was caught in a storm at sea and went down with his men and his ship.”
“Wow, cool!” Tyler said. Gripping his mother’s hand, he asked, “Can we go in there—to Blue’s tavern—and have lunch? The menus for kids are supposed to be pirate hats!”
“Paper pirate hats, but yes,” Abby told him.
“Yes, lunch!” his mother said. “Come on now. Thank you...Missy.”
Abby grinned. “My pleasure.”
Standing, she looked around. Will Chan was heading into the restaurant; Jackson Crow was keeping an eye on her and talking on the phone.
Roger and Paul were still talking to tourists.
Aldous, she knew, was at the police station.
She went into the restaurant herself—and saw Dirk just ahead of her and glanced at her watch. The Black Swan would have finished the first tour of the day.
He was probably on his way to the bar for lunch before the second tour.
Abby quickened her pace. The show was over; she wanted out of Missy Tweed’s voluminous gown and into her own clothing—and she especially wanted her Glock.
She walked into the tavern. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.
Grant and Macy were at the host stand, talking. She assumed Grant had come in to make sure that their return to the Saturday-morning theatrical events went smoothly.
But, as she watched, Grant gave Macy a kiss on the cheek. Macy walked over to the bar where Bootsie and Dirk were now seated together. She sat down next to Dirk and let out a sigh.
“How was the show?” she asked.
“It went very well,” Bootsie said. “Very well. You and Grant are keeping everything moving along. Gus would be pleased.”
“I’m relieved.” Macy shrugged. “Why I thought anything would be different...I don’t know.” She sighed again. “I miss Gus.”
Abby hurried over to where Macy was sitting. “We all miss him,” she said.
“Oh, Abby! I didn’t see you there.” Macy turned, touching Abby’s arm. “I’m sorry—I mean we all miss Gus, but he was your grandfather. We don’t have the same right to miss him that you do.”
Abby smiled at that. “Macy, you were just as much family. Miss him all you like—and I’m grateful that you do!”
“I wish you were staying around, Abby,” Sullivan said.
“You don’t need me,” Abby assured him.
Grant came striding over, watching the host stand as he did, but grinning. “We have to let her move on, you know!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think love is in the air.”
“Love!” Bootsie scoffed. “Love? Who are you in love with, young lady?”
“Tall, dark, handsome and somewhat mysterious—seems to almost read minds,” Grant said, teasing Abby.
“Love! Bah. Abby and that fed, they’re both cops,” Bootsie muttered.
“Cops fall in love,” Macy said.
Dirk winked. “And everyone falls in lust from time to time.”
“Come on, Abby,” Grant said. “What’s the deal with the tall, dark and handsome G-man?”
“You mean Malachi?” she asked innocently.
“Let’s hope—or else our girl’s become a home wrecker,” Dirk said. “I get the impression that the cute little blonde G-woman is with tall, dark, exotic actor G-man. And the pretty blondish one is with tall, dark, handsome and Native American G-man. That leaves intriguing G-man who’s staying up in the apartment.”
“Now, why would you be worried about my love life, anyway, huh?” Abby asked Dirk, avoiding the question.
“We’ll always worry about you, Abs,” Bootsie said.
“We’re like the great-uncles you’re really glad you never had,” Dirk told her, which made Abby laugh.
“Hey, I’m just the bartender,” Sullivan said lightly.
“You guys know I dreamed about working for the federal government, that all my life I wanted to be an agent,” Abby said. “You know I’ll go back to work with a unit, wherever I’m assigned.”
“Yeah, but I looked this unit up,” Grant said sagely. “They’re the Krewe of Hunters.”
“What does that mean?” Bootsie asked.
“They ask the dead questions—and the dead help them find the killers,” Grant explained.
Macy giggled at that. “Seriously? Come on, Grant. The one woman is a medical examiner. If they could talk to the dead, she’d just ask the corpses who...who turned them into corpses. Oh, I sound terrible—I’m concerned, really. I’m grateful you found Helen, Abby, and praying that Roger’s girlfriend will be found, as well. But it’s not looking good for her, is it?”
“We don’t have any real answers,” Abby said.
Bootsie made a sound of derision. “All those feds and cops—and nothing. You people, all that schooling— and a pirate’s walking all over you.” He raised his beer. “Ask the dead questions, my ass!”
“Bootsie,” Dirk remonstrated quietly.
“It’s just us here,” he said. He looked around. “Hey, where’s our third? I haven’t seen Aldous all day.”
“I’m sure he’ll be around,” Sullivan said, pushing away from the bar to get a drink order from one of the waitresses.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” Macy agreed.
“Hey, you make a great wench, Abby,” Grant told her.
“Gee, thanks. Which reminds me, I want to go and get out of this now.” Abby turned but then paused,
