The Night Is Alive

Page 7

“He put me in a wig and dressed me up as a silly maiden in distress for that one,” Grant Green recalled, sipping on a beer. “Gus was the best. The day I applied to work here, I hadn’t even filled out a form and he was short a server, so he stuck an order pad in my hand and said, ‘Just sing some kind of pirate song if you mess up—you’ll be fine!’”
“Gus was like that,” Abby said.
“Ah, Gus!” Grant said sadly. “He was a force of nature. I don’t think any of us believed we’d ever really lose him.”
She could see that Macy was thanking some of Gus’s church friends and saying goodbye. She should have gotten up and joined her.
She couldn’t quite manage it.
As she watched, Jerry Sullivan came to the table, bearing a fresh cup.
“New one for you,” Sullivan told her. “The one you’re holding must be iced tea by now.” He shrugged. “Gus did think that a shot of whiskey in hot tea solved all.” He grinned at her, green eyes sympathetic. “It’s kind of an Irish thing—I know, ’cause of my folks.”
“My great-grandfather married an Irish girl in the 1890s, fresh from Ellis Island, or so I heard.” Abby smiled back, accepting the tea. She had a feeling that Sullivan had heavily spiked this cup.
He had, but it was good. It burned as she swallowed it, warming her stomach, and then seemed to move outward to her limbs.
“Thanks, Sullivan.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and went back to work.
She watched him leave. Twisting, she saw that someone was standing at the bar with her grandfather’s trio of cronies.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, rising from the table and heading to the bar.
Before she even came near, she realized that the man was the same one who’d been watching her at the cemetery—few people were that tall with hair quite so dark. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed that her heart was racing a little as she walked to the bar.
“Here’s our girl now,” Bootsie said affectionately. “Our Abby, more beautiful every day, the finest wench ever to grace such an illustrious tavern.”
“Yep, here I am,” Abby said dryly, slipping in between him and Dirk.
She faced the unknown man. He was minus his sunglasses. His eyes were green, sharp and enhanced by the darkness of his well-defined brows. His features were striking. Weathered, hardened, bronzed, but striking. His chin was a solid square while his cheekbones were high. He had the look of someone who’d seen the harder side of life—but had come out swinging. Still, his dress was entirely appropriate and she had a feeling he’d be courteous and polite.
“Ms. Anderson,” he said, offering her a hand. “My name is Malachi Gordon. I’m here from the bureau.”
“Oh,” she said, taking his hand. Fed? Yes, he could be a fed. But she doubted it. A fed would’ve shown up in a more standard suit, wouldn’t he?
“Thank you. It wasn’t necessary for the bureau to send a representative. Only a few friends in my classes ever met Gus, and the agency sent a beautiful wreath,” Abby explained.
“I’m here to see you, Ms. Anderson,” he said.
She was curious but didn’t want to ask any more in front of the others. She wondered what this was about. Did the agency believe a death in a family could have such a negative effect on an agent that he or she was rendered less able for duty?
“Thank you for being here,” she said, assuming he’d clarify later.
“We’ve been giving him a history of the Dragonslayer,” Aldous said.
“And telling him about Gus,” Bootsie added.
The trio lifted their cups again. “To Gus!” they said in unison.
Malachi Gordon smiled at Abby. She smiled in return.
“This is an incredible place,” he said. “Well-preserved—and yet alive. Living history is always the best.”
“Yes, well, people do love pirates.”
“Thank God!” Dirk shrugged and said, “I make my living by running a pirate ship that we take out for tourists every day. We do birthday parties and other occasions, too.” He produced a card from his wallet to hand the newcomer. “Abby’s worked on her over the years. Go figure—she made a great pirate and now she’s a federal agent.”
“Well, who ever said there weren’t a few pirates among the feds?” Malachi Gordon asked lightly.
That was very amusing to her grandfather’s friends; they all laughed. Glancing around, Abby saw that Roger and Paul were about to leave and she excused herself to say goodbye to them. She’d try to catch the fed on his own soon.
Roger and Paul were old friends and both hugged her warmly. She walked out front with them. “Hey, your freebie newspapers were delivered,” Roger said, picking up the bundle to open them and lay them on top of the stand. As he did, she noticed the headline.
Body of College Student Found in River
A third murder? she wondered, itching to pick up the paper and find out what was going on.
Or...a fourth? Had Gus been murdered by the same person who’d killed three people found in or near the river?
Was her mind going haywire because she was a new graduate from the academy who’d just taken classes taught by a premier behavioral specialist? Was she looking for a mystery where none existed?
But...Savannah’s murder rate for the past few years had been low for a city of its size. Any large city battled violent crime and Savannah had seen its share. But this...
“Hey, you’ll be heading back to Virginia,” Roger reminded her. He took her by the shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. “You have to worry about you right now, Ms. Anderson.”
“What are you going to do?” Paul asked her. “You’ve inherited the Dragonslayer. You wouldn’t close down the tavern, would you?”
“No, no, of course not,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
“That’s going to be tough—you being an absentee owner,” Paul pointed out.
“Macy has it down pat,” Abby said. “We have great bartenders, cooks and waitstaff. I’m sure it’s all going to work out. That’s been the least of...” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to say worries. “That’s...well, not what I’ve worried about,” she said.
“Yeah, sorry, kid. So sorry,” Roger murmured. “I know how much you loved Gus.”
“We really loved him, too, you know?” Paul said.
She nodded. “Of course. I know.”
Abby went back inside. One of their newest waitresses—a girl named Julie whom Abby had just met—was cleaning up in the dining rooms. The staff who’d been there the longest hadn’t really worked that day, other than stepping in to help get a few things loaded into the bus carts. They’d come as mourners.
She looked around; there was no sign of Malachi Gordon.
“Everyone’s left?” she asked Julie.
“There are a few of us still tidying up in the kitchen. It’s back to full service tomorrow, or so I was told,” Julie said. She hesitated. She was young and sweet, a student at the design school. “I mean, I’m sorry—that’s your call now. But, um, that’s what I was told.”
“Yes, we’re back to regular hours, Julie. Thanks.” Abby smiled. “And thanks for getting everything picked up.”
“Yeah, a real sad thing about Gus. He was so good to all of us.”
“That’s great to hear, even though it’s something I know—that Gus was great to work for,” Abby said.
She turned and went back to the front. Sullivan was behind the bar. Macy was collecting glasses that had been left at the tall bar tables.
Aldous, Dirk and Bootsie remained on their bar stools.
“What happened to your new friend?” she asked him. “The man from the bureau?”
Dirk frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe he took off. He wasn’t actually a friend of yours, right? Just a rep from the government?”
“I’d thought he’d speak with me again before he left,” Abby said. “But...I guess not.”
Bootsie stood, his peg leg wobbling. “Listen, Abby, we know today’s been hard on you. Now, the boys and I, we can hang around here as long as you like. Or, better still, we can take you off somewhere else and give you a break from this place.”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. It’s okay. To be honest, I’m looking forward to some time alone.”
“Alone?” Bootsie said, surprised.
“Do you want us to walk you to your parents’ house?” Dirk asked her. “I mean, do you really want to stay here right now? You have that beautiful house on the square....”
“She should come with us,” Aldous said. “The house is where...and this is where...” He broke off. The house was where her parents had died; this was where Gus had just died.
“I love my house—it’s beautiful. I really should rent it out again.” The previous tenants had been a writer and his family, and they’d gone back to New York a few months ago. She’d rented the place furnished. Not sure what she wanted to do with it yet, she’d brought over some extra clothes and retrieved boxes of her old belongings from the basement, returning them to her childhood bedroom. “I’m not unhappy in either the house or the Dragonslayer, guys. I have good memories here—and there. I’m fine. Just need a little time to take a deep breath now that the funeral’s over, and then get everything in order. So...out with the three of you! Go wander along the riverfront and give another innkeeper your business tonight. Come back tomorrow. With or without Gus, this remains your place. I don’t know what I’d do if I came home and didn’t find the three of you here. But for now, scat!”
They looked like a group of fathers forced to leave their children for a first day at school.
“Hey, come on now. Out, out,” Abby told them.