The Night Is Alive

Abby hurried back behind the bar and found the list Sullivan kept there of their regulars. He was a good bartender and liked to memorize their drinks. Then she moved over to the host stand to find the sheet with staff contact information, as well. Peters waited politely at the door. She gave him the pages and he thanked her.

Abby locked the door again and stood there for a moment. Where the hell was Blue?

Not making an appearance that night, it seemed. Wearily she went back upstairs, sorted out the papers that had flown everywhere and sat back down.

Helen.

She felt horrible. She knew Helen.

So far, those who’d disappeared had taken a few days to be discovered.

Maybe there was still hope.

She stared down at the paper that was back in her hands, written in Gus’s broad scrawl.

The murders. Am I right? Call Abby.

This time, as she reflected, she nearly jumped sky-high again when the office phone on the desk began to ring.

Once again, papers flew.

“Abby!” It was Dirk Johansen. She knew why he had to be calling....

“Hi, Dirk.”

“Oh, my God! My actress—my pirate wench—Helen. She’s missing,” he said.

“I know, Dirk. I’m so sorry.”

“You know?”

“A detective was just here. Apparently, she was last seen having lunch at the tavern.”

His voice was thick. “Yeah, that’s the last time I saw her, too. I told the cops that,” he added.

“Did you see her leave?”

“Yep. She was teasing about the pirate days with Aldous, Bootsie and me...and Sullivan. Then she looked at her watch and said she had an appointment. She didn’t say who with. She just went running out.”

“Did she have a boyfriend?”

“No, she was actually doing some online dating. She said she’d met at least six guys and found one, maybe, worth a relationship.”

“I’m sure that’ll help the police.”

“Do you think she might’ve taken off on some romantic spree?” Dirk asked hopefully.

“Sure, maybe,” Abby lied. “Dirk, what’s going to be important is that you think of any bit of information that might give the authorities some leads to follow.”

“Right, right...her roommate must have her computer. That should help.”

“Yes, I bet it will.”

An awkward silence followed. Then Abby said, “Dirk, I’m going to get some sleep. In the morning—” She hesitated, thinking about Gordon. The hell with him. He’d have to play it her way. “In the morning, I’ll be your personal agent. We’ll find her. How about that?” The local police might not be impressed with her, but Dirk might want her help.

“Yeah, um, well, actually, that was what I was going to ask you,” Dirk said.

“To help you?”

“I need you to be my wench.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a wench for tomorrow. Helen shared the job with Chrissy Sutton, and Chrissy is in Atlanta, visiting her mom. She won’t be back until late tomorrow night.”

Great. She thought she might be wanted for her investigative skills.

Dirk wanted a wench.

“Oh, my God. She’s missing. I’m terrified for her. But...I still have to keep it going, keep others working.”

But maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. She could talk with shipmates who knew Helen; she could hang out at the dock.

“Sure, Dirk. I’ll be your wench.”

“I hate to ask you after...after Gus and all, but...”

“I’ll be there, Dirk. What time?”

“Ship leaves for the first run at ten. We’re back at one. Second run at three. Last one leaves right at sunset. I’ll need you to show up at about nine for costuming and a few instructions.”

“Okay, Dirk.”

“Bless you, Abby.”

She started to reply but he’d already hung up.

Abby let her head fall on the table. Gus... She’d been sick about Gus.

But two young women and a man had also died. Now Helen was gone....

She really needed help. And what she’d gotten was Malachi Gordon. Maybe he did have a few talents with the dead. But whoever had taken Helen had to be alive.

Very much alive—and very busy in the beautiful city of Savannah.

* * *

Dirk’s Black Swan was a beautiful ship. She was a schooner with one large square-rigged mainmast; her figurehead was that of a mermaid crowned with pearls. Topside was the great helm on the forecastle and behind it was a stage of about twenty by thirty feet, surrounded by seating at the inner hull. There were barrels around, advertising rum or gunpowder, and Dirk’s parrot, Achilles, sat on a little perch in the center of the stage. Toward the aft, down a few steps, was a snack shop that also offered gifts and souvenirs, and passengers could step atop the sterncastle, above the captain’s quarters, to catch a great view of the riverfront.