The Night Is Alive koh-10 Page 7

“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.

  Malachi Gordon had called Abby bright and early—at 7:00 a.m.—to make sure she’d be ready for their planned excursion of the city and the river. She began to tell him about Helen’s disappearance but he already knew. When she explained that not only was she helping out an old friend but she’d get a chance to be on the pirate ship and the docks, he wasn’t angry. Nor was he disappointed. He just said he’d catch up with her.

  Dressed in pirate gear, custom-made by a costumer to resemble the real thing rather than a contemporary Halloween fashion, Abby stood with Dirk’s two main performers, Jack Winston and Blake Stewart. “Don’t worry about anything, Abby,” Jack said. “Dirk really runs the show. Our characters serve grog—to the adults—and soda to the kids. It’s fun, honestly. Blake and I get into a fight over you, we split up some treasure and we have a few songs. All you do is respond and react.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Abby said.

  He grinned. “Well, you’re a child of the Dragonslayer. You’ve been a pirate before, I’m sure.”

  “Aye, mate, we’re all pirates at heart, aren’t we?” she responded.

  He smiled again. “They’ll be boarding soon. The concept is that they’re all prisoners being held for a fine ransom. We’re good to them because they might be worth a lot.” He grimaced as he added, “Dirk’s character is probably based on Blue Anderson.”

  “Could be,” Abby said.

  “Just greet people as they come up the gangplank,” he told her, turning to walk back to the dock himself; he took tickets there with Dirk.

  Abby looked around. Besides the performers, there were four men and two young women dressed up to man the ship. Unpiratelike, Dirk had plenty of automatic winches to deal with his sails. She watched as they made last-minute preparations to move the ship out onto the river.

  She turned to see that their third performer, Blake Stewart, was seated at one of the benches by the hull. He seemed somehow lost. She thought he was young, maybe around twenty-one, the age Dirk required for anyone serving on his ship, since a lot of his money was made on alcohol.

  Young and, yes, lost.

  She sat down next to him and he gazed at her with wide brown eyes. “Nice of you to do this,” he said.

  “It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

  He nodded but he didn’t smile.

  “You’re worried about Helen?”

  Again, he nodded. “It’s not like her. Did you ever meet Helen? She’s very responsible. She really wants to be an actress. She told me once that work ethic is everything. If she’s not here, it’s because something’s wrong.”

  “You really care about her.”

  He flushed and said, “I’m crazy about her. But she won’t go out with me. Said it’s no good to date people you work with, and besides, she doesn’t expect to be here forever. So, instead, she went online.” His expression was a little desperate. “Who knows what kind of crazy she might’ve met online?”

  “Don’t give up hope, Blake.”

  He changed his tone abruptly. “Showtime—captives aboard.” He pointed to the gangplank and went straight into action, putting on his best pirate face as he greeted those boarding the ship. “Step lively, step lively! Now, no trouble from you landlubbers, and there be smooth sailing ahead. Eh! And that means you, my fine lad!” He stopped a boy of about ten who was getting on and reached for his ear, pulling out a “pirate coin.” “Ah, we’ll be watching you! You are the treasure, lad! The ransom we’ll be getting for a fine lad like you. Don’t be trying to out-pirate a pirate!”

  The Black Swan took a maximum of fifty people per trip. Soon all had boarded and the crew rushed about to set sail. During the first twenty minutes, Abby dipped grog and soda, warned the passengers of dire consequences if they should act up and, as much as possible, talked to the crew.

  Everyone, it seemed, loved Helen Long.

  No one could fathom where she might have gone.

  All of them feared the worst; she was just so responsible.

  When they were full out on the river, a good breeze sprang up. Dirk suddenly clanged a bell, calling attention to the show that was about to start. It began with Dirk and the parrot as he told his tale of being a poor lad, shanghaied into the ways of pirate life. He spoke to individual members of the crowd, asking questions, interacting. The parrot was perfectly trained to make wisecracks to him and he responded, bringing delighted giggles from the children aboard. Then he picked up his guitar and sang a sea shanty—and as his rollicking song came to an end, his two key pirates, Jack and Blake, began a loud and boisterous argument, cutting into Dirk’s territory.

  “I say you leave her be—the wench is mine!” Blake shouted.

  “Not so says the wench!” Jack argued.

  “That’s you!” one of the crew whispered to Abby.

  She strode forward between them. “Ah, cut the whining, ye scurvy lot!” she told them. “This wench belongs to no man!”

  “Um, yes, you do!” Blake said.

  “I don’t belong to any man. I can sail these seas on my own!” she
declared.

  “Technically,” Jack said, addressing the crowd, “we’re not sailing the seas at all. This is a river.”

  Abby waited for the laughter to die down. “River, lake, ocean, sea—mud puddle! I can manage it on my own. However...” She walked to each man and touched his face. “I don’t mind bringing on a mate who can prove his prowess should we be boarded!”

  “Ah, fight!” Jack cried.

  “To the death!” Blake roared back.

  Dirk stepped between them. “First touch!” he commanded. “Jeez, it’s hard to get good help these days, even for a pirate! Just first touch—I need you wretched blackguards alive!”

  Abby watched as the two of them went into their swashbuckling duel. In the end, Jack made the first contact, and while Blake muttered and the parrot ridiculed him, he sheepishly began to ask people where they were from, and what their opinions of the fray might have been.

  “Hey,” Blake called. “This group is from Florida. They’re demanding a recount!”

  Dirk knew right when to let the laughter fade and step in. “Recount? Recount? How can I recount? The count was one!”

  Abby moved around the crowd. “We have a birthday here!” she called, after speaking with a wide-eyed little girl. “Her name is Jade.”

  “A birthday? A birthday?” Dirk shouted. “Well, then!” He picked up his guitar and began to strum “Happy Birthday,” and everyone on the ship seemed to sing along.

  Blake found a couple celebrating their anniversary; she ran over with more grog. Jack spoke to a young man about to head off for basic training; she rushed over with two cups of grog as they all assured him he might need both, and then applauded his service to his country.

  Abby came upon a young man with wild dark hair, sunglasses and a ridiculous shirt. “And what are you celebrating, sir? Where are you from?”

  She couldn’t really see his face—not with the glasses he wore and the baseball cap that sat low on his forehead. Despite that, she could tell he had heavy dark eyebrows.

  “Just vacation,” he said. “And I’m from the great Commonwealth of Virginia.”

  “Virginia!” Dirk said, and broke into, “Carry me back to old Virginny.”

  They continued with the festivities, Jack hauling out a pirate chest next and providing young and old alike with trinkets. Handing a pack of chocolate doubloons to a small child, Abby noted the Virginian had left his seat and was chatting with crew members.

  Then he disappeared down the steps into the galley and snack bar below.

  A passenger asked her a question about Dirk’s pirate flag and she took the time to explain how pirates created their own flags. When she could, she slipped toward the steps and made a quick getaway to the deck below.

  There was a counter at the far end. The price of the cruise included one glass of grog or soda and chips; hungry passengers could buy hot dogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers or salad—and beer or other beverages if they weren’t fond of grog. There were tables alongside a central shelf that held pirate flags, eye patches, “doubloons” and other souvenirs. She glanced at the tables, which were empty. People tended to gather there while the ship moved out to the river and back, rather than during the height of the pirate festivities.

  No one on either side.

  Abby walked up to the man tending the snack bar and asked, “Hey, I just saw one of the passengers wander this way. Did you see where he went?”

  “Um, yeah, below, down to the magazine. Of course, we don’t really carry any powder or guns down there now. It’s food storage, mostly,” he said cheerfully.

  “Why would a passenger go down there?” Abby asked.

  “Oh, Wiley—one of the crew—was talking to him. This guy owns a similar outfit up in Myrtle Beach and was fascinated to hear about Dirk’s bilge pumps. They’re probably down there by now.”

  “Thanks,” Abby said. She headed to the side of the counter, where a velvet rope blocked off the stairs down to the level below. She walked into the vast magazine. It was piled high with all manner of supplies, not just food but costumes, giveaways, makeup and wigs. There were bunks against the inner hulls, as well; Dirk let his workers sleep on board when they needed a place to stay.

  “Hello?” Abby said. No one answered. She hurried up and down the length of the magazine. The place was deserted. Searching as she went, she found the hatch to the bilge below and opened it, climbing down the little ladder that led to the lowest area of the ship, where the two sides met at the keel. The bilge was dry. She could hear the pumps working.

  No one was there.

  Frustrated, she returned to the action topside. She didn’t see the man who’d said he was from Virginia—and who had then disappeared.

  “Where ya been, lass?” Dirk roared over to her. “’Tis time to make certain we’ll be getting the ransom from this lot of landlubbers!”

  He was playing a pirate captain; he was supposed to sound gruff. But she thought he was irritated with the fact that she hadn’t been on deck—and in sight.

  “Captain, we’ve gotten the ransom for all of them!” she told him.

  “We did?”

  “They paid it before they got on board!”

  “Aw, well, then, I guess we’ll be bringing them back in,” Dirk said.

  A little boy jumped up and cried out, “No! I want to stay on the ship and be a pirate!”

  Dirk was good. He walked over to the boy and pulled an eye patch from his pocket. “There you go, laddie! Now you’re an honorary pirate!”

  The Black Swan returned to the dock. Abby kept up her act—but kept looking for the man in the baseball cap, too. She didn’t see him. Had he somehow disappeared off the ship?

  Was that what had happened to Helen?

  They reached the dock, and the Black Swan was tied up at her mooring. The passengers—all happy—said their goodbyes. Dirk reminded Abby that they’d leave again at three. He seemed to be impatient with her, but he didn’t ask her where she’d been. She was a gift horse, after all.

  She walked down the dock and pulled out her cell phone, placing a call to Malachi Gordon. He answered after the first ring.

  “Have you found out anything?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Behind you.”

  She turned around. She saw him on the phone.

  He was the Virginian tourist with the baseball cap and sunglasses.

  4

  Once again, Abby Anderson stared at him, her frown intense, her manner completely unnerved and highly irritated.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded in a harsh whisper, coming up to him.

  He arched one of his heavy dark brows and felt the spirit gum on it tighten. “You said you thought it was important to be on the ship. So I thought that it was important, too.”

  “You were supposed to be investigating the murders—seeing your friend, David Caswell, and finding out what’s going on.”

  “I did see David,” he told her. “I met him for coffee at eight. Weird situation. He’s investigating the murders, but the other detective—the man you met last night—has been assigned the missing-person situation. So he’s asked that he be paired up with Ben Peters. All the stations and all law enforcement officers in the area have been alerted about the murders, but my friend David is the head of the task force. I learned a great deal today—before boarding the ship.”

  That didn’t seem to make her happy. “Why are you in this ridiculous getup?” she asked.

  “I’d met Dirk. I didn’t want him to know I was on board, observing.”

  She turned around and started walking toward the end of the dock.

  He followed her. “Hey!”

  She spun on him. She made a good wench, he thought. A pirate hat with little pearl strings attached sat over her forehead. She wore boots, black leggings, a long-sleeved blouse, fitted red vest and frock coat—male attire, which certainly might have been chosen by a woman who found
herself sailing the seas. She had long shapely legs and the boots added to her height. The color of her eyes was so rich and deep a blue that it was mesmerizing, especially when framed by the near-ebony darkness of her hair. He was surprised to feel something stir in him. But she stirred more than his senses; she seemed to touch something deeper than the simple lust that biology and nature dictated. She had passion. She seemed to breathe vitality.

  “Do you enjoy sneaking up on me, playing dress-up?”

  He cast his head to the side with a small, amused smile. “I often worked undercover when I was in New Orleans and, quite frankly, I used disguises in my work as a private investigator. As a matter of fact, Jackson Crow actually mentioned that some members of his unit have found their acting talents to be of use. In a way, acting is part of human behavior. I’m sure you’ve learned that criminals, especially psychopaths, have a tendency to act incredibly sane and rational. We need to be able to play certain parts, as well. And while you’re busy commenting on me, you might take a look in a mirror. I think you’re dressed up, too?”

  “Not to make a fool of anyone,” she muttered.

  He frowned. “I wasn’t trying to make a fool of you, Ms. Anderson. I was trying to take a ride on the high seas—or river, as it may be—and get a take on the man who owns the ship. A man you might not see with open eyes because he’s been a friend for so long,” Malachi said.

  Abby gasped. “Dirk? You think Dirk could be guilty of...this? Of...of anything?” she asked.

  Malachi caught her arm and walked her down the dock toward the street. “Ms. Anderson, as I told you, the first thing I did this morning was meet with my friend, David Caswell. And I discovered several things about the deaths. The victims had marks at their wrists that indicated they’d been bound, probably with heavy rope, according to the medical examiner. They all showed signs of blunt force trauma. In other words, they were hit on the head. But in all three cases, the actual cause of death was drowning. So, Ms. Anderson, it looks as if they were held captive, knocked out—and then forced into the water. Water...hmm. That could mean a ship. Look at it this way. They’d been bound and—metaphorically, at least—forced to walk the plank. That kind of implies a ‘pirate’ might have wanted them dead, or they might have met their end off the deck of a pirate ship.”