The Night Is Alive (19 page)

“Virginia is great, too,” she said.

He laughed. “Virginia
is
great. I love Richmond. The White House of the Confederacy, Hollywood Cemetery and all the old Civil War memorials... My part of Virginia is pretty remote. But I think you’d like it.”

She started to answer him; she wanted to talk about Virginia, or anything else rather than what was going on between them. But before she could say a word, she was startled by the presence of someone beside their table.

It was Roger English. “Hey, you two okay?” he asked.

“Fine, Roger.” Abby smiled at him. “Are
you
okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I shouldn’t admit it, but yesterday freaked me out. I watched the news today and it’s great—you fished Helen Long out of the river last night!”

“We’ve seen her, Roger, and she’s doing well,” Malachi told him.

“Did she solve everything?” he asked.

“She’s in the hospital, so we’re trying to give her time to feel better before getting her to remember details,” Abby said.

Roger nodded. “Hopefully she’ll have what you need.”

“What are you doing here?” Abby asked him. “Did you just happen by?”

“I came to meet Bianca for lunch. But she’s late.”

“I’m sure she’ll be along in a few minutes,” Abby said.

“I really like her,” Roger murmured.

Abby suddenly heard a mental echo of her own voice.
I’m sure she’ll be along in a few minutes.

But she might not be.

She glanced at Malachi, who was studying Roger. “Why don’t you give her a call, see what’s holding her up?” Malachi suggested.

“I have. She’s not answering her cell. I tried her bed-and-breakfast, too. Couldn’t reach her.”

The possible explanation seemed to hit Roger as he spoke. His knees gave out; he would’ve fallen if Malachi hadn’t leaped to his feet to bring a chair around for him.

Roger stared at the two of them. “He’s got her!” he cried. “Call the police! I’ve got to call the police. You
are
the police. No, you’re the feds... Oh, God. What do I do, what do I do?”

Malachi already had his phone out. “First, don’t panic. People do run late. Cell phone batteries die. But under the circumstances, we’ll get all the information we have on Bianca to David Caswell.”

Roger looked as if he’d been hit by a brick. While Malachi spoke to David on the phone, Abby asked Roger, “Her name is Bianca Salzburg, right? She said she was transferring here from Chicago. Is she from Chicago? This is important, Roger.”

“Salzburg, yes,” Roger answered. “She was born in Chicago and went to Northwestern. She works for a small shipping company that handles delicate items—Pack-A-Gram, it’s called. They’re opening an office in Savannah. She was staying at the old Hayden house. You know the place, Abby. It was owned by Jimmy Hayden until last year when he died. His niece Shelly came back to take over the property and turned it into a B and B. She fixed it up nicely.”

There was little emotion in his voice, he was so distracted.

Abby thought, but didn’t say, that—like the known victims—Bianca had eaten at the Dragonslayer.

Malachi ended his call and made another before returning the phone to his pocket. “David’s on it and he’ll be here soon. We’ve reported the situation to our colleagues, as well. Bianca could show up in a few minutes, but we’ll get started on the information we need, just because we’re all concerned these days. So, how late is she, Roger?”

Roger glanced at his watch. “Now? Almost forty minutes.”

“My colleague Angela Hawkins is on her way here to wait with you. Meanwhile, Jackson Crow is hitting the national databases to get all the information we can on Bianca. Let’s hope she shows in a few minutes, apologizing for being late and explaining that she didn’t charge her phone.”

Roger jumped to his feet. “Helen! You have to get Helen to tell you what’s going on. I’ll go to the hospital. She’ll talk to me—she’ll tell us what happened. You saved her, right? She owes you, Abby. You have to make her tell you!”

Malachi rose and set his hands on Roger’s shoulders. “Look at me, buddy. You panicking will not help Bianca. We’ve spoken with Helen, and we’ll speak with her again, see if we can’t get some details that might help. But listen to me and try to understand. We can’t force Helen to tell us what she doesn’t know.”

“But,” Roger protested, “she’s alive! She
has
to know—”

“She says she saw a pirate,” Abby said.

“What?”
Roger demanded.

“She thinks Blue Anderson attacked her.”

“Blue Anderson?” Roger repeated, looking at her blankly.

“Roger,” Malachi said in a firm voice, “relax. Sit down. You’ll wait here for a while longer. We’ll stay until Angela arrives. Then we’ll head out and start searching for her, okay? Every cop in the city will be on the lookout, too.”

Roger shook his head. “She’s underground somewhere. Or she’s being held on a ship. It’s not like they’ll be able to see her.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Malachi said.

Abby put a hand on Roger’s arm. “I’m going to get you one of Gus’s old fixes, okay? A cup of tea and whiskey. Calm those nerves a bit.”

“Yeah,” Roger said huskily. “Yeah, okay.”

By the time Abby snagged their waitress and got the tea for Roger, Angela had arrived. Tall, beautiful, controlled, she quickly had Roger talking to her, telling her about Bianca, how they’d met, and how great she was.

“Let’s go,” Malachi told Abby.

“Yes, get going,” Angela said. “Roger and I are fine here.”

“The check,” Abby began.

Angela waved a hand. “Roger and I may have something else while we’re here. And Jackson may come by soon. He’s already got fliers into the hands of the police, and they’ll get them out right away. Of course, we could really be jumping the gun, but...”

Abby gave Roger a kiss on the head. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

He nodded. He still looked as if he’d been hit by a brick.

Malachi took her arm and they walked down the length of the riverfront to the parking area.

“Do you actually think she’s been taken?” Abby asked.

Malachi pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s just blowing him off, but we can’t risk it. We’ll stop by the bed-and-breakfast first and then go back to the hospital to talk to Helen. We’ll see if we can get some kind of clue from her. Do you know the woman who’s taken over the Hayden house? Shelly, he said her name was.”

“Yeah, Gus knew everyone in town. Shelly actually lived up in Charleston. I hadn’t heard that she’d turned the house into a bed-and-breakfast but I’m not surprised. It’s a big old colonial and they put in a pool about ten years back.”

“Tell me where to go.”

Malachi was driving. He had a good grasp of the city’s grid layout, with the squares bordered by streets.

When he’d parked, Abby ran up the walk. The front door was open; she went in. The Hayden house had a broad foyer with a staircase that went straight up to a second-floor balcony. Shelly had set up a reception desk in the foyer.

“Hey, Abby!” Shelly smiled as she greeted her. She came around the desk to give her a big hug. They didn’t know each other that well, since Shelly was about five years older than Abby. But whenever she’d been in town, they’d seen each other often enough. Slim and attractive, she must have made a complete aboutface in her life because she’d worked in Charleston as a graphic designer.

“Shelly, it’s good to see you,” Abby said, returning the hug.

“Congratulations, Agent Anderson. I understand you’re full-fledged now.”

“More or less,” Abby said. Malachi was behind her by then. She saw Shelly’s eyes widen as she looked at him and then at her. She wondered how she hadn’t realized from the beginning what she clearly saw now—he was an extremely attractive and arresting man. Other women seemed to respond to him instinctively.

Of course, she was doing that herself.

She gave herself a mental shake. Whatever private relationships they had, she couldn’t forget her position, her chosen vocation and what they were here to do.

“Hi,” Shelly said to Malachi. “You two are together?” She evidently approved.

“Shelly Hayden, Malachi Gordon. He’s a private investigator and a consultant with the FBI,” Abby explained. “We’re here because one of your guests didn’t show up for a lunch appointment, and we want to be sure she’s all right.”

“Oh. Oh!” Shelly said. “Which guest? Oh, it has to be Bianca Salzburg. She’s registered, and then I have two retired couples and a family of four. She was fine this morning. I made quiches for breakfast and she was so sweet, really loved them. She was cheerful when she left here.”

“When was that?” Malachi asked.

“About eleven,” Shelly told him.

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, and I’m afraid I don’t grill people when they leave,” Shelly said. “Sometimes they ask me about a tour or a carriage ride—but if they’re going out for the day, well, I don’t feel it’s my place to ask questions.”

“Were your other guests down here when she had breakfast?” Malachi asked next.

“Yes, the Mortons were sitting with her at one of the tables on the patio. I serve breakfast outside by the pool when I can.”

“Are they still here?” Abby asked.

“Out by the pool.”

“May I?” Abby gestured, indicating that she wanted to walk through.

“Of course,” Shelly followed Malachi as he kept pace with Abby. “I heard they found the girl who was working for Dirk on his
Black Swan.
Do you think Bianca might have been...kidnapped and assaulted by the same man? Or...I mean, it’s just been a few hours. Can she really be missing?” She sounded both puzzled and concerned.

“We’re not taking chances,” Malachi said.

“This is
so
distressing!” Shelly murmured.

The Mortons were a handsome couple in their late sixties or early seventies, who both looked fit and tan. Abby envied them for a minute. They appeared to be the kind of people who’d worked hard, raised their children—and survived to enjoy their golden years together.

She quickly introduced herself and said that Bianca Salzburg was probably fine, but with the sad state of events lately, they were trying to make sure.

Mrs. Morton gasped softly. “Oh, that lovely, lovely girl!” She turned to her husband, “Henry, she was so pleasant, wasn’t she? She joined us for breakfast.” As he nodded, she looked at Abby. “This is Bianca’s first trip to Savannah. She’s from Chicago, you know. Loves Chicago—her family’s there—but she was offered a chance to manage the new office for her company if she moved to Savannah. She says that since she got here, she’s been absolutely thrilled, the city’s so beautiful. We told her we’d been coming for years. Can’t move from Philly, since our grandkids live there, but we love to spend a month in Savannah every year.”

“It’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world,” Abby agreed. “Did Bianca say anything about her plans for the day?”

“Why, yes. She said she’d met a nice local fellow and that she was having lunch with him. Down by the river somewhere. I forget—what did she say, Henry? The Irish pub?”

Henry Morton murmured. “Yes, Connie. The Irish pub.”

“Henry, if you know something, you have to speak up,” Connie Morton said.

“You seem to be doing fine for both of us,” Henry said.

Connie rolled her eyes. Her husband smiled at her.

“Shelly is pretty sure she left around eleven,” Malachi told them. “Does that sound about right?”

“Yes, precisely right,” Connie said. “She waved to us as she was walking out.”

Abby thanked them; when Henry expressed serious concern about Bianca, she promised they’d call the bed-and-breakfast with any news.

They bade Shelly and the Mortons goodbye and headed out.

“They were a lovely couple,” Abby said as they walked to the car.

“Yes.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I have a feeling they’ve been together for years—and that they’re still in love.”

“I envy them in a way.”

He flashed her a smile. “You’re too young to envy anyone yet. The world’s out there for you.”

“Yes, I know. They just made me think of my parents. The world was once theirs, too. But they died before they made it to where the Mortons are now.”

“And yet,” Malachi said softly, “what they had was probably better than what many people get even if they live to be over a hundred.”

That was true, but Abby missed her parents and her grandparents as much as ever and found it painful to talk about. She changed the subject back to work.

“So, we’re going to see Helen?”

“Yes.” When they drove alongside Colonial Park Cemetery, she was surprised when he suddenly saw a parking space and slid into it.

Abby frowned. “Helen’s at the hospital. Why are we here?”

“I know. I thought we’d stop for a minute.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He was already out of the car. She followed as he walked through the main entrance, beneath the arch and the great eagle. He kept moving toward the back, making straight for the bench where he’d seen the ghostly old couple and pointed them out.

They weren’t at the bench. They were standing by a grave.

Abby hung back and watched. She saw Malachi approach them, not speaking at first. He stood by the grave and bowed his head.

After a few minutes, Abby inched closer. Malachi spoke quietly. “Good afternoon,” he greeted the pair. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your son?”

The man appeared startled and looked at his wife. Then he looked at Malachi again and Abby heard his voice, like paper shifting on the wind.

“You are speaking to me, young man?”

“I am,” Malachi said. “If you’ll forgive my intrusion.”

“Of course.” The woman nodded. “Yes, it is our son.”

“He is gone, you know. And you could be with him,” Malachi told them.

The elderly man shook his head. “Soldiers came here,” he said. “They defaced Josiah’s grave. Scraped off his name with their knives. We must stand guard, lest they come again.”

“If you tell me what should be on the gravestone, I can see that it’s fixed,” Malachi promised. “The soldiers won’t come again. They were bitter because so many of their own died in the war and they behaved badly. But that war is long over—it ended a century and a half ago. I swear, I will see that the gravestone is repaired. If you tell me his name and what you wish written on it, I give you my solemn vow that it will be set to rights.”