The Night Is Forever (30 page)

“He might be up there. I'm not sure.” Bootsie shrugged. “He let
me in when the kitchen staff started arriving at ten. We sat and talked for a
while and he did keep looking at his watch, telling me about where you'd be on
your drive.”

“I saw him right at opening,” Dirk offered.

“Yeah, I did, too, but I didn't see him after that,” Aldous
said.

Sullivan, the lunchtime bartender, a handsome thirty-year-old
with green eyes and flaming red hair, plus a neatly coiffed mustache and beard,
came by to check on his “barflies” as the three referred to themselves. He
smiled at Abby; she didn't know him well. He'd only worked for her grandfather
about four years and she'd been gone most of that time. His given name was
Jerry, but he went by Sullivan.

“Abby, he said something earlier about working on the books, so
you're probably right. He's got to be up in his office. I haven't seen him since
before the lunch crowd started coming in.”

“Thanks, Sullivan,” Abby said. “And, gentlemen, see you later,”
she told the three older men seated at the bar.

They responded with an out-of-sync chorus of “Aye, Abby,” “See
you, Abby,” “Glad you're here!”

She smiled and walked over to the winding iron stairway that
had been there forever and was watchfully maintained, since it was still used on
a daily basis.

The second floor of the establishment had a low ceiling. No
food was stored on the upper level, but a long room housed wine, spirits,
kitchen utensils and other restaurant supplies. The second floor also had a nice
lounge for the employees with lockers and closets full of costumes so no one had
to come as a pirate or wench and leave as a pirate or wench. On one side of
Gus's office was the apartment he'd lived in with her grandmother until Brenda
Anderson's death eight years ago. Now he remained there alone. It had a little
sitting room and access to a balcony that looked over the rear grounds and out
to the river. Beside the sitting room were the two bedrooms, the one Abby had
always slept in and the one her grandfather now maintained for himself. On the
other side of Gus's office was the manager's office, shared by Macy and Grant
Green, the night manager.

Gus wasn't in his office nor was he in the manager's office.
She tried his apartment door. It was open, but Gus was nowhere to be seen. The
room was sparse and spotless. The only pictures on the walls here were images of
his family.

Abby called his name as she hurried through the apartment, and
then went out to check the supply room, as well. She walked past carefully
stored rows of different liquors and the wine vault. There were boxes marked
Dragonslayer plates, salad bowls and glasses, tablecloths and more, but none of
the employees were up there now.

“Gus!” Abby called again, but all she heard in return was the
distant sound of the “pirate” track that played during lunch hours.

Frustrated, she went into the lounge, but she seemed to be the
only person on the second floor. Abby walked back to Gus's office and sat at his
desk. Despite his age, Gus had entered the age of technology with gusto; he had
a new computer, a printer and, to the side, a file cabinet. There was a little
office carrier filled with incoming and outgoing mail. She looked anxiously at
the incoming mail, hoping she wouldn't find a stack of doctors' bills. She
didn't—most of the mail was solicitation letters. She knew he read most of it,
always looking to see if there was something the restaurant could use.

“No important mail from doctors or diagnostic clinics,” she
murmured aloud.

She didn't think it was anything to do with his health that had
made him summon her in such a manner, and yet couldn't help being concerned. And
curious. Gus had an impressive history. He'd served in the navy during World War
II, then he'd returned to Savannah—where he was guaranteed to make a living
since his family owned the restaurant—to join the police force. But when his
father passed away, he'd left the force to concentrate on the Dragonslayer.
She'd admired him all her life. It was thanks to Gus that she'd gone to the FBI
academy; he'd encouraged her in every action she'd ever wanted to take. He
hadn't pushed her toward law enforcement, but he'd told her she was smart and
could do anything she wanted to do.

There was nothing on his desk giving her any indication that
something might be wrong with Gus.

Had he run out to do an errand? She drummed her fingers on the
desk and then took the newspaper from her handbag to study the article on the
murders.

Both victims had drowned. Both had been found with their hands
tied behind their backs. Police were withholding other information, as it was an
ongoing investigation. Next of kin had been notified, and anyone with any
information regarding either victim was urged to contact law enforcement.

She set the paper down, then started, certain she'd heard a
sound coming from the storage area—but she'd just been there. At the rear of the
storage area was a wrought-iron stairway from the back of the dining area to the
second floor. It was far narrower than the main staircase and it was gated.
Diners were prohibited from taking those stairs, as was the staff, she reminded
herself. Gus didn't consider them safe. At one time, they'd allowed pirates who
were drinking, wenching and enjoying their liberty in Savannah to escape quickly
from the upstairs to the underground passage that led to the river and their
ships. While Robert Anderson—brother of Blue, and Abby's direct ancestor—had
been a legitimate businessman, he and his pirate brother were known to be close
and Blue Anderson was known to have frequented the tavern. British officers were
prone to burst in on the Dragonslayer in search of Blue, and thus the easy
escape route.

Thanks to the secret passage, they'd never caught Blue—or any
of his men—at the tavern.

The door to the passage was covered with a grating now. Before,
it had been hidden under wooden planks that matched the rest of the floor. Now
it was a curiosity and guarded by chains, a locked metal grate and the robotic
Blue Anderson. Blue was set up beside the grate, and diners loved to have their
pictures taken with him.

Abby stood up, then walked down the hall to the storage room.
The lights remained on as they always did during business hours. She moved
silently along the rows of modern chrome restaurant equipment and boxes to the
back of the room.

Halfway there, she paused.

Her heart seemed to rise to her throat and catch there.

Blue!
She could see him. He was
standing right by the winding iron stairs. He beckoned to her and went down
them.

She might have been a kid again, frozen there. For long
moments, she wasn't sure she was even breathing.

He only comes when he's needed,
Gus
had told her.

Abby came to life. She sprinted across the room and to the
stairs.

A chain stretched across the iron railing of the landing here;
it was in place as it should have been.

Abby slid underneath it and quickly followed the winding steps
to the main floor.

A few diners lingered, but she'd been quiet and hadn't been
noticed. The grating was in place. She knelt down—and saw that the lock was
open.

Heedless of anyone who might see her, Abby lifted the grating.
It was dark below. There were lights, but Gus kept them off except for the ones
directly by the grate. She hurried down the stairs, calling his name. “Gus!”

She reached the bottom and the dank tunnel that led out to the
river.

“Gus!”

Someone seemed to be ahead of her. A shadow moving almost as
one with the darkness.

She followed.

And then, ten feet along the tunnel, she found him.

Gus.

She fell to her knees at his side. “Gus, Gus, Gus!”

He didn't answer. He didn't feel her touch when she felt for a
pulse, for any sign that he was breathing.

He was so cold!

Yes, cold, she realized, horrified and heartbroken.

Stone-cold dead.

Copyright © 2013 by Heather Graham Pozzessere

ISBN-13: 9781460319444

THE NIGHT IS FOREVER

Copyright © 2013 by Heather Graham Pozzessere

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