She hurried toward the building, anxious to see her grandfather, dreading whatever problem he might have that had brought him to say, “I need you.” A problem he didn’t want to discuss on the phone.
A covered porch with old wooden benches for diners awaiting their tables had been part of the original building. Now steps and a ramp led up to the porch. Near the old double doors to the entry Gus kept the typical wire bin that offered promo materials, maps of the historic section and a free local community paper. The community paper was on the top tier of the bin; Gus’s clientele were locals as often as they were visitors. Even distracted as she was, she noticed the blazing headline in the paper.
Second Body Found; Police Seek Any Information!
She picked up the paper, surprised that she hadn’t seen anything on the news regarding a murder in Savannah. She glanced over the article as she reached for the old iron ring that opened the door.
She learned that tourists leaving an Irish bar around the bend on the river had found the first victim, a young woman. This morning, the second victim, a businessman from Iowa, had come ashore down by one of the coffeehouses. The reporter asked: “Is a River Rat killing in the city?” Abby flinched; she had a feeling the moniker would stick.
Were these deaths related?
The victimology was different—one woman, one man. But both had been tourists or visitors, which meant they didn’t know the city.
Since she’d just come from her FBI classes, it was hard not to speculate on the situation. But while part of her mind wondered if it was the kind of case she might be called in on if the local police invited the feds to take part, she was still too worried about Gus to give the horrible matter her full attention. She folded the paper and slipped it into the large canvas carryall she had over her shoulder. Gus first, paper later.
Pulling off her sunglasses, she stepped through the door. Lights were ablaze inside, but they didn’t compare with the sun burning outside in the late-summer heat of Savannah.
“Abby!”
She’d barely stepped in when she heard Macy Sterling, Gus’s day manager, call her name. Macy came from behind the reservation desk to throw both arms around her in an enthusiastic hug. “Hey, Gus said you were coming today! He’s been talking about nothing else all morning. I’m so glad! Seems like forever since you’ve been here!”
Macy was an attractive woman in her early forties with bright green eyes and sable hair swept up in a chignon. She’d worked for Gus since her mid-twenties and she was a family friend as well as employee. Like all employees here, she was dressed up in Dragonslayer traditional costume, that being pirate mode. Macy made a beautiful wench. She had a lovely figure and did her white cotton blouse, black leggings, boots and red vest proud.
“It’s great to be here,” Abby told her. “But it hasn’t been that long. Only about six months. I did my basic training, twenty weeks, and then I graduated. And after that, I was assigned to more behavioral classes and desk duty. Fortunately, I was in a sort of holding pattern so I could come home now. They’re working on permanent assignments for everyone in my class and my current supervisor told me I could take a break.”
“Well, last time you were here, it was just for a day, and Gus hoarded you selfishly. I hope you have more time this trip. We miss you.”
“Thanks,” Abby said. “And I miss you all when I’m gone. And this place, for sure!” She took a minute to appreciate the bar; it had been there from the beginning and had actually been constructed from the planks of an old ship. Now, of course, it was lovingly tended with wood polish.
The walls were adorned with antique figureheads and pirate flags. An old ship’s wheel separated the entry from the bar area to the left—as well as the steps to the second floor—and the restaurant rooms to the right. The old secondary stairs, cut out of stone, were seldom used now. They led down to the basement and the “secret” passage to the river and were guarded by rails and a life-size robotic mannequin of a 1700s pirate, namely Blue Anderson.
“Oh!” Macy dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I should’ve said congratulations! You passed! I was so sorry we couldn’t attend the ceremony. Our little girl is really all grown up now.”
“Yes, let’s hope so, since I’m twenty-six,” Abby said, smiling. “I mean, if any of us ever really grows up completely.”
Macy studied her as proudly as a parent. “Tell me more. How are you? How’s living there? Who are you dating? Do people still date? How’s the great state of Virginia?” Macy fired questions at her.
Abby laughed. “I’m fine. I rent a little house in a rural district not far from work—it’s historic. The ‘history’ thing must’ve gotten into my blood. I love living there. Yes, I believe people still date, but not me. I’ve been too busy. And Virginia is as hot as Savannah,” she said, trying to answer Macy’s questions in order.
Macy held her at arm’s length, studying her.
“Where’s your hair? You didn’t chop off your hair, did you? One day, you mark my words, you’ll get old and you’ll have to dye it, so you need to have lots of that glorious color while you can!” Macy said.
Yes, it was good to be home.
“My hair’s all here, Macy,” she said. “Just swept up because it’s hot as hell on my neck,” she said. She’d heard that her hair color came down to her from Gus and his family; apparently Blue Anderson, the pirate brother, had enjoyed the same coloring. But whether his moniker had come from the blue-black hair color that appeared in the Anderson clan every so often or the brilliant color of his eyes, no one really knew. Or because he had a reputation for the “black and blue” he could inflict on those who defied his orders...
“We’ll catch up some more later,” she said, then asked, “but where’s Gus?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure. He was up in the office. You want to wait for him there? Oh, are you hungry? Shall I have the cooks whip something up? You drove five-hundred-plus miles, and you are the heir to a wonderful restaurant!”
“No, I’ve eaten, thanks. I stopped at the North-South Carolina border,” Abby told her. “I’m going to run up to the office, okay? If he’s not there, I’ll wait for him.”
“You bet!” Macy gave her another fierce hug. She returned it.
She turned to hurry up the stairs but before she could do so, she was hailed from the bar.
“Abby! Why, Abby’s here, just as old Gus said!”
Abby knew the voice well.
“Bootsie!” she said, turning back to greet the man sitting at the end of the bar with two other familiar faces. Together the three looked every bit the rakish pirate crew. Young compared to her grandfather, Bootsie was still close to seventy—and yet seemed ageless. He had a thick hard-muscled chest and arms like a linebacker. He’d been a fixture on his bar stool as long as she could remember, and if any man had ever resembled an old pirate, it was Bootsie. His real name was Bob Lanigan; he’d been in the marines, followed by the merchant marines, and then he’d captained one of the ships that ran along the river. He’d had a sweet, long-suffering wife who’d indulged his whims and waited patiently at home for whenever he chose to return, but Betty had died about a year ago and Bootsie now spent much of his time on the bar stool. He had a thick thatch of long white hair, a white beard—and a peg leg. He’d lost his left leg from the knee down when he was in the service, and he didn’t “cotton to” any of the new technology. While he owned a number of new, very real-looking prosthetics, his peg leg was just fine for him. Abby only reme
mbered seeing him without it once or twice.
If he wore an eye patch, he’d be perfect for the role of pirate, but thankfully, Bootsie still had both eyes.
“Look at you, lass! Beautiful! Didn’t I tell you she’d grow up beautiful?” he asked Dirk Johansen, one of his companions at the bar. Dirk was the “whippersnapper” of Bootsie’s group of cronies. He was in his late forties and still sailing. A lean, fit man, he often resembled a staff member at the Dragonslayer, since he typically came in straight off one of his “pirate cruises” on the Black Swan. He was handsome and distinguished, an eternal bachelor, or so it seemed. Abby was pretty sure that Macy had maintained a secret crush on him for years. They would have made a handsome couple.
Dirk smiled at her as he replied to the statement. “Bootsie, she’s been a beautiful young woman for quite a while now. Abby, welcome home. It’s always wonderful to see you.”
“Cheers!” said the third member of their group, Aldous Brentwood. Aldous was several times a millionaire from his own—and his family’s—maritime efforts. He was in his mid-fifties, but hard work had kept him toned. He shaved his head bald, had bright blue eyes and wore a single gold earring in his left lobe. Like Bootsie, he could easily pass for a pirate, or, Abby thought, the character for the Mr. Clean line of household products.
“Bootsie, Dirk, Aldous,” Abby said, giving each a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Gus misses you terribly when you’re away,” Dirk said.
“And he grins for a week when you’re coming back!” Aldous told her.
“Well, I’m here now. I figured I’d find him on a bar stool with you gentlemen. So where’s my favorite old grouch? I was on my way up to see if he’s in the office,” she said.
“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!”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 33