Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever

by Heather Graham

  “Thank God!” Dirk shrugged and said, “I make my living by running a pirate ship that we take out for tourists every day. We do birthday parties and other occasions, too.” He produced a card from his wallet to hand the newcomer. “Abby’s worked on her over the years. Go figure—she made a great pirate and now she’s a federal agent.”

  “Well, who ever said there weren’t a few pirates among the feds?” Malachi Gordon asked lightly.

  That was very amusing to her grandfather’s friends; they all laughed. Glancing around, Abby saw that Roger and Paul were about to leave and she excused herself to say goodbye to them. She’d try to catch the fed on his own soon.

  Roger and Paul were old friends and both hugged her warmly. She walked out front with them. “Hey, your freebie newspapers were delivered,” Roger said, picking up the bundle to open them and lay them on top of the stand. As he did, she noticed the headline.

  Body of College Student Found in River

  A third murder? she wondered, itching to pick up the paper and find out what was going on.

  Or...a fourth? Had Gus been murdered by the same person who’d killed three people found in or near the river?

  Was her mind going haywire because she was a new graduate from the academy who’d just taken classes taught by a premier behavioral specialist? Was she looking for a mystery where none existed?

  But...Savannah’s murder rate for the past few years had been low for a city of its size. Any large city battled violent crime and Savannah had seen its share. But this...

  “Hey, you’ll be heading back to Virginia,” Roger reminded her. He took her by the shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. “You have to worry about you right now, Ms. Anderson.”

  “What are you going to do?” Paul asked her. “You’ve inherited the Dragonslayer. You wouldn’t close down the tavern, would you?”

  “No, no, of course not,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  “That’s going to be tough—you being an absentee owner,” Paul pointed out.

  “Macy has it down pat,” Abby said. “We have great bartenders, cooks and waitstaff. I’m sure it’s all going to work out. That’s been the least of...” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to say worries. “That’s...well, not what I’ve worried about,” she said.

  “Yeah, sorry, kid. So sorry,” Roger murmured. “I know how much you loved Gus.”

  “We really loved him, too, you know?” Paul said.

  She nodded. “Of course. I know.”

  Abby went back inside. One of their newest waitresses—a girl named Julie whom Abby had just met—was cleaning up in the dining rooms. The staff who’d been there the longest hadn’t really worked that day, other than stepping in to help get a few things loaded into the bus carts. They’d come as mourners.

  She looked around; there was no sign of Malachi Gordon.

  “Everyone’s left?” she asked Julie.

  “There are a few of us still tidying up in the kitchen. It’s back to full service tomorrow, or so I was told,” Julie said. She hesitated. She was young and sweet, a student at the design school. “I mean, I’m sorry—that’s your call now. But, um, that’s what I was told.”

  “Yes, we’re back to regular hours, Julie. Thanks.” Abby smiled. “And thanks for getting everything picked up.”

  “Yeah, a real sad thing about Gus. He was so good to all of us.”

  “That’s great to hear, even though it’s something I know—that Gus was great to work for,” Abby said.

  She turned and went back to the front. Sullivan was behind the bar. Macy was collecting glasses that had been left at the tall bar tables.

  Aldous, Dirk and Bootsie remained on their bar stools.

  “What happened to your new friend?” she asked him. “The man from the bureau?”

  Dirk frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe he took off. He wasn’t actually a friend of yours, right? Just a rep from the government?”

  “I’d thought he’d speak with me again before he left,” Abby said. “But...I guess not.”

  Bootsie stood, his peg leg wobbling. “Listen, Abby, we know today’s been hard on you. Now, the boys and I, we can hang around here as long as you like. Or, better still, we can take you off somewhere else and give you a break from this place.”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. It’s okay. To be honest, I’m looking forward to some time alone.”

  “Alone?” Bootsie said, surprised.

  “Do you want us to walk you to your parents’ house?” Dirk asked her. “I mean, do you really want to stay here right now? You have that beautiful house on the square....”

  “She should come with us,” Aldous said. “The house is where...and this is where...” He broke off. The house was where her parents had died; this was where Gus had just died.

  “I love my house—it’s beautiful. I really should rent it out again.” The previous tenants had been a writer and his family, and they’d gone back to New York a few months ago. She’d rented the place furnished. Not sure what she wanted to do with it yet, she’d brought over some extra clothes and retrieved boxes of her old belongings from the basement, returning them to her childhood bedroom. “I’m not unhappy in either the house or the Dragonslayer, guys. I have good memories here—and there. I’m fine. Just need a little time to take a deep breath now that the funeral’s over, and then get everything in order. So...out with the three of you! Go wander along the riverfront and give another innkeeper your business tonight. Come back tomorrow. With or without Gus, this remains your place. I don’t know what I’d do if I came home and didn’t find the three of you here. But for now, scat!”

  They looked like a group of fathers forced to leave their children for a first day at school.

  “Hey, come on now. Out, out,” Abby told them.

  They finally left her with a bit more grumbling and a lot of hugs.

  Sullivan cleared his throat. “I’ll just get these last glasses....”

  “No, no, Sullivan, that’s all right. I’ve got it. I’d like something to do,” Abby said.

  “I’m exhausted,” Macy said. “Grant’s upstairs. He’s checking on supplies for the week. After that, I think he plans on leaving for the night. But, Abby, I don’t feel you should be alone here.”

  “I’ve spent most of my life here!”

  Macy walked behind the bar to get her purse. “All right,” she said with obvious reluctance. “Make sure you lock up. The city can be scary. I don’t ever remember so many people—”

  “Dying?” Sullivan finished. “Come on, Macy. Abby doesn’t want us here. I’ll walk you home.”

  Macy nodded as she stood behind the bar, looking at Abby. “You have my number. If anything comes up. Or if you just need to talk...”

  “You were both wonderful to Gus. He loved you and appreciated your loyalty to the Dragonslayer. And so do I. Now, I’m fine. You two go on home.”

  “You know you control the music from behind the bar,” Sullivan said.

  “I know,” Abby assured him.

  “I wish Gus had gotten a solid alarm system for this place.” Macy glanced at Abby and flushed. “I’m not criticizing. He had cameras put in the front and over by the parking lot, and there’s an emergency police buzzer behind the bar. Most of the downstairs windows are sealed now, but...”

  “He thought his security installations were a big deal. State of the art. He started them more than fifteen years ago, when we were nearly broken into,” Abby said. “But, Macy, don’t worry. I’ll see about getting a real alarm system before I go back to Virginia,” Abby promised. She looked up; she heard Grant coming down from the offices upstairs. He joined them, giving her a hug.

  She loved Grant. He’d worked for Gus, first as a pirate entertainer. Grant had spent seven years getting his hospitality degree, he’d to
ld her some time ago. He couldn’t decide between acting, modeling and going into the restaurant or hotel business. Once he had his degree in hand, the first person to really believe in him had been Gus.

  “I heard the words alarm system,” Grant said. “I have brochures up in my office. Gus asked me to look into a good system just a few days ago,” Grant said.

  “Then we’ll take care of it,” Abby promised. “Grant, sometime tomorrow, if you want to go through the different companies with me, that’d be great.”

  “Absolutely,” Grant said. “I’m going to head out now—if you’re sure you’re okay.”

  Grant, who was gay, had been with his partner, Alden Blaine, for well over ten years. Alden worked for the fire department and had left the tavern earlier, since he had an early call the next day.

  “Go home, yes, go home. My Lord, getting you people out of here is a real project.”

  At last, with everyone still protesting, she got them all out the door.

  As she closed and locked it, she smiled, wondering what they were worried about; she’d been staying here every night since she’d arrived, and—except for today—the Dragonslayer didn’t close until 2:00 a.m. That meant the staff never left until three or four. She’d been going to bed much earlier, leaving Grant to lock up.

  And she’d been fine.

  Maybe it was the fact that people were here so late—and that the first of the setup crews were usually in by six in the morning, although they didn’t open until eleven. So there were only a few hours when she’d been alone and despite, or because of, the circumstances she’d come home to, she’d been sound asleep during those hours.

  They were probably worried about what she might imagine in the darkness, worried that she’d be afraid.

  But she wasn’t afraid. She knew what they didn’t know.

  Blue Anderson watched over the Dragonslayer.

  In the days that had followed her grandfather’s death, she’d hoped Blue would make an appearance. She’d hoped as well, that she’d be haunted by her grandfather.

  But no one had appeared to her, upstairs or down, by day or night. Blue had stood by the burial site in the graveyard, though....

  With the door finally closed and locked, Abby walked around the downstairs. Figureheads from ships of many centuries stared down at her. She walked past the hostess stand and behind the bar, gathering up the last of the glasses as she did so.

  A copy of the day’s paper lay on the bar. She set the glasses by the sanitizer and picked it up.

  There was no mention of a serial killer in the article; it stated simply that the body of Felicia Shepherd, twenty-two, had been found on the river embankment by the bridge. The cause of her death would be determined by the medical examiner.

  Thoughtfully, Abby walked back to the hostess stand and searched through the papers collected there until she came to the one she had picked up the day she arrived.

  The first victim had also been a young woman, aged twenty-five. Her name was Ruth Seymour and she’d come to Savannah on vacation. She’d wanted to stay in the historic city for a night on her own before meeting up with friends at Hilton Head. She had checked into her bed-and-breakfast—the clerk remembered her as bubbly and charming—and that was the last anyone could remember seeing her until her body was discovered.

  The second victim was Rupert Holloway, a salesman for a mobile phone company. He never arrived at his hotel. His wife told police he’d planned to meet business associates on the riverfront for lunch.

  The associates had gone to lunch; Rupert Holloway had not. He had next appeared on the river embankment—dead.

  No cause of death was mentioned for Holloway, either. An autopsy had been pending for both at the time the article was written.

  “Foul play suspected,” she read aloud.

  She set the first paper down and picked up the most recent one.

  Abby didn’t care what the police were saying. Ruth Seymour, Rupert Holloway and now Felicia Shepherd were all out-of-towners, all found by the river.

  Serial killer.

  She shook her head. The victimology was so different. A serial killer usually liked a type. With Ted Bundy, it had been young women with long dark hair. Jeffrey Dahmer had gone for boys or young men. Some killers preyed on couples.

  Maybe he was after young women—and the businessman had been a mistake or had stumbled upon him when he’d been engaged in some other illegal act?

  “Ms. Anderson?”

  Abby was so startled by the voice that she screamed and threw the newspaper in the air. She swung around.

  To her astonishment, she wasn’t alone.

  She’d locked herself in, all right, but somehow she’d managed to lock herself in before confirming that everyone else was out.

  It was the agent, and he was staring at her from the left dining room. But the lights had been dimmed in the dining rooms, so he would’ve known they were closing.

  He hadn’t gone, after all.

  He walked toward her quickly, apologizing as he did. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “What the hell are you still doing here?” she demanded. “You did scare me—you scared me out of my wits.”

  “I might have frightened you because of the circumstances,” he said. “You did just come from the academy, right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Mr. Gordon?” she asked. “A certain amount of fear is healthy for all of us. It keeps us from being reckless.”

  “That’s the line at the academy, is it?” he asked.

  She frowned. A small trickle of fear assailed her again. Who the hell was this man? She didn’t know him; he’d said that he’d come from the FBI but he’d done nothing to prove it.

  “You don’t remember the academy?” she asked him.

  “Remember it? I never went to it.”

  There was, she knew, a gun below the bar in the strongbox. A nice safe place during the business day—hard to get to right now. And this guy was probably a full six-foot-four, lean, muscled and hard as nails.

  Unease slithered alone her spine.

  Serial killer?

  He didn’t look like a serial killer.

  But, of course, she had just come through the academy, as he’d said. So she was well aware that a serial killer could be charming, credible and handsome. They’d seen enough examples of that.

  “I’m sorry. You really are frightened. And you’re thinking that getting your gun from under the bar won’t be easy, and since it was your grandfather’s funeral service today, you aren’t carrying your regulation Glock,” he said.

  “I’ve been around this place since I was a kid, Mr. Gordon—or whoever you are. I’m lethal with a broken bottle and I can grab one and smash it before you can blink!”

  He smiled and shook his head, frowning. “I told you, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have been hiding in a darkened restaurant. If you needed to speak with me, you might have stayed around and done so instead of just vanishing.”

  “I wasn’t hiding in a darkened restaurant—and I didn’t vanish.”

  Abby arched her brows and looked toward the dining room.

  “I went down into the tunnel,” he told her. He took a step toward the bar. She reached for a bottle and held it by the neck. He stopped, lifting his hands, smiling grimly. “Your grandfather did die in the tunnel, right?”

  “The grate from the restaurant to the tunnel is locked.” She could tell that her voice sounded thin.

  “Perhaps it’s supposed to be,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

  “That tunnel is almost pitch-black.” Her voice was growing even tighter and thinner.

  And while she wasn’t armed, she realized he did have a gun worn discreetly beneath
his jacket. She wasn’t sure what kind, because the flap of his jacket was covering it.

  Her fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle she held.

  He reached into his pants pocket; she drew back, slamming the bottle against the wall.

  He let out a sigh and stepped back again. “Man, that’s going to be a bitch for someone to clean up,” he said. “I was only getting my light. It’s finger-size but casts a glow big and strong enough to light up Pluto.”

  He held up a small flashlight. To add insult to injury, he turned it on. It nearly blinded her.

  “What were you doing in the tunnel?” she asked.

  “Investigating, Ms. Anderson. That’s what you wanted, right? You think your grandfather was murdered. I’m here to investigate.”

  She shook her head in denial. “No one paid any attention to me,” she told him. “And you just said you hadn’t been to the academy—”

  “I haven’t been. Yet. I’m here on a trial basis.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “At the moment, I’m a consultant. I’ve been asked to join the Krewe and we’re seeing if I work out as a Krewe member. Whether they like me enough—and whether I like the job enough to accept it.”

  Wary, Abby said, “Mr. Gordon, you really need to leave. You haven’t been through the academy, so no one I know sent you. And I’ll see to it that the grating is locked. Thank you so much for letting me know it isn’t. Now...”

  “Now—yes, now. Can we please have a discussion? A rational discussion. Look, you’re the one who sent for help!” he said irritably.

  “Talk about what? I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here if you don’t have the credentials—”

  “I was sent here because you asked for help!”

  “But—”

  “I have a copy of your email, Ms. Anderson. I’ll show you, as long as you don’t drag the whole bar down if I reach into a pocket again. You wrote to Jackson Crow, from the Krewe of Hunters. Jackson Crow sent me. Take me or leave me, Ms. Anderson, but I’m your man. If I agree you’ve got the right kind of problem—and there is a strong possibility that your grandfather was murdered, possibly in connection with those murders you were just reading about—then more Krewe members will step in. For now, you’ve got me.”