“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.”
“You can do that?” the woman asked.
“With her help,” Malachi said, gesturing at Abby.
She walked over to join them. “Savannah is my home. I know the people who can get this done,” she told them.
The man turned to her. “You would really help us?”
“Of course.”
“You two are always here,” Malachi said.
“Always.” The man took his wife’s hand.
“You must notice what goes on around here,” Malachi remarked.
“We watch. We watch over this grave,” the wife said.
Malachi nodded. “A mother’s love, a father’s dedication. But perhaps you could help us, too. People are disappearing. I know the city is crowded, that tourists come daily. But...late at night, or even during the day, do you see things?”
The man studied Malachi for a long time and then slowly lifted his arm, pointing. “There is something—there, on the corner—something that is odd.”
“Not truly odd. It was dug years and years ago,” the woman said. “It is part of the old drainage system.”
“And it was abandoned years ago!” the man added.
The woman sniffed. “Abandoned. Sealed after the horror of the yellow fever! But there were things that went on then that... I believe they thought if they could get the bodies out of the city through the sewer system, they would not infect others. They dug deep tunnels by the old hospital. But there was more that went on than was ever recorded.”
“Have you seen anything there?” Malachi asked.
“Shadows at night. By day, who knows?”
“People move around,” the old woman said. “There is an alley behind the first mausoleum. Sometimes a tall figure goes there...and does not come back. But there are many of us here. Many, many walk the city. Our kind. We are like shadows. And shadow-walkers may be restle
ss by night. So what we’ve seen...I am not sure. But we will watch for you,” she said anxiously. “If you wish, we will watch for you.”
“That’s very kind.”
“My son...he fought bravely in the War of 1812. Please. His marker should read ‘Lieutenant Josiah Beckwith, born April 9, 1790. Died for his country, September 12, 1814, at the Battle of North Point during the War of 1812. Beloved son, husband and father. A patriot.’”
“We’ll see to it,” Abby said, jotting the details on a small notepad. She prayed she could keep her promise.
The man’s arm was around his wife’s shoulder. He started to offer his hand, but let it fall. “I am Edgar Beckwith. This is my wife, Elizabeth.”
“Malachi Gordon,” Malachi said. “And Abigail Anderson.”
“Anderson?” the woman said, looking at her. “Are you related to the family that owns the tavern?”
She nodded.
“Your family are good people, Ms. Anderson.”
She thanked them, and Malachi took her arm. They left the old couple gazing sadly at their son’s tombstone. Abby saw two young women standing by a red brick aboveground grave—watching her and Malachi. She felt her cheeks growing red.
As she glanced at Malachi, embarrassed, he smiled. “Don’t worry!” he said.
“They think we’re crazy, that we talk to imaginary friends,” Abby muttered.
Malachi laughed. “These days? Everyone looks crazy because half the time they have headsets on or they’re on the phone and they seem to be talking to themselves. So...”
“Do you think the Beckwiths really saw something in the alley?”
“I think they did and that they’ll lead us where we’d eventually have gotten—except we’ll get there more quickly now.”
“Get where?”
“Back beneath the ground,” he said.
10
Malachi called David, asking him to send a few officers to the alley. Then he called Jackson, suggesting he get someone to do historical and architectural research on the area.
In the meantime, he told Jackson, he and Abby would drive back to the hospital to talk to Helen.
“Any word on Bianca Salzburg?” she asked.
He repeated her question to Jackson; no, Bianca hadn’t appeared.
He and Abby got into the car and headed back to the hospital.
“What made you want to stop at the cemetery and talk to that couple?” she asked him.
He sent her a warm smile. “You.”
“Me?”
“When you talked to the Mortons and then told me how you envied them, I started to think about these two in the cemetery. They’re there for the long haul. Some people don’t care—dead is dead. You move on. Others...well, honor was a big thing to them. They need that tombstone fixed.”
“How am I going to convince city council and the staff in charge of the cemetery that I know how that gravestone should be corrected?” Abby asked.
“We’ll pull something out of a history book somewhere,” Malachi assured her. “Or some old record.”
Abby stared ahead, looking tired and grim. He reached over and took her hand.
“I’m worried about Bianca.”
“He holds his victims. We have time to find her.”
“He assaults his victims,” she said.
He couldn’t argue with that.
“We’ll see what Helen can tell us now that she’s a little more removed from the situation,” he told her.
At the hospital they learned that Helen was resting comfortably. Kat had been sitting with her; when Abby and Malachi came, she rose and stretched. “I’m off for a bit—walk around, maybe grab some coffee.”
“We’ll stay until you get back,” Malachi said. As she moved toward the door he asked quietly, “Has she given you any information?”
“She’s been asleep for the past hour. I suggested she try to remember details, but I’m sure she’s telling us everything she remembers—or what she thinks she saw. Maybe you can get more.”
Kat left, and Abby sat beside the hospital bed. Helen’s eyes flickered open and, for a moment, they registered fear—until she saw Abby. “Hey,” she said weakly.
“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”
“Okay. Dirk came to see me.” She smiled. “With Aldous and Bootsie. Aldous is a sweetheart. He told me he’s been so worried, he almost grew back some hair.”
Abby laughed, then glanced at Malachi.
He nodded, letting her know she should do the talking for now.
Abby drew a deep breath. “Helen, we think he’s taken another woman.”
Helen’s eyes closed; she went gray, trembling visibly. “I’m so sorry!” she whispered.
“You’re the only one who can help us.”
Helen shook her head. “I don’t know how,” she said, her voice raspy. “I just...don’t.” Her eyes opened and she stared at Abby. “I never believed in ghosts before. And I know he was supposed to be a gentleman pirate, and that Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp made pirates seem cool, but...it was Blue, Abby. I know it was Blue Anderson. He’s dead, but somehow...”
“Helen, it wasn’t Blue. And even if he came back as a ghost, he’d never do anything like this. It’s someone dressing up as Blue.”
“But...”
“Think about it, Helen. You know that has to be true.”
Malachi stepped forward, dragging a chair closer to Helen, across from Abby. “Helen, you were hurt. You were hit on the head. You were abused and kept in a dark place. You’re being wonderful, but what we need you to do is try to remember every little detail. What happened right before Abby pulled you out of the water?”
Helen’s forehead wrinkled with her effort. “I remember hearing water. I remember it being dark, and I remember the man...Blue.”
“It wasn’t Blue. It was someone dressed as Blue,” Malachi said again. Abby frowned at him, but Helen let out a breath.
“Someone dressed as Blue,” she agreed listlessly. “I—I only saw him briefly. He put something on my eyes.”
“He blindfolded you?” Abby asked.
“Yes.”
“You remember him being in the room,” Malachi said. “What kind of room?”
“It was...I think it was a cabin.” Tears welled in Helen’s eyes. “Touching me,” she said with a whisper.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to remember that part right now,” Malachi said. “But did he wear cologne or aftershave? Do you remember anything about his voice?”
“It was gruff—like a pirate’s voice.”
“Do you remember any other sounds? Did you ever hear people?” Malachi asked.
Abby glanced at him and set a gentle hand on Helen’s. She carefully avoided the IV dripping fluids into a vein in Helen’s arm, but tried to comfort the young woman.
“I didn’t hear people...” Helen said. Then she bit her lip. “Yes, once...but it was early on. I thought I heard people. Maybe music. And tapping. A rhythmic tap...tap...tap. Only sometimes. Maybe it was a band...”
“Thank you, Helen,” Abby said.
Malachi took over again. “What do you remember about being held captive?”
Helen shuddered; Abby reached over and smoothed down a lock of her hair.
“I was in the bed...the bunk...whatever. It wasn’t comfortable. He said I was a captive who’d fallen in love with him. But he repulsed me. He...he made me want to vomit. I gagged or choked and then...then he was angry. He told me I was a bad captive.”
“Helen, was he with you all the time?” Malachi asked.
“I don’t...I don’t know. I remember lying there...my hands were bound and my feet were tied to something and I couldn’t move. He’d go away...and then he’d be back. And then
he’d touch me again. So...so disgusting. I couldn’t—I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t be what he wanted, couldn’t even pretend to be in love with him. He was very angry. My hands were still bound, but then...then he untied my feet...my ankles, I guess. He jerked me up and wrenched my hand around and...I felt one of his hands holding mine down on a table or something and then—”
She broke off with a sob.
“He cut you,” Abby said quietly.
“He cut off my finger!” Helen sobbed. “I can still hear the sound. There was a whoosh...and then I felt the slam of it...and I felt the pain. I was still blindfolded but I knew...I knew it was my finger.” She continued to sob.
“Oh, Helen!” Abby said, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Malachi apologized to Abby with his eyes but she obviously understood that he had to press forward. “Helen, he took your finger while your blindfold was on. What then?”
“He dragged me along the floor,” Helen began. “Maybe...maybe there was music again. I heard a beat...tap, tap, tap. And I thought I heard laughter across the water. I—I felt the night air on my skin. I knew he had a knife and I thought he was going to stab me. But he cut the ropes—and then I was in the water. I was suddenly in the water, and I was trying so hard to swim, but I was in pain, and my arms...they were so stiff. I got the blindfold off. I...I don’t know what happened to it. I don’t even know what it looked like. I couldn’t swim. I felt so heavy, I was all tangled up in something....”
“You were found wearing a wench costume,” Malachi told her. “Do you recall changing into it, or when you were changed into it?”
Helen shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I’m so sorry. I should just be grateful to be alive!”
“Helen, it’s okay,” Abby said. “You were assaulted, you were nearly killed. That’s a terrible trauma, and you’ll probably need counseling to get over it. But don’t worry now. You’re safe here, protected by people who’d die before they let anything else happen to you!”
“I owe you both my life,” Helen said.
“You owe your life to your own will and strength, Helen,” Malachi said firmly. “You are a survivor. You’re going to be fine. And don’t apologize for the pain you feel, and don’t ever apologize for crying. You have real inner strength, and you’re going to get through this.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 49