“Abby just lost her grandfather,” Paul reminded him. “One of the greatest old guys on earth. And she’s doing things. She’s not sitting around moping.”
“That’s hardly the same thing!” Roger waved a hand in the air. “Besides, Abby wanted to be a cop. Or an agent. She’s good at this. I’m not.”
“Nobody’s good at worrying about someone they care about, Roger. It’s a terrifying situation,” Abby told him. “But you do have to keep on with your life while we’re searching.”
“So, yeah, are we doing the street show tomorrow?” Paul asked. “We did it every Saturday until...well, until Gus died.”
“Gus would want it go on, of course. Yes—and I’ll be your Missy Tweed.”
Paul sat back, grinning at her. “Wow. I was afraid you’d come back here thinking you were above such things.”
“Hey, this is my heritage we’re talking about.”
“You remember the lines and everything, right?”
“More or less. It’s half ad-lib, anyway,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “It was never my favorite role. Missy Tweed just screams a lot and gets tossed from man to man.”
“The crowds love Missy Tweed. Look at me—I get to play Scurvy Pete. I’ve had people throw stuff at me,” Paul said. “And I had such high Shakespearean hopes!”
Abby smiled at that. “Paul, you act beautifully and you always seem to have work, here or in commercials or with your singing. I heard you’re going to start recording.”
“Yeah, I’m planning on getting into a studio. A producer showed up at one of my performances in the Irish bar. He’s going to finance it for me. I’m pretty happy with that,” he said.
“I used to be happy,” Roger moaned.
“He’s had a few beers,” Paul told Abby in a low voice.
“Did you eat anything?” Abby asked.
“Yes, Mom, I did.”
“Okay, I’ll get into the wench costume and we’ll do our pirate act,” Abby said. “We’ll make Gus proud, huh?”
“You bet, Abby. You bet.” Paul nodded vigorously.
“Yeah, Abby, of course. I’m sorry,” Roger said.
“Don’t be sorry, just be strong,” she told him. She gave them both a slightly grim smile and returned to the bar.
Things here had changed.
Aldous and Malachi were gone; Will Chan had come in with Dirk Johansen and they were now seated next to Bootsie.
“Where did Aldous and Malachi go?” Abby asked.
“Oh, Aldous has some business to check on. Malachi...I don’t know. I think he was going upstairs. Or maybe he went outside. I’m not sure,” Bootsie said.
“How did everything go today?” Abby looked past Dirk to Will Chan.
Chan’s features gave away nothing of his thoughts; his smile and mannerisms were consistently pleasant. “I’m having a great time as a pirate,” he said. “And the ship sails on as always, right, Dirk?”
“Yeah, Chan, you’re an excellent addition. The Chinese did make good pirates,” Dirk said.
“Actually, I’m Trinidadian, with a real mix of ethnicities,” Will told him.
“Oh, yeah? Well, Trinidadians made great pirates,” Dirk said.
Dirk had a glass of beer, and Bootsie, who was being a bit garrulous, had ordered a fresh one. Will Chan seemed to have the situation in hand. She told him, “I’m going to run upstairs and check on some paperwork. Unless anyone needs me for anything?”
“Ah, Abby, you are a delight!” Bootsie said. “In fact, there’s never been a better descendent of old Blue. Other than Gus, of course. I’m always proud to have you at my side. But we’re pretty used to you being gone now. We’ll carry on—Sullivan over there, Dirk and me. We’ll carry on!”
Abby glanced at Will, who nodded. She had a feeling that someone in the bar was a cop, following Roger. Will was sticking close to Dirk, and he couldn’t possibly follow two men, no matter how good he was.
She rose, curious to find out where Malachi had gone, but when she ran upstairs, he wasn’t in the apartment. She looked into the offices, the employee areas and the storeroom with its long rows of restaurant supplies, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He’d gone out—without leaving word.
She quickly dialed his number from her cell.
When he answered, she asked, “Where are you?” She tried not to sound anxious.
“Tailing Aldous.”
“Oh. I would’ve come with you. Me showing you the city might have kept you from looking obvious.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t look obvious,” he promised her.
“Okay.” She realized she was a little lost without him, although she was the one who was actually an agent. But Malachi had real-world experience, as a cop and a private investigator, and as one—
As one who could see beyond the surface.
“I’m willing to bet he eventually ends up back at the Dragonslayer,” Malachi said. “But right now, we’re going toward the river. Seems like he’s heading for a yacht. Nice piece of work. Beautiful boat. Looks like it’s about thirty-three feet.”
“That’s his pleasure craft. She’s called the Lady Luck,” Abby told him.
“Okay. I’m trying to keep up. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Abby bit her lip as he ended the call. The police, she knew, had already searched the Lady Luck when Malachi and Jackson insisted the Dragonslayer “barflies” be investigated.
She walked back to her apartment and opened the door. As she did, she discovered that she hadn’t locked it when she’d gone to the storeroom.
As she shut it behind her, she saw someone standing by the windows that opened out onto the balcony.
Instinctively, she set a hand on her Glock.
But the person turned. “Abby,” he said softly. And then, as if testing her name, “Abigail Anderson.”
13
Aldous walked with a determined pace, apparently oblivious, careless of whether anyone watched him or not. He seemed to have purpose and went straight from the Dragonslayer to River Street.
Malachi kept a careful distance as Aldous walked along the river and stopped at the private dock where the Lady Luck was docked.
He used his owner’s key in the slot, as well as his code, to gain entry and only then did he turn around to see who else was nearby. Malachi had ducked behind a handy SUV.
It was still early; people were out in droves. That seemed to please Aldous. He walked onto his yacht, whistling.
Malachi waited to see if he intended to take the vessel out.
He couldn’t tell; Aldous went down into the cabin.
Malachi put a call through to Jackson. Before he could explain what was happening, Jackson sprang some information on him. “They’ve identified the rowboat we brought in last night.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s from the Lafayette—a merchant ship.”
“How did she wind up in the water?”
“No one knows. But we didn’t need a warrant. The captain assured us we could search the ship and of course we did. He also told us she’d already been searched. The cops have been on almost every ship, boat and floating anything on the water.”
“And nothing? So it was just an unconnected accident?”
“Not really. The Lafayette is owned by a giant parent company, and the CEO happens to be one of the Dragonslayer’s main barflies.”
“Aldous Brentwood?”
“Yeah. That’s why it was searched the first time.”
“I’m on the riverfront watching him now. He just went out to his private yacht, the Lady Luck. He locked the gate behind him. I’m going in.”
“Malachi, hold on. There are officers near you. I can be there—”
“I’m taking a dive, Jackson. If he does have her on that yacht, he’s torturing her right now. Get here as fast as you can.”