“Blue,” she said. “Blue was in here, right after I talked to you on the phone. He spoke to me. He had a real conversation with me. But even though he’s been haunting the tavern for years, he’s not good at drawing whatever energy he needs to speak. I’d hoped so badly that he knew something. But, like you’ve said, ghosts or spirits seem to be the same as we are. They aren’t omniscient. They only know what they’ve seen. He didn’t see what happened. He just knew that the tunnel was being used. But he promised me he’s watching now.”
Malachi touched her hair, brushing his fingers down the silky length of it. “Blue is your ancestor,” he said. “It’s you he cares about.”
“He must have cared deeply about Gus. And the others who came before Gus and me.”
“I’m sure he did, but you’re his focus now. He’ll do anything to protect you—and the Dragonslayer.” He stepped back. “I’ll get in the shower.”
He left her in the living room and walked down the apartment hallway to the bedroom, shedding his wet clothes. He went into her bathroom; the Dragonslayer might be old, but Gus had had the bathrooms modernized. The faucet released a hard spray of steaming hot water.
He let it pound down on him, just standing there for several minutes.
And then he felt her. She’d stepped in behind him. She held the soap in her hand and worked it slowly over his body.
A shower can clear the mind....
In a radiant spray of heat he became lost in the sheer sensual pleasure of being with this extraordinary woman while the water pulsed, hot and vibrant, searing into his muscles.
They more or less made love. They teased and aroused, and teased and aroused again as they left the shower and halfway dried themselves, then fell into bed together.
Being together like this was sweeter every time. There was nothing arbitrary about it, nothing that didn’t seem to offer promise, nothing that brought back the pain of memory and the past.
He’d never really thought it possible. He was falling in love again.
Abby had never really liked playing Missy Tweed. To her mind, Missy had been an idiot. History said she’d fallen in love with Blue Anderson and that she’d cried when she was returned to her father. She disappeared into history after that, but Abby always felt she’d probably been a spoiled teenager and that, once home, she’d simply fallen in love again.
But here she was...playing Missy Tweed.
Paul, as Scurvy Pete, stood beside her on the platform. Roger, sober and seriously in “Blue” mode, was wearing his pirate best. They’d drawn a huge crowd; the little reenactments and the way the players talked and related tidbits of history were well documented and well-known, a high point in most tour books for their area.
Will Chan had taken on the role of narrator that day, dressed as a swashbuckling pirate himself. He talked first about the history of the city of Savannah and the early days of piracy. He told the crowd that pirates had found their way into coastal cities, often snubbing their noses at a royal governor and whatever military or local law might be in effect.
He told the story of Blue as if he’d been a true gentleman with the people of Savannah.
And then he told the story of the floundering of Missy Tweed’s ship and how the crew had been saved—and the damsel taken for a fair ransom. Blue believed that asking a ransom for Missy was well within the law; after all, he’d saved the lives of an entire crew. And if asking for the ransom wasn’t quite within the law, then so be it. He would still be paid. However, on his ship, every man knew that captives were not to be molested or harmed.
But Scurvy Pete had brought his own pirate ship flush with Blue’s; he’d wanted in on the action. And when he’d seen the delectable Missy, he’d wanted much more. Thus began the drama that the crowd was about to witness.
With a flourish, Will left the makeshift stage. Abby dutifully let out the scream of distress, which brought the pirates to action, Scurvy Pete accusing Blue of being less than a man and a blot on the rugged truth of piracy. Blue, in turn, ridiculed Scurvy Pete, telling him he was due to swing from a yardarm, that he wasn’t just a blot on piracy but a blot on the entire human race.
Abby could see that the rest of the Krewe who were in Savannah were scattered through the crowd. They were there because their suspects were there, except for Dirk, who was out on the Black Swan. Dirk was not alone, although he undoubtedly thought he was. A plainclothes policeman was on board; Abby knew that Jackson and Malachi both believed they were drawing close to a resolution and that everyone needed to be watched.
“You fool! I will have your captive, and I will return the lass as I see fit!” Paul told Roger. “You will fall beneath my steel!”
“One day I’ll fall, but I will fall to the law on the high seas and not to the likes of you, Scurvy Pete!” Roger said. “I will go with my ship—and not with the dregs of the sea!”
“To the death, Blue Anderson! To the death!” Paul bellowed, and the two began to thrust and parry with their swords, to the delight of the crowd.
Abby screamed appropriately—like a girl—and fell back. Will Chan came to slip his arms around her and help her from the stage so the sword battle could continue.
The two men were very good at what they did. The crowd grew, with everyone entranced. Finally, Blue caught Scurvy Pete with a fatal blow.
Paul died, emoting dramatically. Will took to the stage again to do a follow-up, and then the crowd broke into applause.
Abby was immediately besieged by a number of children in the audience. She posed for pictures with them and answered what questions she could about Savannah and piracy.
She looked up at one point, aware that she was being watched. Malachi had been waiting for her to notice him.
She made her way through the crowd to approach him.
“I’m heading to the station. They’ve just brought Aldous in,” he said quietly.
She felt her heart sink. “All right. I’ll join you there soon.”
“Don’t worry. Jackson and I will question him. David will go in and out. We’ll find out where he’s hiding Bianca.”
“You’re sure it’s him?” she asked.
“No, but the evidence points to him.”
“Do they have anything definitive?”
Malachi nodded. “DNA on the scarf I found on his yacht,” he told her.
“DNA?”
“From tears,” Malachi said. “The scarf was around the eyes of Felicia Shepherd at some point before she was killed. They were able to extract DNA and it matched Felicia’s.”
Malachi had to hand it to Aldous. When he’d first been brought in, accused of the murder, he’d been belligerent and angry. Then he’d look incredulous.
Now, he looked scared.
“You want to take it for a few minutes?” Jackson asked Malachi, who’d been observing the interrogation. “David thinks we can handle this better than he can.”
“Sure.”
Malachi walked into the room. Aldous Brentwood raised his head; he was pale. His bald head gleamed in the bright light overhead, his gold earring glittering.
“You,” Aldous muttered. He shook his head as if in disgust.
“Aldous, you shouldn’t be aggravated with me. I didn’t want to think you could be guilty of something like this.”
“I’m not!”
“One of your rowboats was found out on the river. Forensic teams are going over it now. I believe we’re going to find some organic matter that will prove the boat was used to dump the bodies of those who were killed.”
Aldous leaned toward him. “I’m not stupid, Agent Gordon. You can’t prove I ever had that rowboat. I own the ship, yeah, but I don’t work on it.”
“I’m not an agent,” Malachi told him. “Just a consultant.”