The Night Is Alive (Krewe of Hunters #10)

The Night Is Alive (Krewe of Hunters #10) Page 19

“I’ll be speaking with the task force,” Jackson Crow said, “and we’ll compare notes later.”

Abby got a piece of paper and wrote down the address of her house on the square. “There are a few things there—coffee in the freezer, dry creamer, but not much else. I went over one day last week, checking up on the place, and everything’s in order.” She hesitated, looking at the group. “I was thinking I’d rent it out again when I leave here to get my assignment.”

“The rest of your family is gone?” Angela asked her.

Abby nodded. “Yes, it was Gus and me for a while there,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” Angela didn’t add that her grandfather had been old, and Abby was glad of it.

“All right, then,” Jackson said, rising. “We’ll go to your house now.”

“I haven’t stayed at the house in years, and it’s been empty for a while. Oh, it won’t be terrible—no moldy sheets or anything like that. They’re in the hall closet in sealed bags. I can come with you, to get you in, but—”

“No need,” Malachi said. “You need to see if your tour-guide buddy is here.”

Abby retrieved her house keys and handed them to Jackson.

“We’ll see you both tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll keep in contact on our cell phones,” he instructed. “And, like I said, we’re careful in this unit. That’s why we check out a situation, and then work in numbers when warranted. We’ll say good-night now.” Jackson Crow left a tip on the table. Abby started to dispute, to assure him she’d handle it.

“Ah, well, the least we can do is reward our excellent server,” Jackson said.

Abby nodded, and the group walked to the door. Malachi told her he’d pick up his bags at the hotel while the restaurant was still in full swing.

When they were gone, she realized that Grant Green was standing right at her back. “Okay, give!” he said.

“Give?”

“A cool-looking, authoritative...mysterious group of people! So, who are they?”

She couldn’t see any reason to lie to him. “FBI.”

“I knew it!” he said. “I knew it.” Then he grew serious. “So they’re here to help? Thank God. I mean, bodies don’t usually pop up like that in this city. We have our criminal element, but who doesn’t? I’m glad they’ve— Oh, man, is it true? Do cops and FBI agents really not get along? Do the cops get resentful when the FBI is called in?”

She smiled. “Grant, I have no idea. I’ve never been with a group that’s been called in. Actually, I haven’t been with a group at all. I was ready to be given an assignment...but then, well, Gus. And my superior back in Virginia told me to check in when I’d taken care of my family affairs.”

“Keep me posted!” he told her.

“I will,” she promised. “Hey, Roger doesn’t happen to be in here, huh? I don’t see him at the bar.”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Grant lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s with a date.”

“A date? Impressive.”

“They’re in the far dining room.”

“Should I interrupt?” Abby wondered.

“It’s your place. You can just wander by and ask if everything’s all right. By the way, are you having the actors do the reenactment this Saturday? I’ll need to call them.”

“Grant, you and Macy manage the place,” she reminded him. “You decide.”

“Still have to know the new owner’s mind,” Grant told her.

“I’m an absentee owner, and I think you two do a great job managing the place.”

He gave her a hug. “Macy and I get along well, and we’ll make sure you’re never disappointed.” She hugged him back, and then disentangled herself. “I’m going to swing over and say hello to Roger.”

Roger was in a little nook in the far dining room. He was leaning over the table, close to his date, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and a sweet gamine face.

The girl saw Abby first and indicated to Roger that someone was coming. He pulled back, said, “Hi, Abby,” and started to get up.

“Sit, Roger, I’m just stopping by to see how everything’s going,” she said.

“Fabulous.” He widened his eyes at her. “Abby Anderson, this is Bianca Salzburg. Bianca, Abby, who owns this place.”

“Pleased to meet you. And it’s wonderful,” Bianca said.

“Thanks. I’m glad to hear that. Do you two need anything?”

“Nope. You hire the best. Which includes me,” he told his date. “You’ll see when I play Blue Anderson on Saturday.” He looked at Abby. “Am I playing Blue on Saturday?”

“Of course,” she said. “Grant will confirm with you. Oh, I wanted to ask you something, too. I have a friend in town—well, friends. One of the guys wants a tour of Savannah from someone who really knows it.”

“Well, that would be you,” Roger said.

She shook her head. “I don’t know it the way you do. Can I book a private tour tomorrow?”

“For you?” he asked, perplexed, curious—and, she thought, a little flattered.

“Yes, for me. And the friend I mentioned. You might’ve met him, since he’s been hanging around here. His name is Malachi Gordon. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. If you can do it.”

“Sure. Anything for you, kid. It’ll be fun.” He smiled and glanced at his date. “Abby and I used to love exploring places—especially places we weren’t really supposed to go. Gus dragged us out of that tunnel time and time again. We liked to play pirate. Except Abby never wanted to play captive—she always had to be a pirate herself. Like Anne Bonney.”

“Wow. That was a lot of years ago!” Abby said. “So tomorrow. Nine. Ten?”

“Ten works better for me.”

“Thanks, Roger.”

“I’ll see you here.”

“Okay.” Abby nodded. “Bianca, it was very nice to meet you. You’re new to the area?”

“I’m here to find an apartment. I work for a delivery company, and I’m being transferred from Chicago.”

“Well, then, welcome to Savannah.” Abby made her way back to the bar. Grant was going over the following day’s reservations at the host stand. Aldous and Dirk were gone. “Aldous left with Dirk, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Yeah, they were kind of cute as they went out, big pirate-kind-of-guy leaning on bald, gold-earringed guy. Don’t worry, Aldous said he’d walk Dirk straight to his house.”

“Thank you, Grant.” Abby went to the bar and took a seat. There were no more customers and Sullivan was sterilizing the bar glasses, then hanging them on the wooden racks.

“You okay?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

“So, you’ve brought in a bunch of FBI agents?”

Surprised, she frowned at him.

He laughed. “You told Grant. That’s like posting something on Facebook. And the one guy, Malachi Gordon, introduced himself to us the other day.”

Abby laughed. “I didn’t exactly bring in a bunch of FBI. Malachi Gordon showed up because of Gus’s funeral,” she said. That was true. Let them think he was a representative of the agency, there to show his respects. “But, Sullivan, four bodies have been found—three, and then the one today. At least two of the victims were from other states. One was a college girl. And we don’t know about the last.”

“That’s really sad, Abby. What do you think is going on? What did they teach you at FBI school?”

“I’d have the same suspicions now whether I’d gone to the academy or not,” Abby said. She wasn’t giving anything away by stating the obvious. “I suspect there’s a serial killer in Savannah.”

“Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing and rested his elbows on the bar. “I don’t get it, though. Three women, one man. And...”

“And?”

“You went crazy when you found him,” he said gently. “If there’s a serial killer, why would he go after Gus—and how did he get into the tunnel?”

“I have no idea, Sullivan. Maybe I was a little crazy. Gus was everything to me,” Abby said.

One thing she’d learned: an agent shouldn’t share thoughts or information with anyone other than those also working the case, unless someone was at risk. Information in the wrong hands could be dangerous.

Not that she considered Sullivan a suspect. It would’ve been impossible for the man to slink through the restaurant, since he was always behind the bar.

“I’m so sorry, Abby. You know we all loved him,” he was saying.

“Thanks. I do know that.”

He touched her cheek, a brotherly gesture. “Be careful, okay?” he said huskily.

“I am careful. And guess what? I excelled in marksmanship. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sullivan.”

He backed away, looking toward the door. “Hmm. Your FBI man is back—with a suitcase.”

“Yeah, he’s going to be staying here.”

“Oh?” Sullivan said. A smile twitched his lips.

“No oh,” she told him. “Helen Long was last seen here, and we’re near the river, that’s all.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Sullivan teased. “That it’s just business, I mean.”

“Sullivan,” she warned.

“Tall, dark and handsome. Has a nice aura about him, full of confidence. You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know. Hmm. You have done worse.”

“Hey!”

“Just sayin’. You always dated pretty boys. Not up to par. And from what I’ve seen in the past few years, you date someone for a few months, then you’re bored.”