“Oh, Wiley—one of the crew—was talking to him. This guy owns a similar outfit up in Myrtle Beach and was fascinated to hear about Dirk’s bilge pumps. They’re probably down there by now.”
“Thanks,” Abby said. She headed to the side of the counter, where a velvet rope blocked off the stairs down to the level below. She walked into the vast magazine. It was piled high with all manner of supplies, not just food but costumes, giveaways, makeup and wigs. There were bunks against the inner hulls, as well; Dirk let his workers sleep on board when they needed a place to stay.
“Hello?” Abby said. No one answered. She hurried up and down the length of the magazine. The place was deserted. Searching as she went, she found the hatch to the bilge below and opened it, climbing down the little ladder that led to the lowest area of the ship, where the two sides met at the keel. The bilge was dry. She could hear the pumps working.
No one was there.
Frustrated, she returned to the action topside. She didn’t see the man who’d said he was from Virginia—and who had then disappeared.
“Where ya been, lass?” Dirk roared over to her. “’Tis time to make certain we’ll be getting the ransom from this lot of landlubbers!”
He was playing a pirate captain; he was supposed to sound gruff. But she thought he was irritated with the fact that she hadn’t been on deck—and in sight.
“Captain, we’ve gotten the ransom for all of them!” she told him.
“We did?”
“They paid it before they got on board!”
“Aw, well, then, I guess we’ll be bringing them back in,” Dirk said.
A little boy jumped up and cried out, “No! I want to stay on the ship and be a pirate!”
Dirk was good. He walked over to the boy and pulled an eye patch from his pocket. “There you go, laddie! Now you’re an honorary pirate!”
The Black Swan returned to the dock. Abby kept up her act—but kept looking for the man in the baseball cap, too. She didn’t see him. Had he somehow disappeared off the ship?
Was that what had happened to Helen?
They reached the dock, and the Black Swan was tied up at her mooring. The passengers—all happy—said their goodbyes. Dirk reminded Abby that they’d leave again at three. He seemed to be impatient with her, but he didn’t ask her where she’d been. She was a gift horse, after all.
She walked down the dock and pulled out her cell phone, placing a call to Malachi Gordon. He answered after the first ring.
“Have you found out anything?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Where are you now?”
“Behind you.”
She turned around. She saw him on the phone.
He was the Virginian tourist with the baseball cap and sunglasses.
4
Once again, Abby Anderson stared at him, her frown intense, her manner completely unnerved and highly irritated.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded in a harsh whisper, coming up to him.
He arched one of his heavy dark brows and felt the spirit gum on it tighten. “You said you thought it was important to be on the ship. So I thought that it was important, too.”
“You were supposed to be investigating the murders—seeing your friend, David Caswell, and finding out what’s going on.”
“I did see David,” he told her. “I met him for coffee at eight. Weird situation. He’s investigating the murders, but the other detective—the man you met last night—has been assigned the missing-person situation. So he’s asked that he be paired up with Ben Peters. All the stations and all law enforcement officers in the area have been alerted about the murders, but my friend David is the head of the task force. I learned a great deal today—before boarding the ship.”
That didn’t seem to make her happy. “Why are you in this ridiculous getup?” she asked.
“I’d met Dirk. I didn’t want him to know I was on board, observing.”
She turned around and started walking toward the end of the dock.
He followed her. “Hey!”
She spun on him. She made a good wench, he thought. A pirate hat with little pearl strings attached sat over her forehead. She wore boots, black leggings, a long-sleeved blouse, fitted red vest and frock coat—male attire, which certainly might have been chosen by a woman who found herself sailing the seas. She had long shapely legs and the boots added to her height. The color of her eyes was so rich and deep a blue that it was mesmerizing, especially when framed by the near-ebony darkness of her hair. He was surprised to feel something stir in him. But she stirred more than his senses; she seemed to touch something deeper than the simple lust that biology and nature dictated. She had passion. She seemed to breathe vitality.