Helen stared at Abby. “I—I don’t know. I really don’t know if they were the same.”
“What do you mean, Helen?” Abby asked.
“It was...the pirate. The real pirate.”
“Helen,” Malachi said, “was it someone acting as a pirate? You said that this Chris Condent wanted to open a pirate-themed haunted house.”
Helen shook her head, growing agitated. “He wasn’t Chris Condent anymore. He was the pirate, the real pirate. That’s who kidnapped me. And I had seen him before. He was very big and he had dark hair. Rich, dark hair. And blue eyes.” She took a shuddering breath. “It was the pirate, Abby. The pirate from the Dragonslayer.”
She paused, as if waiting for Abby’s comprehension.
“It was Blue,” she said. “The pirate, Blue Anderson.”
9
They left the hospital soon after Helen Long stated that she believed she’d been kidnapped and attacked by a pirate who had been dead for well over two hundred years.
Because it was private and they could watch the Dragonslayer on the screens at Abby’s home on Chippewa Square, they returned there. David Caswell met with the group and they went through everything they knew.
The house on Chippewa had been built in the early 1800s and had come to Abby’s family in the 1850s. Built in the colonial style, it had a handsome porch with eight white pillars standing sentinel. The house wasn’t huge; the front door opened into a hall that stretched to the rear door and small yard. A staircase led to the second floor. There were three bedrooms and a den upstairs—a nursery in days gone by—while on the ground floor, to the left, was a large formal dining room and the pantry-now-kitchen, while the onetime kitchen out in the yard had been turned into a little summer house. The formal parlor was to the right of the front door with the old music room behind it.
Malachi hadn’t seen her actual home yet, and he was curious. It was evident that Abby hadn’t spent much time there in recent years. It was impeccably clean, although not much had been changed, the television in the old music room was as old as the stereo system. The upholstery was colonial-style, as was the furniture throughout the house, except for one massive recliner.
“My father’s. He loved it. He watched Sunday football from that chair every week,” Abby told Malachi.
“My dad had one of those chairs, too,” Malachi said. “I admit I’m fond of it. I watch football on Sunday from that chair, too. And a few other shows, of course.”
“I like the chair. Reminds me of my dad. He was great. So was my mother. They were typical parents, I guess. My mom loved to bake and cook and she had a little business making designer baby clothes. She made all kinds of things, of course, but she especially loved baby clothes. I think she would’ve liked a houseful of children.... She was always the mom in charge of food drives at school and she collected for the Red Cross. She was the epitome of the Southern lady.” Abby paused, a look of fond nostalgia on her face. “They both represented the very best of Southern hospitality. My dad worked for a tech company but he spent as much time at the Dragonslayer as he could. He loved the history, but he was practical. He used to say there was money to be made on the legend of Blue, and it might as well be made by the Anderson family.”
“But they raised a daughter intent on being a federal agent,” Malachi commented.
“They raised me to reach for whatever I wanted, whether that was a rocket scientist or a stay-at-home mom.”
“That’s the best,” Malachi said. “That’s how kids should be raised.”
She nodded. Although she’d been talking to him, she seemed distracted.
They’d left the others in the large formal dining room, where the computer banks and screens had been set up, when Abby set off to show him the rest of the house. And while she’d shown him around with casual enthusiasm, he thought it was forced.
“I enjoy hearing about your family, but what is it? What’s tearing at you?”
She frowned at him, hurt, confused, indignant. “My ancestor is not attacking women and throwing them in the river!” she said.
“Abby, we all know the ghost of Blue is not doing this,” he said.
“Didn’t you tell me ghosts...could be different? Some were shy, some talked, some hid... So who’s to say that some haven’t gotten almost-mortal power—and the ability to hurt people. But I’m positive Blue isn’t one of them!”