“May I?” Abby gestured, indicating that she wanted to walk through.
“Of course,” Shelly followed Malachi as he kept pace with Abby. “I heard they found the girl who was working for Dirk on his Black Swan. Do you think Bianca might have been...kidnapped and assaulted by the same man? Or...I mean, it’s just been a few hours. Can she really be missing?” She sounded both puzzled and concerned.
“We’re not taking chances,” Malachi said.
“This is so distressing!” Shelly murmured.
The Mortons were a handsome couple in their late sixties or early seventies, who both looked fit and tan. Abby envied them for a minute. They appeared to be the kind of people who’d worked hard, raised their children—and survived to enjoy their golden years together.
She quickly introduced herself and said that Bianca Salzburg was probably fine, but with the sad state of events lately, they were trying to make sure.
Mrs. Morton gasped softly. “Oh, that lovely, lovely girl!” She turned to her husband, “Henry, she was so pleasant, wasn’t she? She joined us for breakfast.” As he nodded, she looked at Abby. “This is Bianca’s first trip to Savannah. She’s from Chicago, you know. Loves Chicago—her family’s there—but she was offered a chance to manage the new office for her company if she moved to Savannah. She says that since she got here, she’s been absolutely thrilled, the city’s so beautiful. We told her we’d been coming for years. Can’t move from Philly, since our grandkids live there, but we love to spend a month in Savannah every year.”
“It’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world,” Abby agreed. “Did Bianca say anything about her plans for the day?”
“Why, yes. She said she’d met a nice local fellow and that she was having lunch with him. Down by the river somewhere. I forget—what did she say, Henry? The Irish pub?”
Henry Morton murmured. “Yes, Connie. The Irish pub.”
“Henry, if you know something, you have to speak up,” Connie Morton said.
“You seem to be doing fine for both of us,” Henry said.
Connie rolled her eyes. Her husband smiled at her.
“Shelly is pretty sure she left around eleven,” Malachi told them. “Does that sound about right?”
“Yes, precisely right,” Connie said. “She waved to us as she was walking out.”
Abby thanked them; when Henry expressed serious concern about Bianca, she promised they’d call the bed-and-breakfast with any news.
They bade Shelly and the Mortons goodbye and headed out.
“They were a lovely couple,” Abby said as they walked to the car.
“Yes.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I have a feeling they’ve been together for years—and that they’re still in love.”
“I envy them in a way.”
He flashed her a smile. “You’re too young to envy anyone yet. The world’s out there for you.”
“Yes, I know. They just made me think of my parents. The world was once theirs, too. But they died before they made it to where the Mortons are now.”
“And yet,” Malachi said softly, “what they had was probably better than what many people get even if they live to be over a hundred.”
That was true, but Abby missed her parents and her grandparents as much as ever and found it painful to talk about. She changed the subject back to work.
“So, we’re going to see Helen?”
“Yes.” When they drove alongside Colonial Park Cemetery, she was surprised when he suddenly saw a parking space and slid into it.
Abby frowned. “Helen’s at the hospital. Why are we here?”
“I know. I thought we’d stop for a minute.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He was already out of the car. She followed as he walked through the main entrance, beneath the arch and the great eagle. He kept moving toward the back, making straight for the bench where he’d seen the ghostly old couple and pointed them out.
They weren’t at the bench. They were standing by a grave.
Abby hung back and watched. She saw Malachi approach them, not speaking at first. He stood by the grave and bowed his head.
After a few minutes, Abby inched closer. Malachi spoke quietly. “Good afternoon,” he greeted the pair. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your son?”
The man appeared startled and looked at his wife. Then he looked at Malachi again and Abby heard his voice, like paper shifting on the wind.
“You are speaking to me, young man?”
“I am,” Malachi said. “If you’ll forgive my intrusion.”
“Of course.” The woman nodded. “Yes, it is our son.”
“He is gone, you know. And you could be with him,” Malachi told them.