Malachi sighed. “A woman’s murdered and we don’t even know who she is.”
“Do you think it would it help us find the young woman who may still be alive if we did know who the other victim is?”
“Maybe not. But the thing is we have three dead women, one who escaped and a dead man. We also believe Gus was a victim. We assume that both men were killed because they stumbled onto something. The women were new to Savannah, although Helen Long had been here for a while. They were all attractive—all beautiful female captives. But I suspect the killer saw them, watched them, before he took them. I suspect he’s looking for a woman to be the perfect mate in his life of pirate crime.”
Abby had come down and stood in the doorway.
“He has a whole fantasy built up,” Abby said, continuing Malachi’s narrative. “He’s the pirate who seizes a captive and the captive falls in love with him, eschews her old life and joins him on the high seas. Perhaps the killer thought he had the right woman with Helen—but she kept saying she was repulsed by him. She didn’t want him to touch her, and she couldn’t pretend. That’s what happens when he gets to the point where he feels rejected, he kills. And then he searches for another woman.”
The others nodded.
Abby lifted her hands. “How does this help us, though?”
“It does help us. We watch for someone who...watches,” Malachi told her. “Let’s head back to the Dragonslayer.”
“Because we’re going to find the killer there?”
He studied her for a moment. She was obviously trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Yes,” he said. “Because we’ll find him there.”
*
It was late for lunch, but the Dragonslayer was still doing a booming business. Macy was at the host stand, and Bootsie and Aldous were at the bar. Abby got up onto the stool next to Aldous. He’d just finished a plate of fish and chips, and while she affectionately called him a barfly, he wasn’t drinking; he sipped from a cup of coffee.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, nodding at Malachi, who sat beside Abby.
“I’m fine, Aldous. Just confused—like everyone else. And scared. There’s another girl out there somewhere, and I’m hoping we can find her, as we did Helen. Alive, I mean.”
“Yeah, alive. It’s a sorry thing, huh? And your friend Roger English—is he broken up over it!”
“I know. They’d just started dating, but he felt he’d found the ‘one,’” Abby said.
Bootsie did have a beer in front of him. He let out a snort. “Roger, ah, that boy! Well, she was—sorry, is a pretty girl. But I don’t think she’s the one for him. Roger is falling apart now, but that boy is a passionate soul. He loves the city, he loves dress up and history. She’s a little namby-pamby for him. He’ll figure that out.”
“Let’s hope he gets to figure that out,” Malachi said.
“Let’s hope,” Aldous repeated. “He’s here now—over there, at a table. With your other high school bud, Abby. What’s that other kid’s name? The one he works with?”
“Paul Westermark?”
“Yeah. Apparently the girl playing Missy Tweed isn’t available tomorrow—she’s up in Charleston for her mother’s birthday. You said the show was to go on, so...I guess they’re trying to come up with someone to fill in or rewrite or whatever.”
“That doesn’t sound like a problem,” Malachi said. “They have Abby. She’s a wench at heart, the best wench ever, I’d think. She’s related to Blue Anderson. His descendent, I should say.”
“He was my great-great-great-whatever uncle.”
“Still, the whole swashbuckling thing is in the genes,” Malachi said. “It sounds like great fun. I’d love to get in on it, too.”
“Lad, I’m betting they’d welcome you!” Bootsie assured him. “There’s nothing like playing pirate.”
“Aye-aye!” Aldous said.
“Not when you have to do it every day and make drinks in costume and wash these bleached cotton shirts all the time!” Sullivan chimed in. He’d finished preparing a tray of drinks for one of the waitresses but was listening to them and now walked down on his side of the bar to join them.
“You don’t really mind, do you?” Abby asked him. “The pirate and wench outfits here have become tradition. Maybe I could spruce them up, though. We haven’t changed in while. Maybe get you a nice new frock coat?”
Sullivan laughed, running his fingers through his red hair. “It’s not so bad, Abby. I’m just bitching. Well, we could spruce up some of them. I’m not sure I want a frock coat. It can be hot as hell in Savannah.” He looked at Abby anxiously. “Were you planning to make a lot of changes?”