She smiled. “No, Sullivan. I love the Dragonslayer, and Gus handled it brilliantly by leaving things alone. I won’t be here all the time, anyway. And Macy and Grant do a great job. But I’ll okay new uniforms if we can improve on tradition.”
Sullivan seemed pleased. “Cool. I love my job here. And I agree that the costumes add to the ambience. One day, I’ll save enough to buy my own place. Oh, I’m not going to compete with you—it won’t be pirate-themed! Maybe I’ll go with a high-Victorian type of place. And it won’t be for years.”
Abby couldn’t help laughing at his conciliatory tone. “Savannah abounds with fine places and the Dragonslayer is only one of them. When you open your own place, Sullivan, we’ll all celebrate.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll make my bartenders dress to the nines! I know—I’ll have them look like the butler in Downton Abbey. Grant will love it—whoops, don’t worry. I won’t steal him away.”
“I’m not worried,” Abby shook her head.
“You might want to worry about Rog over there, Abby,” Bootsie murmured. “He’s down in the dumps.”
“Yep, he’s broken up about that girl,” Sullivan said. “I don’t blame him. She seemed to be nice. He was so pleased and proud to introduce her around.”
“I’ll go talk to him.” Abby slid off her bar stool. She walked over to the tables in the dining room with the Blue Anderson statue by the grate. Roger and Paul Westermark were there. She wasn’t sure what they were talking about because they glanced up at her approach and grew silent. Paul quickly stood and gave her a hug. Roger did so more slowly. He looked at her anxiously.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Not yet, Roger. But the police are following new leads.”
“New leads?” he asked. “Like what?”
“They’re inspecting the rowboat we found last night. They’re still combing the river and the ships and boats. They will find her, Roger. You have to have faith and...and keep living your life,” Abby said.
“Abby just lost her grandfather,” Paul reminded him. “One of the greatest old guys on earth. And she’s doing things. She’s not sitting around moping.”
“That’s hardly the same thing!” Roger waved a hand in the air. “Besides, Abby wanted to be a cop. Or an agent. She’s good at this. I’m not.”
“Nobody’s good at worrying about someone they care about, Roger. It’s a terrifying situation,” Abby told him. “But you do have to keep on with your life while we’re searching.”
“So, yeah, are we doing the street show tomorrow?” Paul asked. “We did it every Saturday until...well, until Gus died.”
“Gus would want it go on, of course. Yes—and I’ll be your Missy Tweed.”
Paul sat back, grinning at her. “Wow. I was afraid you’d come back here thinking you were above such things.”
“Hey, this is my heritage we’re talking about.”
“You remember the lines and everything, right?”
“More or less. It’s half ad-lib, anyway,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “It was never my favorite role. Missy Tweed just screams a lot and gets tossed from man to man.”
“The crowds love Missy Tweed. Look at me—I get to play Scurvy Pete. I’ve had people throw stuff at me,” Paul said. “And I had such high Shakespearean hopes!”
Abby smiled at that. “Paul, you act beautifully and you always seem to have work, here or in commercials or with your singing. I heard you’re going to start recording.”
“Yeah, I’m planning on getting into a studio. A producer showed up at one of my performances in the Irish bar. He’s going to finance it for me. I’m pretty happy with that,” he said.
“I used to be happy,” Roger moaned.
“He’s had a few beers,” Paul told Abby in a low voice.
“Did you eat anything?” Abby asked.
“Yes, Mom, I did.”
“Okay, I’ll get into the wench costume and we’ll do our pirate act,” Abby said. “We’ll make Gus proud, huh?”
“You bet, Abby. You bet.” Paul nodded vigorously.
“Yeah, Abby, of course. I’m sorry,” Roger said.
“Don’t be sorry, just be strong,” she told him. She gave them both a slightly grim smile and returned to the bar.
Things here had changed.
Aldous and Malachi were gone; Will Chan had come in with Dirk Johansen and they were now seated next to Bootsie.
“Where did Aldous and Malachi go?” Abby asked.
“Oh, Aldous has some business to check on. Malachi...I don’t know. I think he was going upstairs. Or maybe he went outside. I’m not sure,” Bootsie said.
“How did everything go today?” Abby looked past Dirk to Will Chan.
Chan’s features gave away nothing of his thoughts; his smile and mannerisms were consistently pleasant. “I’m having a great time as a pirate,” he said. “And the ship sails on as always, right, Dirk?”
“Yeah, Chan, you’re an excellent addition. The Chinese did make good pirates,” Dirk said.
“Actually, I’m Trinidadian, with a real mix of ethnicities,” Will told him.