“Gus!” Abby called again, but all she heard in return was the distant sound of the “pirate” track that played during lunch hours.
Frustrated, she went into the lounge, but she seemed to be the only person on the second floor. Abby walked back to Gus’s office and sat at his desk. Despite his age, Gus had entered the age of technology with gusto; he had a new computer, a printer and, to the side, a file cabinet. There was a little office carrier filled with incoming and outgoing mail. She looked anxiously at the incoming mail, hoping she wouldn’t find a stack of doctors’ bills. She didn’t—most of the mail was solicitation letters. She knew he read most of it, always looking to see if there was something the restaurant could use.
“No important mail from doctors or diagnostic clinics,” she murmured aloud.
She didn’t think it was anything to do with his health that had made him summon her in such a manner, and yet couldn’t help being concerned. And curious. Gus had an impressive history. He’d served in the navy during World War II, then he’d returned to Savannah—where he was guaranteed to make a living since his family owned the restaurant—to join the police force. But when his father passed away, he’d left the force to concentrate on the Dragonslayer. She’d admired him all her life. It was thanks to Gus that she’d gone to the FBI academy; he’d encouraged her in every action she’d ever wanted to take. He hadn’t pushed her toward law enforcement, but he’d told her she was smart and could do anything she wanted to do.
There was nothing on his desk giving her any indication that something might be wrong with Gus.
Had he run out to do an errand? She drummed her fingers on the desk and then took the newspaper from her handbag to study the article on the murders.
Both victims had drowned. Both had been found with their hands tied behind their backs. Police were withholding other information, as it was an ongoing investigation. Next of kin had been notified, and anyone with any information regarding either victim was urged to contact law enforcement.
She set the paper down, then started, certain she’d heard a sound coming from the storage area—but she’d just been there. At the rear of the storage area was a wrought-iron stairway from the back of the dining area to the second floor. It was far narrower than the main staircase and it was gated. Diners were prohibited from taking those stairs, as was the staff, she reminded herself. Gus didn’t consider them safe. At one time, they’d allowed pirates who were drinking, wenching and enjoying their liberty in Savannah to escape quickly from the upstairs to the underground passage that led to the river and their ships. While Robert Anderson—brother of Blue, and Abby’s direct ancestor—had been a legitimate businessman, he and his pirate brother were known to be close and Blue Anderson was known to have frequented the tavern. British officers were prone to burst in on the Dragonslayer in search of Blue, and thus the easy escape route.
Thanks to the secret passage, they’d never caught Blue—or any of his men—at the tavern.
The door to the passage was covered with a grating now. Before, it had been hidden under wooden planks that matched the rest of the floor. Now it was a curiosity and guarded by chains, a locked metal grate and the robotic Blue Anderson. Blue was set up beside the grate, and diners loved to have their pictures taken with him.
Abby stood up, then walked down the hall to the storage room. The lights remained on as they always did during business hours. She moved silently along the rows of modern chrome restaurant equipment and boxes to the back of the room.
Halfway there, she paused.
Her heart seemed to rise to her throat and catch there.
Blue! She could see him. He was standing right by the winding iron stairs. He beckoned to her and went down them.
She might have been a kid again, frozen there. For long moments, she wasn’t sure she was even breathing.
He only comes when he’s needed, Gus had told her.
Abby came to life. She sprinted across the room and to the stairs.
A chain stretched across the iron railing of the landing here; it was in place as it should have been.
Abby slid underneath it and quickly followed the winding steps to the main floor.
A few diners lingered, but she’d been quiet and hadn’t been noticed. The grating was in place. She knelt down—and saw that the lock was open.
Heedless of anyone who might see her, Abby lifted the grating. It was dark below. There were lights, but Gus kept them off except for the ones directly by the grate. She hurried down the stairs, calling his name. “Gus!”
She reached the bottom and the dank tunnel that led out to the river.
“Gus!”
Someone seemed to be ahead of her. A shadow moving almost as one with the darkness.
She followed.
And then, ten feet along the tunnel, she found him.
Gus.
She fell to her knees at his side. “Gus, Gus, Gus!”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t feel her touch when she felt for a pulse, for any sign that he was breathing.