The Night Is Alive. Heather Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ it, so you need to have lots of that glorious color while you can!” Macy said.

      Yes, it was good to be home.

      “My hair’s all here, Macy,” she said. “Just swept up because it’s hot as hell on my neck,” she said. She’d heard that her hair color came down to her from Gus and his family; apparently Blue Anderson, the pirate brother, had enjoyed the same coloring. But whether his moniker had come from the blue-black hair color that appeared in the Anderson clan every so often or the brilliant color of his eyes, no one really knew. Or because he had a reputation for the “black and blue” he could inflict on those who defied his orders...

      “We’ll catch up some more later,” she said, then asked, “but where’s Gus?”

      “Hmm, I’m not sure. He was up in the office. You want to wait for him there? Oh, are you hungry? Shall I have the cooks whip something up? You drove five-hundred-plus miles, and you are the heir to a wonderful restaurant!”

      “No, I’ve eaten, thanks. I stopped at the North-South Carolina border,” Abby told her. “I’m going to run up to the office, okay? If he’s not there, I’ll wait for him.”

      “You bet!” Macy gave her another fierce hug. She returned it.

      She turned to hurry up the stairs but before she could do so, she was hailed from the bar.

      “Abby! Why, Abby’s here, just as old Gus said!”

      Abby knew the voice well.

      “Bootsie!” she said, turning back to greet the man sitting at the end of the bar with two other familiar faces. Together the three looked every bit the rakish pirate crew. Young compared to her grandfather, Bootsie was still close to seventy—and yet seemed ageless. He had a thick hard-muscled chest and arms like a linebacker. He’d been a fixture on his bar stool as long as she could remember, and if any man had ever resembled an old pirate, it was Bootsie. His real name was Bob Lanigan; he’d been in the marines, followed by the merchant marines, and then he’d captained one of the ships that ran along the river. He’d had a sweet, long-suffering wife who’d indulged his whims and waited patiently at home for whenever he chose to return, but Betty had died about a year ago and Bootsie now spent much of his time on the bar stool. He had a thick thatch of long white hair, a white beard—and a peg leg. He’d lost his left leg from the knee down when he was in the service, and he didn’t “cotton to” any of the new technology. While he owned a number of new, very real-looking prosthetics, his peg leg was just fine for him. Abby only remembered seeing him without it once or twice.

      If he wore an eye patch, he’d be perfect for the role of pirate, but thankfully, Bootsie still had both eyes.

      “Look at you, lass! Beautiful! Didn’t I tell you she’d grow up beautiful?” he asked Dirk Johansen, one of his companions at the bar. Dirk was the “whippersnapper” of Bootsie’s group of cronies. He was in his late forties and still sailing. A lean, fit man, he often resembled a staff member at the Dragonslayer, since he typically came in straight off one of his “pirate cruises” on the Black Swan. He was handsome and distinguished, an eternal bachelor, or so it seemed. Abby was pretty sure that Macy had maintained a secret crush on him for years. They would have made a handsome couple.

      Dirk smiled at her as he replied to the statement. “Bootsie, she’s been a beautiful young woman for quite a while now. Abby, welcome home. It’s always wonderful to see you.”

      “Cheers!” said the third member of their group, Aldous Brentwood. Aldous was several times a millionaire from his own—and his family’s—maritime efforts. He was in his mid-fifties, but hard work had kept him toned. He shaved his head bald, had bright blue eyes and wore a single gold earring in his left lobe. Like Bootsie, he could easily pass for a pirate, or, Abby thought, the character for the Mr. Clean line of household products.

      “Bootsie, Dirk, Aldous,” Abby said, giving each a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

      “Gus misses you terribly when you’re away,” Dirk said.

      “And he grins for a week when you’re coming back!” Aldous told her.

      “Well, I’m here now. I figured I’d find him on a bar stool with you gentlemen. So where’s my favorite old grouch? I was on my way up to see if he’s in the office,” she said.

      “He might be up there. I’m not sure.” Bootsie shrugged. “He let me in when the kitchen staff started arriving at ten. We sat and talked for a while and he did keep looking at his watch, telling me about where you’d be on your drive.”

      “I saw him right at opening,” Dirk offered.

      “Yeah, I did, too, but I didn’t see him after that,” Aldous said.

      Sullivan, the lunchtime bartender, a handsome thirty-year-old with green eyes and flaming red hair, plus a neatly coiffed mustache and beard, came by to check on his “barflies” as the three referred to themselves. He smiled at Abby; she didn’t know him well. He’d only worked for her grandfather about four years and she’d been gone most of that time. His given name was Jerry, but he went by Sullivan.

      “Abby, he said something earlier about working on the books, so you’re probably right. He’s got to be up in his office. I haven’t seen him since before the lunch crowd started coming in.”

      “Thanks, Sullivan,” Abby said. “And, gentlemen, see you later,” she told the three older men seated at the bar.

      They responded with an out-of-sync chorus of “Aye, Abby,” “See you, Abby,” “Glad you’re here!”

      She smiled and walked over to the winding iron stairway that had been there forever and was watchfully maintained, since it was still used on a daily basis.

      The second floor of the establishment had a low ceiling. No food was stored on the upper level, but a long room housed wine, spirits, kitchen utensils and other restaurant supplies. The second floor also had a nice lounge for the employees with lockers and closets full of costumes so no one had to come as a pirate or wench and leave as a pirate or wench. On one side of Gus’s office was the apartment he’d lived in with her grandmother until Brenda Anderson’s death eight years ago. Now he remained there alone. It had a little sitting room and access to a balcony that looked over the rear grounds and out to the river. Beside the sitting room were the two bedrooms, the one Abby had always slept in and the one her grandfather now maintained for himself. On the other side of Gus’s office was the manager’s office, shared by Macy and Grant Green, the night manager.

      Gus wasn’t in his office nor was he in the manager’s office. She tried his apartment door. It was open, but Gus was nowhere to be seen. The room was sparse and spotless. The only pictures on the walls here were images of his family.

      Abby called his name as she hurried through the apartment, and then went out to check the supply room, as well. She walked past carefully stored rows of different liquors and the wine vault. There were boxes marked Dragonslayer plates, salad bowls and glasses, tablecloths and more, but none of the employees were up there now.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ