“You mean Malachi?” she asked innocently.
“Let’s hope—or else our girl’s become a home wrecker,” Dirk said. “I get the impression that the cute little blonde G-woman is with tall, dark, exotic actor G-man. And the pretty blondish one is with tall, dark, handsome and Native American G-man. That leaves intriguing G-man who’s staying up in the apartment.”
“Now, why would you be worried about my love life, anyway, huh?” Abby asked Dirk, avoiding the question.
“We’ll always worry about you, Abs,” Bootsie said.
“We’re like the great-uncles you’re really glad you never had,” Dirk told her, which made Abby laugh.
“Hey, I’m just the bartender,” Sullivan said lightly.
“You guys know I dreamed about working for the federal government, that all my life I wanted to be an agent,” Abby said. “You know I’ll go back to work with a unit, wherever I’m assigned.”
“Yeah, but I looked this unit up,” Grant said sagely. “They’re the Krewe of Hunters.”
“What does that mean?” Bootsie asked.
“They ask the dead questions—and the dead help them find the killers,” Grant explained.
Macy giggled at that. “Seriously? Come on, Grant. The one woman is a medical examiner. If they could talk to the dead, she’d just ask the corpses who...who turned them into corpses. Oh, I sound terrible—I’m concerned, really. I’m grateful you found Helen, Abby, and praying that Roger’s girlfriend will be found, as well. But it’s not looking good for her, is it?”
“We don’t have any real answers,” Abby said.
Bootsie made a sound of derision. “All those feds and cops—and nothing. You people, all that schooling—and a pirate’s walking all over you.” He raised his beer. “Ask the dead questions, my ass!”
“Bootsie,” Dirk remonstrated quietly.
“It’s just us here,” he said. He looked around. “Hey, where’s our third? I haven’t seen Aldous all day.”
“I’m sure he’ll be around,” Sullivan said, pushing away from the bar to get a drink order from one of the waitresses.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” Macy agreed.
“Hey, you make a great wench, Abby,” Grant told her.
“Gee, thanks. Which reminds me, I want to go and get out of this now.” Abby turned but then paused, looking back. “Do me a favor, will you, Macy? Why don’t you and Dirk go out on a date instead of staring at each other all the time? It’s not like you just met or anything.”
Macy’s face went bright red. “Abby!”
Dirk was silent.
“Now there’s a sensible question,” Bootsie said. He gave Dirk a nudge. “Here’s your chance, boy. Ask her out.”
“Um...” Dirk said.
Macy found her voice. “Dirk, I don’t know what these people are doing, but don’t you dare feel obliged to ask me anything.”
“I don’t feel obliged, Macy.”
“Good.”
“But...we should go out sometime. To a restaurant. We’re in a restaurant. I mean, a different restaurant. One where you’re not working. Or we could go dancing. Or...”
“Dirk Johansen, are you asking me out?” Macy demanded.
“I guess I am. Except you don’t have to feel obligated or anything. I’m not trying to put you in a bad position—”
“I would love to go out with you, Dirk!” Macy said.
“Thank God! That’s settled,” Bootsie said. “Now, can we get back to sitting around the bar and bitching about everyone we see? Macy, shoo! Go back to work.”
Macy smiled and walked back to the host stand. Grant took a seat at the bar.
“That,” he announced, “was really cool. Good work, Abby!”
“Thank you, thank you. Now, I’m finally going to get out of this ridiculous outfit!”
Leaving them at last, she ran up the stairs as quickly as she could, encumbered by the skirts that had defined her as Missy Tweed for a few hours.
*
Helen was doing much better.
When Malachi arrived, her police guard was seated in the hallway, reading the newspaper.
Angela Hawkins was in the room with Helen, as were her coworkers, Jack and Blake. They were still in their pirate attire from the morning sail of the Black Swan; Malachi assumed that, like Dirk, they usually took the two hours between sailings of the “pirate” vessel to either have lunch or get their errands done.
Helen seemed to be beaming; she was, he thought, maybe a year or two older than Blake—the one who was so obviously—and awkwardly—in love with her.
But that afternoon, she was thrilled by his attention.
“Malachi!” she said, greeting him with a warm smile.
He bent down to kiss her cheek. “Helen, you look wonderful.”
“I’m feeling good,” she said. “And the doctor said I’m doing well, right, Angela?”
“He said you’re almost ready to go home.”
Helen frowned. “You need to talk to me again, don’t you, Malachi?”