The Night Is Alive

11

“I bet they’ve decided the FBI has brought in a certifiably crazy person as a consultant,” Abby said as the door to the apartment closed behind them.

Malachi smiled, shrugged and immediately pulled her to him and into his arms.

She felt... The only word was melting.

They needed to talk, of course. His words downstairs had been met with laughter, then blank stares and awkwardness. Sullivan had started cleaning the bar. Grant had cleared his throat and walked away. Dirk said he’d had enough to drink for the night, and Aldous and Bootsie had quickly agreed. They were out the door before Abby and Malachi had made it to the stairs.

But now...

Nothing seemed to matter. Her body’s memory kicked in, a physical memory that resided in her skin, her muscles, her very cells. Sliding against him, she felt guilty for a millisecond, but she was doing everything she possibly could to assist the police and Krewe unit in finding the killer. Jackson had said they needed sleep. But she needed this more than she needed sleep.

And Malachi obviously wasn’t giving a second’s thought to Jackson’s advice.

They began to shed their clothing, their lips meeting as shoes and fabric went flying. They touched, then broke away, helped each other and moved slowly down the hall, still kissing. Soon they were back in the bedroom, tangled in the sheets, and she wasn’t thinking about anything but this man—the taste of his flesh, the feel of his lips and hands upon her. His kisses warmed her where they fell; her body sparked to life with the brush of his fingers. The pressure of his body was vital and arousing, and she returned his passion with an urgent hunger of her own. The thundering of her heart seemed shockingly loud.

They moved, then kissed again. They looked at each other, and they whispered words that meant everything, although they were intelligible. They broke apart to deliver hot wet kisses, then arched together, teasing and arousing, until he thrust into her and their pace became frantic. Moments later, it slowed, building to a sweet crescendo, exploding fiercely, and taking them into an even sweeter spiral of release. Their bodies gradually relaxed, and the glow of completion merged with the indefinable sensation of being with someone who meant so very much....

This pleasure, being in such a state, feeling like this with another person, was nothing she’d ever encountered before. Abby smiled; she pushed away the thought that they hadn’t even known each other until this had begun, that their homes were in different places and that she had no idea what the future would hold. But life seldom had such perfect moments and she was going to cling to these.

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. Maybe something about its being damned good sex, if not something more intimate and personal, like, My God, that was the most extraordinary experience I’ve ever had.

Maybe that was her line. The words whispered silently in her head.

Malachi raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, a smile playing on his lips as he quizzically said, “Certifiably crazy?”

Shift gears! she told herself.

“I know you’re not certifiably crazy. I just don’t know what they’re going to think,” she said. “You never cease to amaze me. I’ve been warned my whole life not to mention the fact that I see a ghost, and it sounds like you’ve never said anything, either—and then you announce to a bunch of murder suspects that the ghost of Blue Anderson is wandering around.”

“You don’t think it was a good idea?” he asked.

“They all looked at you as if you’d lost your mind,” Abby said.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“If they’re innocent, of course, they’ll figure I’m crazy. But if the guilty party was among them, then that guilty party will start thinking. Because I planted it in his mind, he’ll start to worry that ghost of Blue just might be around,” Malachi told her. “He’ll start looking over his shoulder.”

“So there’s a method to your madness?”

“There’s always a method to my madness.” Dark hair fell in a swath across his forehead. She thought he was more endearing, lying there, than any male could be. “Sadly, however, there’s little method to my social skills,” he said. He bent over and kissed her lips with a lingering wistfulness. “You’re...incredible. That’s lame. But you are.”

She smiled. “Incredible isn’t so lame.”

He lay back down, pulling her against his chest. She felt cherished, and yet...

She felt respected, as well. He would want to shield her from danger, she knew. But she sensed that he would also have faith in her.

But as happy as she was with her personal situation, she couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on. She wanted to jump out of bed and find the young woman who’d probably been taken. She felt she should rush to the river again, run up and down the street, do anything rather than nothing. And yet she knew that such feelings were worthless; she’d learned about patience, being precise, following clues—controlling the impulse to become so emotionally involved that you couldn’t act. Or acted recklessly.

Trust was important. She had to trust that David Caswell was a good cop and that Jackson Crow knew what he was doing.

And still her mind raced.

“Tap...tap, tap, tap,” she murmured.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Malachi said.

“Really?” She rose up to meet his eyes. He stroked her hair thoughtfully.

“It means something,” he said. “I keep thinking that, soon enough, I’ll figure out what.”

“And you still include Dirk and Roger in your suspect list?” Abby asked.

“I do. If they make any movements tonight, we’ll know.”

“Oh?”

“Will’s been keeping an eye on Roger since he left the tavern this afternoon. He didn’t stay here long, had a quick drink, then took off.” He shook his head. “I believe his emotion is real. If it turns out he’s our killer, I’m losing my touch. But, for now, don’t worry. Lie down. We have officers out there watching and searching. On the riverfront. Cruising around city hall...down the east and the west sides of the city. There are people out there, Abby. Let them do their jobs.”

Nodding, she lay back down beside him.

Music. Helen had heard music. She’d been thrown into the water not long before Abby saw her.

That meant the killer had been out on the water. He’d been within their grasp.

Tap, tap, tap.

She felt Malachi stir and moved deeper into his arms.

She dreamed of making love again.

They fell asleep.

Malachi lay awake, smiling when he heard Abby’s easy breathing. She was exhausted. There was an emotional toll in all of this, especially since it came right after her grandfather’s death. She hadn’t really had time to mourn his passing before a connection between his death and that of the recent victims had become plausible and apparent to her—and now the body count was adding up. He rolled onto his side and turned to watch her sleep, studying the contours of her face. He found himself wondering why certain people fell into such a profound attraction, why the physical act could mean something so different, depending on how you felt about that person. He reached out, just to touch her hair, but started when he heard his phone ringing.

He scrambled from the bed and searched for the jeans he’d discarded somewhere. He hurried down the hall until he found them and dug into his pocket.

The caller was Will Chan.

“Roger English is on the move,” Will said. “I’m following him now. He left his house and he’s headed toward Bay Street if you want to join me.”

“Has he seen you?” Malachi asked.

“Hasn’t made me yet. He was walking fast but then he stopped, pulled out his phone, looked at it—muttered to himself—and then began walking again.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes!” Malachi said.

He started to slide back into his clothing. Hopping into his jeans, he turned and nearly crashed into Abby. Her hair was a tangle; her eyes were wide. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“After Roger.”

She frowned but said no more. He had to hand it to her; she could dress fast. She was dressed—slipping her Glock into her waistband—while he was still tying his shoes.

The Dragonslayer was silent as they crept down the stairs. It was after the night crew had left, before the morning crew came in. They hurried out and he waited to make sure Abby locked the front door.

He took her hand as they ran across the parking lot and toward Bay Street. He saw no one there, and Malachi quickly drew his phone from his pocket and called Will back.

“Where are you?”

“In front of city hall, on the river,” Will replied. “He’s pacing by the water. Keeps looking out at it. Pulls his phone in and out of his pocket.”

“Come on,” he told Abby, catching her hand again.

They ran up onto the embankment to reach the river walk and crossed by closed stores, restaurants and taverns, staying close to the shop fronts to meld with the shadows. As they moved silently closer, someone stepped out from the buildings.

Will. He beckoned to them and they joined him behind a pillar.

The three stood there silently as they observed Roger English.

Roger paced and then stood still and stared out at the river. Malachi looked down the length of shops. There were other people in the shadows, he realized.

True to his word, David Caswell had officers on surveillance. Watching the river.

And now, watching Roger.

Was he about to call someone—someone out on the river who had a captive?

They waited what seemed to be a very long time while Roger walked up and down, continuing to stare out at the water.

He clutched the cell phone and pulled something from his pocket, then stuffed it back. He began to dial.

Who was he calling?

Malachi jumped as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Stepping back, he looked at it.

Roger was calling him.

He glanced at the others and hurried a distance away, then answered his phone.

“Roger?” he whispered.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Roger said. As Malachi watched, Roger glanced at his phone, as if trying to figure out how Malachi had known it was him.

“I haven’t given this number to many people,” Malachi explained.

“Oh, yeah? Well, thanks. Look, I’m sorry to wake you. I know what time it is but...you said to call. I’m down on the riverfront, right near city hall. Dumb, I know. But I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand doing nothing. And I realize there are cops out here, too—I believe someone is on this 24/7—but I think I can see something out on the water. I think it’s a rowboat. There’s nothing else out there, but can you get here?”

“Yeah. Give me two minutes. I’m up and I’m close. I’ll be right there.” A rowboat. He thought of what Blue had said.

Roger turned; Malachi didn’t know how, but he seemed to home right in on his location.

He walked toward him. “Malachi?” he asked.

Malachi walked toward Roger at the same time. “You said it. People are watching the river.”

“Have you seen anything?” Roger asked.

Will and Abby came out of the shadows, coming over to join them. “Everybody’s watching the river?” Roger asked. Malachi wasn’t sure if he felt reassured, stalked or just mystified.

“What is it you saw?” Malachi asked.

“Come here. Come straight to the edge and you’ll see. It’s moving with the current,” Roger said.

“I’ll get Jackson.” Will stepped aside to make the call.

“Do you see it?” Roger demanded.

Malachi did; it was dark out on the water and the current was moving, but every few seconds, the moonlight touched down on something. He understood why Roger had stared out at the water for so long. It was there, and then it seemed to disappear in the darkness.

“We need to go out there and get it,” Roger said.

Abby put a hand on his arm. “Will’s calling for a boat to tow it in, to find out what’s going on. Maybe you should—”

“Should what?” Roger shouted. “Go home? I can’t, Abby. Come on—you know I can’t do that!”

“I’m sorry, Roger. You’re right. We’ll just stay here and wait.” She came to him as a friend and slipped an arm around him, standing by his side.

Only seconds later, they saw a marine patrol boat with lights flashing streak along the river. They saw it slow down and circle the object. The moon went behind a cloud and as it reappeared, they saw an officer tossing out a towrope.

Malachi’s phone rang. He answered immediately.

Roger stared at him.

“It’s a rowboat and there’s nothing in it,” he told Roger. “Possibly, it just broke away from a dock. They’ll tow it in. It might have no connection to the case.”

“Empty,” Roger repeated dully. Then he grew animated again. “That could mean that...she’s in the river. Tell them...tell them they have to search the water. They have to search the water until they find her! Like when Abby saw Helen. What if he threw her out of that rowboat? If he did, she’s in the water somewhere!”

“Roger,” Malachi said, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders and focusing on his eyes. “There had to be someone in the rowboat to throw someone else in the water. There was no one in the boat.”

Roger seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess you’re right. But...but she could be out there.”

“So is the patrol,” Malachi said.

“Yeah, I know,” Roger said. “I’ve got other people running my tours for me. I’m available if there’s anything I can do. I mean, hell, I’m here whether you want anything from me or not. I’ll be walking around. I’ll be looking. I can’t give up.”

“Rog, how well did you know Bianca?” Abby asked. “I mean, everyone’s on the lookout because of what’s been happening, but she could have lost her phone or decided not to...pursue the relationship.”

“I might’ve just met her,” Roger said, “but there was something there, Abby. I don’t believe Bianca blew me off and disappeared.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Abby murmured.

Mollified, Roger looked back at the river. “I guess...I guess I’ll go home for a while. Sleep.”

“Come on. Let’s all walk back,” Malachi said.

“You guys don’t need to babysit me,” Roger protested. “You sure don’t need to go out of your way.”

“I’m staying at Abby’s house on Chippewa,” Will told him. “I’ll walk back with you, Roger.”

“My place is just past Abby’s.”

“Yeah?” Will said. “Then we’re going the same way.”

The two of them started walking ahead, but Roger stopped and turned back. “I thought you all were watching the river?”

“Shift is over. New crew coming on,” Malachi said to him.

Roger nodded and then saw Abby. He came back and threw his arms around her in a warm hug. “Thank you,” he said.

“Love ya, Rog.”

“You, too.” He nodded, then turned, hurrying to catch up with Will. Malachi’s phone vibrated; he grabbed it quickly and heard Jackson’s voice. “When you get back in the Dragonslayer, take a look at the footage on the computer screens.”

“Anything wrong? Anything I should worry about?” Malachi asked.

“No, nothing wrong. But a little bizarre. Interesting. Have a look, then get some sleep.”

“What?” Abby asked as Malachi slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Nothing. Jackson’s just checking in,” he said.

He and Abby walked slowly behind Will and Roger, coming along the riverfront and then hiking over to Bay and down toward the Dragonslayer.

When the other two split off, heading to the center of the old town, Abby waved. “I feel like such a jerk,” she said. “Roger and I went to school together from the time we were kids.”

“And you’re being a good friend. Remember, part of shadowing people is to clear them,” Malachi reminded her.

As they returned to the Dragonslayer, he noticed that the sun was just coming up.

“Let’s get a few hours’ sleep,” he said huskily.

Abby nodded. “Good idea.”

The morning crew had yet to arrive. Abby unlocked the door and they trudged up to the second-floor apartment. She started for the bedroom; he wanted to follow.

“I’m just going to check the screens. I’ll be right there,” he told her.

He sat down and looked at the various views of the Dragonslayer. Nothing. He ran the footage back, quickly at first. Then he reran it, closely studying the screen that showed the front of the Dragonslayer.

He saw himself and Abby leaving. They went out of view.

He glanced to see the time; they were gone about ten minutes when someone else approached the Dragonslayer.

Head down.

Most of the time when a person or persons couldn’t be identified on video, it was because of a sweatshirt with a hoodie.

But this person wasn’t in a hoodie. He wore a sweeping hat and a cloak. A long black cloak.

But the figure reached the Dragonslayer and seemed about to try the door, then abruptly stepped back. The hat still blocked any view of the face. “Look up, you bastard!” Malachi muttered.

But the person didn’t look up. Apparently, something at the Dragonslayer had spooked him.

Malachi went through the footage of the bar area and saw a shadow appear just inside the front door.

“Blue,” Malachi whispered. “Blue, you are watching over this place.”

He typed a message to Jackson. Maybe Will could enhance the footage in the morning; maybe there was some information they could get.

Jackson was still at the computer in Abby’s house.

Police closest to the area were dispatched. They were there in minutes but the person was gone, and out of camera range almost immediately.

While we were by the river.

Yes.

Do you think the cameras scared him off?

Don’t know. Camera would be pretty obvious if it was someone who knew the Dragonslayer.

Any hope of enhancing the footage?

I’ll get Will on it later in the morning. Rowboat taken to the forensic lab. I’ll report as soon as we learn anything.

OK. Grabbing a few hours sleep.

I’m on for the next few hours here. Angela spells me at eight. Police know to call at any time. I’ll keep you posted.

Malachi signed off and walked down the hallway to Abby’s room. He went in and tiptoed over to the bed.

Abby was sound asleep. She’d set her gun on the dresser—hadn’t even taken off her clothes. He pulled a blanket over her, stripped and lay down himself. He stayed awake for a few minutes, once again wondering about the mysterious noise Helen had reported.

Tap, tap, tap. He knew it meant something. But what?

Abby woke up with a jolt. It felt very late, and although the drapes were drawn, she could feel the warmth of the sun pouring in.

She dashed out of the room and found Malachi sitting at the computers.

“Good morning,” he said.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Ten.”

“Ten! We should be up and doing something.”

“You’ll notice that I am,” he said with a laugh. “But when you’re ready, we’ll go back to the area around the cemetery and the Wulf and Whistle.”

“All right. I just have to send a few emails before we go.”

“Okay, take your time.”

“Take my time?” Abby echoed. “No, no, I slept a lot. We have to get started! If this guy is following his usual timelines, Bianca doesn’t have much longer. But if we’re going back to the cemetery today, I have to live up to my promise about having that tombstone repaired.”

“Do you know who to contact?” Malachi asked.

“I know a few people on the city council. I’ll write the emails to get things started.” She walked over to the desk near the balcony, where she’d left her laptop, and then paused, looking at him. “So, how am I going to explain why I know all this? We don’t really have an opportunity to research it.”

“Just say it came up when the bureau was investigating. They won’t ask anything else if you do that. I’ll tell Jackson. He really can get someone on the research,” Malachi said.

Abby nodded and she retrieved her notepad before she quickly sat down.

“‘Lieutenant Josiah Beckwith,’” she read. “‘Born April 9, 1790. Died for his country, September 12, 1814, at the Battle of North Point during the War of 1812. Beloved son, husband and father. A patriot.’ I have it all—yes?”

“Yes.”

Abby looked through her list of email contacts, selected a few of the influential people she knew on city council and wrote something vague about finding the information while investigating the cemetery on an FBI case. She asked that the situation be rectified, that the gravestone defaced during the Civil War be repaired.

As she typed, Malachi walked over to her.

“How many people around here dress up as pirates?” he asked. She realized that he was holding a cup of coffee for her, which she accepted gratefully.

“Lots of people dress up as pirates,” Abby said. “Why?”

“Come on back to the computers when you’re done there,” he told her. “Finish your emails first.”

She did, and when she approached the computer screens, she saw that Malachi had frozen a frame of the video. It showed someone standing in front of the Dragonslayer.

Someone who looked very strange.

She could see nothing of the actual person. A massive, plumed pirate hat hid the face, and a sweeping black cloak encompassed him to a degree that hid his size. If it was a him. Abby thought that it was—the person appeared to be tall.

“When was that?” she asked Malachi.

“At 3:32 a.m.,” Malachi told her.

“When we were down by the river,” Abby said.

“He was trying to get in here?”

“So I assume. But he stopped.”

“Did he try the door? Or did he not even reach it?”

“Never tried it,” Malachi said, leaning back. “They saw it on the screens at your house on Chippewa, too, of course. They called the police right away, but by the time a couple of officers arrived...”

“He was already gone,” Abby concluded with a sigh.

“Yup. And I don’t think he was afraid of the cameras. I think he knew about them and that’s why he was smart enough to keep his head down. I think he was afraid of Blue.”

Abby stepped back. “You saw Blue? Was he on one of these screens?”

“No,” Malachi told her. “But...here’s an image the camera did pick up.”

Abby looked over his shoulder as he replayed the footage of the host stand and bar area, along with the front of the restaurant.

A dark shadow appeared just behind the entry door.

“Is that a trick of the video, of the light? Or is it...something?” Abby asked.

“Well,” Malachi mused. “It’s definitely something.”

“Do ghosts record this way?”

He smiled at her. “Maybe. I don’t really know. But...I do believe that Blue is watching over this place.”

“And you believe this...killer is someone who spends a lot of time in the Dragonslayer. And it’s the guy in the plumed hat.”

He nodded. “Let’s head over to the cemetery. We’ll see what our old folks have to say.”

Macy was at the host stand, and Abby went over to her. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course, Abby. What about you? How are you doing with all this?”

“I’m okay.”

Macy glanced past Abby at Malachi and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here—all of you. For Abby.”

“Thank you, Macy,” Malachi said. “By the way, do you remember much about the day before Gus’s funeral?”

“Um, it was pretty much a day like any other. We had the signs up, that the restaurant would be closed the next day. There was an announcement made at the service that the mourners were welcome to join us here after, and we wanted to limit it to the people who’d known Gus well, not have casual tourists wandering in.”

She seemed perplexed, uncertain about his reasons for asking.

“I’m talking about the time just after Helen Long left the restaurant,” he said. “Do you remember anyone who might’ve left soon after she did? How about our barflies?”

Macy looked at him blankly for a moment. Her lower lip trembled slightly. “Helen’s been found. Abby saved her.”

“Yes, but another young woman is missing and Helen hasn’t been able to give us much information. I’m hoping you can help us.” He leaned on the host stand, meeting her eyes. He really had a curiously charming way about him, Abby thought. More so, perhaps, because he had no idea.

“I’d love to help you!” Macy said. “I wasn’t down here the whole time. I was going back and forth, between the restaurant and supply room. And we were so distracted that day, too. But...oh, I think both Aldous and Bootsie left in the early afternoon. And wait! Yes, I know Dirk left even before they did because he took his ship out. He worked the Black Swan’s morning and afternoon shifts because he knew he wouldn’t do either one the next day. But...I could be off on my times.”

“Terrific, Macy. Anything else?”

Macy shook her head. “No, I was here. Later Sullivan went up to do an inventory to get our orders in, since we knew everyone would be preoccupied the next day. More than that, I can’t say.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Macy,” Malachi told her. “Thank you.”

“If there’s ever anything I can do...” Macy’s voice trailed off.

Malachi thanked her again and turned to leave; Abby followed. They walked the few blocks to Colonial Park Cemetery.

That day, Abby let herself really look around the cemetery and see. She saw the old couple, vigilant as ever on their bench. A young woman in a long white gown seemed to float behind a live oak that dripped with moss. A grinning soldier stood behind a group of tourists; he blew on a girl’s neck and his grin broadened when she spun around, looking for the prankster. Across the way, hovering by one of the monuments, two young women in early-nineteenth century clothing seemed to be taking a casual walk through the stones.

Malachi, she thought, noticed them all. He was, however, fixated on the older couple.

“Good morning,” he said, pausing by the bench.

“Good morning, young sir,” the man said, standing politely.

“We wanted to let you know that Abby has written the necessary people about your son’s gravestone. We are in the process of getting the situation rectified,” Malachi told him.

“We thank you sincerely.” The man bowed. “My love,” he said to his wife, “a great dishonor will be set right.”

The woman rose, as well. She looked at them, and Abby could almost believe there were real tears in her eyes.

But she wasn’t there. Except as...

Heart, soul, spirit?

“I wish I could set every situation right.” Abby decided not to add that, through the years, gravestones hadn’t just been defaced, some had disappeared altogether. She wanted to tell them that cemeteries were really for the living. The dead remained alive in their loved one’s memories.

“We found a tunnel in an old building,” Malachi said. “Right down the street, in the area you kindly pointed out to me. But it brought us to a dead end. Have you noticed anything else?”

“You looked inside, not in the alley?” the man asked.

“We’ll go back,” Malachi said. “We’ll keep looking. Inside and out.”

“There was a time, not long after the war—the war that took our son—when the dead were often taken beneath the ground. The dead and dying. The yellow fever...they did everything they could to fight it. And when it was over, I believe they tried to hide the epidemic and how many it claimed.” He spoke thoughtfully. “We were the South. Our economy was cotton—and the river. The cotton plantations, of course, depended on slaves. But there were those who hated slavery. Early on before the other war, I heard they began to use some of those tunnels to hide people who were escaping. We, my wife and I, we closed our eyes. I was a merchant here, and I knew how the plantations worked, but...in my heart, I also knew it was wrong. If I remember...” He looked at his wife. “If I remember, we saw people in the night back then. Hurrying down the streets. Disappearing into the alley, into the darkness.”

“Thank you,” Malachi went to shake the man’s hand; Abby watched a ghostly hand touch Malachi’s in return.

She lowered her head, smiling. He thought he was awkward with people. He wasn’t. He was very good.

With the living and the dead.

“Thank you,” Abby echoed. She and Malachi hurried across the cemetery to leave by the main entrance. They passed tour groups and couples, parents and children.

They walked back toward the Wulf and Whistle. The buildings on the street were flush with one another; space here was at a premium. But a narrow alley stretched between streets, an alley that was no longer passable by any kind of conveyance. A tree that had taken root blocked it at the sidewalk. Malachi and Abby crawled over the roots that sprouted through the concrete, and they stood in the narrow alley behind the Wulf and Whistle.

“Who knows exactly what was going on when,” Malachi murmured, studying the building. “But there was a tunnel in the Wulf and Whistle. Presumably, during the yellow fever epidemic, they were bringing the sick and the dead down to various tunnels and underground rooms. Then, when the Underground Railroad became active, they reopened the tunnels. After the war—the Civil War, this time—the local owners, aware of what went on at the cemetery, which was now under military rule, might have hurried and covered up their secrets.”

“But we went down into the Wulf and Whistle. You tapped all the walls in the tunnel there yourself.”

“Yes, but an entry from the tavern might have been sealed off. That doesn’t mean there aren’t more tunnels beneath us.”

“And how are we going to find one? And if it’s all blocked off, how’s a killer using it?”

“The killer, obviously, knows where it is,” Malachi said. “And, somehow or other, he’s opened it.”

Abby turned around in the little space. Behind the Wulf and Whistle was a wooden portico and a gate that sectioned off an area. She realized that was where the tavern kept their garbage.

“Hey!” she said.

She went to the gate and opened it. She saw a bin there and threw it open. Inside it was another bin that could be removed to dump the garbage.

“Malachi!” she called.

He hurried over to her. “They’d never need to move this,” she said. “They obviously always lift out the inner bin when they have to empty it. Steve must have some of his employees take it to the end of the alley for garbage pickup.”

Malachi walked around behind the giant bin. Planked grating supported the bin and stretched about two feet behind it. He bent down and raised the wooden planks.

“There’s a hole,” he said. “A big black hole. Shall we?”