Or maybe he’d had experience with distraught teenagers and knew enough not to overreact. “And you really believe her father would’ve killed her?”
“Listen here, lady, my best friend disappeared and her squirrely stepfather tells me she’s feeding the gators. What would you think? You think he admitted to killing her just for fun? I do believe he killed her, because if she were alive, she would’ve found a way to let me know.”
“Losing a friend is hard, especially hard when you’re young. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Do you think it affects your life now? The loss? Do you think of Merley often, or have you mostly moved on from that time?”
“What do you think? Of course it affects me. She was my best friend. She…I mean, we were very close. Really close. It hurt so bad when she was taken from me. And that asshole just got clean away with it. Got to throw up his big helicopter company and get rich. He never loved Merley. Never missed her. It was like she was an obstacle he had to overcome. And man, when he gets those big ole gator tears and cries about losing her as he dedicates this and that to her. Jerk. I hate that man.”
“Her stepfather has spent several thousand dollars searching for her. Did you know that? He has a standing offer of twenty-five thousand dollars to anyone who can help locate his daughter. Why would he do that if he knew she was dead? Why not just let the memory of her fade away?”
“Ha. That’s easy. He knows he’ll never have to pay that money, that’s why. And looking for her makes him look innocent. Plus, it makes people feel sorry for his ass.”
“The second part of the story I’m working on is about how adults who ran away reconcile their past. How disconnecting from their roots affects the way they develop and build relationships as adults. I’ve tracked down several former runaways and talked with them at length about why they did what they did. For the most part, they’ve been happy with their decisions, but some of them can’t let go of the regrets and fears of their youth. It hampers them, you know? Keeps them from living fully. How would you feel if you found out that your friend really had run away? What if she’d built a new life?”
Rachel sat on the bench behind the register and gently placed her baby in the nearby playpen. “Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why would they run away and never let folks know where they were?”
“That’s a question only they can answer. I will say, some of them are frightened about things beyond their control in their early lives. Something made them run. They need to be able to let go of their fear and live life free and happy. Sometimes that means confronting their past and making amends. Sometimes it just means forgetting and forgiving. Each case is different. There’s no single answer.”
“I don’t know how I can help you.”
“I don’t want to put you in any danger. If Nerbass is a killer, I don’t want him looking your way for anything so I’m just going to ask some questions, and then you should forget I was here. What can you tell me about Merley’s life here? Where did she live? What about her mother? Anything you can tell me might help me put the pieces together and find out the root of her fear.”
The baby started crying then, and not a subtle fussing, but a full-on rage. Rachel picked her up and tried to soothe her, but she wouldn’t be calmed.
“I’m sorry, but my Merley, this one, is hungry and won’t be put off. Could you leave me your contact information and I’ll call you later?”
“Sure. I appreciate any insights you can give me. This article is going to be about more than one singular runaway, but they all matter. I’m really sorry I upset you. Thank you for your time.
Rachel nodded, tears still running down her cheeks, as she moved into the back with the crying baby Merley.
Griffith walked back to her car and thought about Rachel’s reaction to Merley’s disappearance. What if her Adi Bergeron was, in fact, Merley Nerbass, stepdaughter of J.B. Nerbass, millionaire? Why had he told Rachel that Merley was dead? Was he trying to scare Rachel? Make her stay away from him because she reminded him of his lost child? Or was there something more sinister to it? Every question she posed led to more questions. I need to try to call Adi again. This is all so convoluted, and if she is Nerbass’s daughter, no wonder she’s afraid. The call went to voice mail again. What’s going on? Why can’t I reach you? She wanted to get in her car and drive right back to the Pot. But if Adi’d had second thoughts about her phone call the night before, maybe she was just avoiding her phone calls. Besides, if I did reach her she wouldn’t be happy to hear where I am. I don’t want to lie to her. I’ll just wait until the morning.
Griff checked the time. It was just after six and most businesses in the area would probably be closing. Maybe she could find a restaurant or a bar, grab a bite to eat, and see if any of the patrons cared to shoot the breeze about Dulac’s favored son.
She made a slow circuit of the tiny township and had no luck finding any sort of dining or drinking establishment. She had just about made up her mind to go back to Houma when she thought of the shrimpers and the pier area. There would be someplace there to eat. She drove the last mile to the waterfront and found a place to park.
There were any number of rusty old cars and trucks parked along the embankment. There were five or six shrimp boats tied to cleats along the cement bulkhead, and random piers jutting out into the bay every few hundred yards. One of the piers had a small building lit up in neon called Shanghai Redd’s. She wasn’t sure if it was an eatery or a bar, but there were bound to be people inside.
She pushed open the wooden door and was greeted by loud Zydeco music and the smell of week old spilled beer. There was a long bar on the right and a scattering of scarred tables, mostly empty. The pool tables were busy, with most patrons gathered around watching a game. TVs above the bar had sports talk shows on. Three of the twelve bar stools were occupied by a couple and a single woman. She felt herself relax a bit with the knowledge that she wasn’t the only woman in the place. She sat on an empty stool and waited until the barkeep looked her way.
“Yeah, what can I get you?”
“I’ll have whatever you have on tap. Dark, if there’s an option.”
“Got it. Coming up.”
She watched the animated people at the pool table. It must be a money game. There was a tall blond fellow who seemed to be struggling. His opponent was a wiry brunette, not much bigger that Griffith. She seemed too young to be in a bar legally, but that wasn’t unusual for a small town.
The bartender set a tall glass of deep mahogany colored ale in front of Griffith. “There you go, pretty lady. A nice ale for a beautiful face.”
“Thanks. What is it?”
“That’s an Abita Turbodog. I hope you like it.”
She noted that the glass wasn’t overly chilled, always a good sign. She took a long pull and savored the rich chocolaty-nuttiness of the ale.
“Oh yeah, that’s a nice ale.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Tell me what’s going on at the table over there.”
“What, that? That’s just Sherry, showing off again. She comes in once a week to take the money off these poor gullible fishermen.”
“Ah, a shark, huh?”
“Nah, just gifted. She never takes all their money and is mostly just having fun. Makes for a bit of excitement. What brings you in? I know you aren’t from around here. ”
“I’m just looking for information. I’m a writer and I’m trying to get a feel for the area.”
“Oh, like a novelist? That’s cool. We got lots of color down here. This is a good place to set a book. You know, like a mystery or something? Easy to get rid of unwanted characters, if you get my drift.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, you got the Gulf right there in front of us. Want to get rid of something or someone, just take them a mile or so out and dump them. Won’t be much ever found. Or the marsh. Just get a jon boat and run it up into one of the bayous. Dump your trouble and cruise away.
Gators will eat anything. Nothing ever coming back out of the marsh that’s been put there to stay.”
“It’s that easy, huh? Just dump your victim and they’re gone for good? Are you sure about that? Seems too simple to me.”
“I’m telling you, it’s been done. Been done around here. More than once.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“People talk. You know, after a drink or two, they forget what they should say and what they shouldn’t.”
“Are you telling me people have confessed to dumping bodies to you? Right here in this little bar?” Griffith grinned at him to let him know she wasn’t judging, just interested.
“No, now, hold on. No bodies, but stuff they wanted to get rid of, you know. Like stolen goods and stuff. But I’m sure there have been people who were taken into the marsh and never came back. No doubt about that.”
“If you could think of anyone in this town who would’ve taken a body into the marsh, who would it be? Who should I model my villain on?” C’mon, take the bait. If she brought up Nerbass, she’d probably get the same reaction she’d gotten from Mabel. But if he did it himself…
“Could be any of these guys. Maybe they get tired of giving Sherry their money. Maybe they decide to take it all back, and she fights them. Maybe she ends up falling and, you know, accidentally gets killed. Then here’s this poor scumbag, killed a girl while trying to rob her, so what’s he gonna do? Call the cops? No way. Dump her. That’d be a good story.”
“I don’t know. I mean there’s not a lot of motivation there, and how does an accident carry a whole novel? It needs to be something more sinister, something that will hook readers and make them want to stay until the end. We have to have a really despicable villain. Someone people just naturally want to hate. Is there anyone around here like that?”
“So you mean someone with power? Someone who could hurt people and it wouldn’t even faze him?”
“Exactly. That’s more like it. Maybe a law officer gone bad? Or a businessman? The guy who owns the shrimp boats?”
His eyes lit up, and he glanced around before he leaned toward her. “Oh, I got just the guy! You need to use Nerbass. He’s just the ticket. Only, you have to be real careful, like. You know? That guy is serious bad. He won’t want to have anything to do with any mystery writer. But heck, he probably has a bunch of convenient bayou trips he could tell you about.”
“Nerbass? Tell me about him. Why does he make a compelling villain?”
“Shoot. He’s pure evil, that’s why. And I’m not lying, neither. He could kill you with a look, I swear.”
“What’s his story? Is he the guy that owns the boats?”
“Nah, that ain’t him. Nerbass is serious big. He runs the crews out to the oil platforms on his helicopters. Not him personally, but his pilots. Has a high-end fishing outfit too. I remember when he first came to Dulac, him and me, we used to hang out sometimes. But he got way too big for us little people.”
“So success changed him?”
“Damn straight it did. J.B. used to be the nicest guy. Happy-go-lucky and all that. Then he started his bait shop. The first couple of years, he was still just himself. I guess it was about the time Ike ripped through here that he started to change.”
“Hurricane Ike?”
“Yeah. He got some kind of connection hooked up with his old college buddy, Raymond something or other. Then he started being squirrely. Lots of money started rolling his way. Suddenly, we wasn’t good enough for him. Started hobnobbing with the New Orleans and Houston clowns who come down here to fish. It was like he became a completely different guy.”
“You don’t say. Where do you think the money came from?”
“Well, from that Raymond guy. I’m sure of that. Loaned him the money to buy his first helicopter.”
“That’s quite a big loan. Those aren’t cheap. How do you think he paid Raymond back?”
“Well, if anybody asks, you didn’t hear this from me, but I think he has some shady business on the side.”
“Like what?”
“Heck, I don’t know. Maybe sometimes his choppers come in loaded with more than oil roughnecks.”
“Smuggling? Like human trafficking?”
“Could be. Who’d notice down here? Might be more than that too.”
“Are you just speculating or do you have some proof?”
“What?”
“I mean, if he’s involved in illegal activities, I’m not sure I want him to know I’m writing a book modeling a character on him. I kind of enjoy breathing.”
“Ha! I know what you mean. For a minute there you made me think you might be a cop or something. I’m no snitch. I’ll tell you about J.B. for fiction, but if you was to ask me proper, I’d have to say he’s an upstanding businessman.”
“No worries. I appreciate your help. So if I want to find out more about Mr. Nerbass, for my research, who would I talk to?”
He shook his head and wiped the bar down in slow circles. “I told you, you have to be careful. You really don’t want to be on his bad side.”
“But what is he like? I mean does he have a family? Is it obvious that he’s shady? If I met him would I get a sense that he was dirty? I like to know my characters inside and out.”
“He has a family, but no, you’d never know he was anything but a gentleman if you met him. In fact, you would believe it to your core until the moment he took you out.”
“What is his family like? Trophy wife and requisite kids?”
“Now, sure, but once, he had a real family. He fell hard for a local gal with a young daughter. Married her and they seemed really happy. Then one day the daughter up and disappears. No one ever heard from her again. The cops figured she ran away, but nobody could figure out why. She and her mamma had a hard time before J.B., but once he was in the picture, that kid was all smiles all the time. For a while, anyway.”
“What do you think happened to the daughter?”
“I can’t say. I suppose she could’ve run off, but I don’t know. To me, it seems strange she would leave when she was so happy. She couldn’t have been much more than thirteen or so. Too young for it to be about a boy. It sure imploded the rest of the family. J.B. was crazy with grief. He searched everywhere for the girl. The mother, Eloise, she didn’t seem too upset. It was like she was relieved or something. She and J.B. were split by the year’s end.”
“Is the mother still around?”
“Oh yeah, she still lives in the house they shared back then. Down at the end of Old Bridge road. She lived there before J.B. entered the picture. I wonder sometimes how she feels now that he’s a big deal. Making money hand over fist, living in that big old mansion in Morgan City, and her, still in that tiny little worn out cabin, her daughter gone too. I bet she’s sorry she let him get away.”
“You think she’d talk to me about him?”
He inhaled with a hiss. “I don’t know, lady. You’d be getting awfully close to being on J.B.’s radar. I wouldn’t risk it if I were you, especially for a made-up story, but it’s your call.”
“I appreciate your candor in talking to me. I can’t wait to start writing. What do I owe you for the drink?”
“Ah, that’s on the house, but the next one you can pay for. You’re going to come back and keep me in the loop on your book, right?”
“Once it’s written, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Most excellent. Take care now, and stay out of trouble.”
“Thanks.”
Griffith made her way back to her car, thinking about Eloise Nerbass. Would she be likely to answer the door if she just showed up? Good probability. She looked at her maps app and found Old Bridge Road. Her instincts were on overdrive, the scent of a real story driving her on the way it used to. We’re going to get him, Adi. Somehow, we’re going to turn things around for you. As soon as she had something more, she’d call Adi to clear things up between them. Until then, she needed to keep doing what she was good at.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“We need to plan her service, kid. It’s what we have to do. She ever say anything about what she’d like?” T’Claude said.
“I can’t, T. I’m not ready.”
“Adi, you don’t have a choice. Bertie deserves to be celebrated, and it’s our job to arrange things. Now where do you think we should look for her will and stuff? Maybe she has a plan written there.”
Adi tried to pull herself out of the deep depression that had fallen on her after Bertie’s death. She really couldn’t. It hurt too much to think about, and being in the house without her made it so much worse. She needed to get T to understand.
“I need you to just go home, T’Claude. I really can’t do this right now.”
“I know you’re hurting, but we have to plan now. Folks are going to start getting upset if they don’t hear something soon. It’s been two days.”
Two days. Was it only two days? Time seemed to fracture without Bertie. Every bit and piece of the last two days was a part of a kaleidoscope of numbness bordered by pain. Adi felt like a grain of sand being whirled in that cylinder, landing in one space and then another. Why did Bertie have to go? How was she going to find a way to anchor herself and move on?
“Come on, Addison. You need to get a grip. Bertie gave you everything, a home, a life, a family. Are you telling me you can’t find it in yourself to give her the send-off she deserves? I never thought of you as selfish.”
The words stung, but Adi knew he was right. She needed to be strong and give Bertie her best. That was what Bertie had taught her to do.
“You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just so hard. Let me think a minute.” She considered where Bertie might have put directions regarding her funeral. Maybe in her room somewhere. Adi hadn’t had the willpower to go in there yet. Or maybe with the papers in the safe deposit box at the bank?
“There might be something in her room, and we should check the bank box too.”
Bitter Root Page 18