by Jessie Cooke
18
By the time they had to leave to meet Blackheart at the Inn, Patrice had only gone through one box. She’d taken everything out slowly, touching it tenderly, and reading every page of any card or book she found. Gabe’s heart was twisted up and he was almost exhausted from fighting the tears that threatened to pour down his face as freely as the ones that were running down hers.
She was quiet on the drive over to the Inn, which only took about ten minutes. It was on the far edge of town, away from the bigger, fancier ones that undoubtedly attracted the elite on vacation, looking for a five-star meal and spa as part of their package. The “Inn” was nothing more than an old Victorian mansion that had been renovated to offer travelers a comfortable night’s sleep and maybe a few good, home-cooked meals. Blackheart was already there, and while Patrice went inside with him, Gabe waited outside with Lowlife and Le Pirate. Once their president was out of earshot Lowlife said:
“Damn, that girl looks so much like him, it freaks me out a little.” Le Pirate laughed then, and before he even opened his mouth, Gabe cringed.
“How do you not think about Blackheart when...”
“Don’t say it,” Lowlife beat Gabe to it. Gabe knew Le Pirate didn’t mean anything by the remark, but his muscles were tense and his fists were clenched at his sides just waiting for it. Le Pirate looked at Gabe’s hands at his sides and with a sincere tone he said:
“Hey, bro, I’m sorry. Sometimes my mouth starts running before my head starts working.”
Gabe let his body relax and smiled at Le Pirate. “I get it, man. She looks just like him...but she’s not him. I don’t think about him at all when I’m alone with her, trust me.” Lowlife chuckled and winked at him. Le Pirate laughed too, and then they all looked up at the big, white house in front of them and Gabe, at least, wished he knew what was going on inside.
Patrice was amused. She’d been torn up, looking at all of her mother’s things and thinking about all she’d missed, so her amusement surprised her. But standing next to Blackheart at the check-in counter at the Inn, she’d watched him work his “magic” on the young girl, and it had amused her. Patrice supposed that she could see that he was a good-looking man. She knew a lot of women really got into the tattoo sleeve thing, although she had never been overly impressed with tats. Gabe only had the one on his back, and she liked that. He didn’t have to walk around advertising them...she’d always thought men who did were lacking something else. Five minutes at that counter proved to her that whatever her biological father was lacking, it certainly wasn’t self-confidence. He called the girl “hon” and put an almost French spin on the end of all of his words, and Patrice watched the barely-out-of-her-teens woman practically dissolve into a pile of mush before her eyes. When the girl walked to the back to fetch Grayson, she couldn’t help but say:
“That was quite a show.” Blackheart gave her a quizzical look and she said, “That poor girl was so smitten with the way you were flirting with her that she could barely breathe.” He chuckled then and winked at her and said:
“That wasn’t flirting, it’s just my natural charm.”
Patrice rolled her eyes, but before she could think of a smart retort, a middle-aged man was coming out of the back, followed by the girl who still couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Blackheart. “Mr. Babineaux?”
“Yes,” Blackheart said. “And this is Patrice Cormier.” Patrice hadn’t heard anyone use her actual name. She’d gone through her life thinking her uncle was her father and of course her last name was the same as his. But she liked Cormier and in spite of herself, she smiled at Blackheart when he said it. When she looked back at the other man, he was looking at her strangely.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said. “I’m sorry...it’s just a little strange. I haven’t seen you since you were about eight months old. You always did have the prettiest blue eyes.” He took her offered hand, but glanced at Blackheart as he did, undoubtedly noticing the resemblance the way everyone else seemed to. When he let go of her hand Grayson Little said, “Why don’t we go back to my office? Louise, hold my calls, okay?” The girl nodded, but shamelessly still had her eyes all over Blackheart. Oddly annoyed by that, as Patrice slipped past her she whispered:
“He’s taken.” The girl gave her a look that could kill and Patrice returned it with a smug smile.
Grayson took them back to a small, comfortable office and offered them a seat and something to drink. They both sat but declined the offer of a beverage and Blackheart got straight to the point. “So you remember Kasey well?”
“I do,” he said, sitting behind his desk. “Kasey was a sweet girl and we really enjoyed having her here with us, even though it was for such a short time. My ex-wife and I were devastated to hear what had happened to her.” He looked at Patrice then and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but I didn’t even know about her until recently.” The man looked confused and Patrice gave him a brief breakdown of how she’d been raised, thinking the pretty dark-haired girl in pictures was her aunt, and not her mother. When she finished he let out a low whistle and said:
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that. Kasey was crazy about you. She was a good little mother. You always came first to her. My ex-wife and I were never able to have children and watching her with you when she brought you to work every day was heartwarming for us. For those few short months, having a baby around brought a lot of joy to our lives.”
“Thank you,” Patrice said. Again, straight to the point, Blackheart said:
“Did you know of anyone who might have had a problem with Kasey? Someone who might have wanted to hurt her? Did she ever mention being afraid of anyone, especially right before she went out to New Orleans to her father’s funeral?”
Grayson frowned and his bushy gray eyebrows met in the middle. “I was told by Paul that Kasey committed suicide; is that not true?”
Blackheart looked at Patrice and she said, “I’m having a hard time believing that. She had everything to live for, and she just suddenly decides to jump off a balcony and leave her eight-month-old child alone? Does that make sense to you?”
He was already shaking his head. “I never asked for details. I mean, Paul told me she had jumped from a balcony, which is horrible. I didn’t know...you were there, with her?”
“Yes. They found me alone in the room, and she didn’t leave a note or anything. So none of it makes sense to me. Did you ever know her to be suicidal?”
“Oh no, absolutely not. Kasey was full of life, and like I said, she adored you. I can’t imagine her leaving you alone like that. I’m sorry...I always just assumed because Paul said you were with her family, that she’d left you with them before she...” He stopped there, like he couldn’t bring himself to say, “killed herself.” Taking a drink of the bottle of water on his desk, he looked thoughtful for a few seconds and then said, “I can’t think of anyone I knew that would want to hurt her. Everyone loved her, even our tourists...” He hesitated then, for so long that Blackheart said:
“What is it? Did you think of someone?”
“Not someone, per se...I just remember this day when I came into work and Kasey was already here. Usually she was out with the guests when I got here in the morning while they had their breakfast, refreshing their coffee or helping the kitchen staff bring things out. They always all loved the baby she carried in a pack against her chest. But that morning she was in the office, and I could tell she’d been crying. When I asked her what was wrong she blamed it on hormones...I don’t know much about women who have babies, but you were already about six months old at that time. I remember telling her she should go home and take the rest of the day off, and then being surprised when she took me up on it. Kasey never left a minute early, or showed up a minute late, and that was the only day I ever remember her not being here when she was scheduled, except for the days she asked off to go home to
her father’s funeral.”
“But you never figured out what was wrong with her?” Patrice asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s been a long time ago so forgive me if I’m forgetting some of the details...I do remember mentioning it to the wife when she came in that day. She thought it was strange too and she called to check on her. Later that day she told me something that I think I meant to ask Kasey about later, but I can’t honestly remember if I ever did. She said that Kasey sounded good, but she’d asked my wife to do her a favor while she was on the phone. There was a guest here...a couple, I think. But my wife said Kasey specifically mentioned the man by name and asked how long he was registered for. When the wife told her he was only there for one night, she seemed relieved...I don’t remember anything else ever coming of that, though, so I must not have followed up with her on it. I wish now that I had.”
“You think she was afraid of this guy?”
“I don’t know if I’d say afraid, she just seemed really sad to me.”
Patrice looked at Blackheart and he said, “Any chance you have records from twenty-five years ago?”
Grayson made a face and said, “I have the registration books...that was before we went online. Once we did, about ten years ago, we’ve tried to go back and catch up...but that’s going slowly.”
“Would you have any idea what day that was? The month or the date?”
Grayson was shaking his head again, and Patrice felt discouraged. “No, all I really remember was that it was just about two months before she went to New Orleans. Like I said, she never asked for time off, so that’s the only reason why any of that sticks out to me.”
“Any chance you’d let us look through those books, around that time?” Blackheart asked.
Grayson looked again like he was thinking it through and while he was doing that, Blackheart reached into his pocket and took out a thick, black wallet. He opened it up and Grayson said, “No, please. You don’t have to offer me money. I want to help if I can...I’m just not sure about confidentiality or anything like that.” Blackheart put the wallet away and said:
“There’s only one name we’d be interested in, and there’s probably not much chance of us even figuring out who that is. But I can promise you if we do, no one but us will ever know where it came from, and if you ever needed anything in the future, my club would be more than happy to do whatever we could to repay your kindness.”
Grayson nodded and stood up. Blackheart and Patrice followed suit. “The books are in the basement. I’ll show you down.” When they got to the bottom of the stairs in the fully furnished basement he looked at Patrice and with a warm smile he said, “I hope you find what you’re looking for, but if you don’t, please never forget how much she loved you. She told me once that her life had been dark before you, and after you it was like constantly living in the sunshine, no matter what the weather was like outside.” Patrice felt the tears burning her eyes yet again. She held them back and gave him a smile, thanked him, and once he was gone she looked at Blackheart and said:
“While it’s just us here, I want to tell you how much I appreciate you doing all of this. I know to you she was just a one-night stand, but...”
“But what I’ve heard about her so far makes me wish I had gotten to know her,” he said. “I’m sure I would have liked her...her daughter’s starting to grow on me already.”
19
Patrice and Blackheart knew that it had been late August of 1997 when Kasey’s father passed so they began with the books marked May and July of that year. It was hard because they had no idea who they were looking for. Patrice concentrated on couples, which unfortunately was the bulk of those registered. She was also concentrating on the ones from the southern part of the United States, because if Kasey knew them it was likely she knew them from back home, or Maine...and there weren’t a lot of visitors who were local. She glanced over at Blackheart when she was about halfway through her book. He’d tied his long hair back in an elastic band and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, poring over the book in his hands. For the second or third time that day, looking at him gave her a warm feeling...and that was strange because from the moment she’d first seen him, she’d tried hard not to like him. However, the more she discovered about her mother’s life, the more she was coming around to the idea that her mother hadn’t really given him any choice where she was concerned. Kasey had written in her diary many passages about telling him someday, but at the time she died, she still hadn’t decided if that was the right thing to do or not. She was afraid he’d think she wanted something from him, and from what Patrice could tell, her mother was pretty independent. She didn’t like to ask for help, and she even wrote a lot about how inept she felt, letting Paul pay for most of the household bills. With Paul, however, she also wrote a lot about how someday she was going to be a doctor, and she could finally repay him for everything that he’d done for her. Patrice didn’t judge her mother for living with a man she knew was married, and had children, but she had a hard time understanding it. Was her mother’s self-esteem so low that she didn’t believe she had a right to a man who was her own?
“Fuck,” Blackheart said, suddenly, breaking the silence in the room, and startling her out of her thoughts.
“What? Did you find something?”
“Bernard Hebert...fucking Bernie...”
The name didn’t mean anything to her. She waited several seconds and when he still didn’t look up at her she said, “Is that someone you know? His name is in the book?”
He looked up at her then and she saw the flicker of a fire in his blue eyes. “Motherfucker was one of my men. He was an enforcer for the club years ago. I...” He hesitated and then said, “Cut him loose, back in the 90s. He was, at least I suspected he was, feeding information to...” Another hesitation. Patrice was smart enough to know he was trying to put things in a way that wouldn’t implicate him or his club in anything illegal. “He was talking about things he shouldn’t be outside of the club, and messing with...” He stopped again, this time for much longer, and then said, “After I cut him loose, I never saw him again. I was told he moved out to Shreveport and last I heard of him he’d married and had a couple of kids. I thought the threat was removed...” His eyes looked sad for a second, and then angry as he said, “The motherfucker was here...registered at this inn in July of 1997.”
Patrice wasn’t sure what any of that meant. “Did he know my mom?”
Blackheart shook his head. “I have no idea...but if I met your mother at any of the club functions, then he might have known we’d been together...fuck.”
“So what now?” she asked.
He sighed and said, “Let’s finish going through the books. If we don’t find any other possible leads, we’ll head back to Louisiana in the morning and I’ll have a talk with Bernie. Either way, I think he and I will have a talk. It’s way too much of a coincidence to think he just happened upon this place eight months after you were born.”
She nodded. Patrice could feel the adrenaline suddenly pumping through her veins. She didn’t want to know her mother had been killed, necessarily, but somehow...as horrible as that idea was, it wasn’t as horrible to her as thinking that she’d been so depressed that she’d kill herself and leave her child behind. Maybe that was a selfish way to think about it...but she figured if she had nothing else after twenty-six years, the least she could have was the knowledge that one of her parents at least wanted her. Unable to suppress all of the questions she had, she picked the one she was most curious about:
“Who was he messing with?” Patrice expected him to say Sally, since she’d come to find out what Sally Guidry meant to her “father.” But instead, after another long hesitation he said:
“My little sister.”
“Is it weird for you, being here?” Gabe asked Patrice. She was standing near the window of the room they’d checked into at the Inn, staring out into the dark Maine night. He still didn’t know her well enough to always
know what she was thinking. When she and Blackheart had finished looking over the books in the basement, she’d seemed almost excited, but Gabe knew a lot about adrenaline rushes and it seemed to him now that she was on a downhill slide as that adrenaline ebbed away and was replaced with questions and doubts.
She turned and looked at him with her pretty blue eyes. Giving him a little smile she said, “It’s all weird. Looking at Blackheart and thinking about him being my father is still weird to me. Did you know he had sisters?”
“Yeah, he has three of them. He’s really protective of them, though. I’ve met them, but he doesn’t let them come around the club.”
She came over and sat down on the bed next to him. “Don’t you think it’s weird that they all live together and none of them has ever been married?”
Gabe smiled. “You’ve met their brother, right? Could you imagine being the guy that had to be good enough for one of his sisters?”
Patrice smiled. “I guess it’s a good thing his ‘daughter’ picked you, huh? He doesn’t seem to have a problem with us being together.”
“I’ll admit, Blackheart cuts me a lot more slack than he does a lot of the other guys. But to be honest I’m just not sure he’s had time to really absorb the fact that you’re his kid...and I might be sleeping with you.”