Bitter Root (10 page)

The idea of a reporter following her around and prying into her
life had been so unappealing, but the reality wasn’t so bad. If only she could
trust Griffith not to write about her past and at the same time, get her help
finding out about J.B., she might just get the freedom she wanted. She felt so
disconnected to the child she had been, and she realized that being around
Griffith had made her aware of how far she’d come. But the risk to her loved
ones was real. Too real to disregard. She’d have to make sure there was no
chance they’d be hurt.

Consciously, she knew she wasn’t really responsible for Ransom’s
death. That was on J.B. It would be his word against hers if it ever came down
to it. But running away and hiding for all this time would reflect poorly on
her. And if the truth came out, J.B. wouldn’t stop until she was dead. Until
they all were. No, there was no way she could ever let anyone find out what
she’d done. As much as she wanted to see if Griff could help, it wasn’t worth
the risk.

Time to get
moving. The day won’t wait forever.
She hopped up and hit the
shower. She would put all thoughts of that time out of her head and just be in
the present. She dressed in her jeans and a T-shirt and went into the kitchen.

“Yum. It smells good in here,” she said.

“It should. There are hot biscuits in the oven and grits on the stove.
Get yourself a plate and have some breakfast,” Bertie said.

“Thanks.”

Adi loaded her plate, poured some coffee, and sat at the table
with Bertie.

“So what did you do with your day off? Did you go to the
community center and play some bridge?”

“Nah. Those old folks make me tired. I went down to Louis’s house
and watched his grandbaby for a couple of hours. He had a doctor’s appointment
and you know how his girl relies on him to watch little Clayton.”

“He must be getting pretty big now, huh?”

“Aw, he’s just about the perfect age. Old enough to get around on
his own, but too young to talk back. He’s pretty easy to take care of. How was
your boat ride with the reporter?”

“It was fun. She’s awfully easy to be around too.”

“That’s good. Did she ask you too many questions?”

“No, just a couple I couldn’t answer.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t answer? What you mean is you
wouldn’t
answer. You’re
going to have to let go of the past, sometime. There’s a thing about hard
history, the letting go is almost as painful as the living of it. I know you
regret the things you were made to see and do. We all got regrets. Thing is,
you can’t live on them. I worry about you keeping all that nasty stuff bottled
up. Griffith is here to tell your story, and the restaurant’s, of course, but
your story even more. This is your chance, girl. Time to take a hold of the
rest of your life. You know there was a reason those folks ended up at the Pot.
A higher hand directed them to our door. You can’t ignore that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. I just can’t talk about that
time. You’re the only one I’ve ever told. It’s just too complicated.”

“Well, at least think about it, Dink. It would be good for you to
not carry that weight on your own. Maybe she could help you. I know you’re
worried about what your father’s going to do. You’re scared he’s going to come
up here and hurt you, me, everybody. He might. He sure might, but isn’t he
hurting you now? Isn’t he keeping you small when you’re meant to be so much
more? Thing is, by not speaking up, you’re leaving other innocent people in
danger. You just have to find a way to bring the whole sorry mess to light.
Griffith might know the way. That might be why she was led here.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Risk is the backside of happiness. You can’t have one without
the other. I know one thing for sure. You are gonna bust open if you don’t let
that stuff go. I can see it bending your soul, plain as day. If you don’t
figure out some way to come to grips with it and resolve it, you’re going to
regret it. It will break you.”

“Bertie…”

“Bertie, what? What? I’m telling you the truth, Dink. It’s
getting worse every day. You have to do something. You need to find a way to be
in the world, girl, not just on it.”

Adi swallowed the last of her bitter coffee, savoring the chicory
tang. She rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

“I don’t want to talk about this. I’m off to Johnson’s to get the
crawfish. I’ll see you at the Pot.”

“All right. If that’s how you want it. I’ll see you later.”

Griffith looked at her computer screen.
Am I doing the right thing? I know
there’s something in her past that Adi is afraid of
. It could be
abuse, but her instincts said there was more to it than that. She felt like she
was betraying the fragile trust Adi had shown her by even thinking about
running a search, but she hadn’t lied. She’d told Adi that she had to have the
facts, for Dawn, for the magazine. It still felt wrong. If only Griffith could
get Adi to tell her where she had been before she landed at the Boiling Pot. If
she knew, she’d be able to decide if it was appropriate to write about it. They
could talk about it. As things stood, Griffith was handicapped by Adi’s
reticence.

A simple computer search might help her piece together Adi’s
childhood. She now knew that Adi’s father had been a shrimper. That limited her
search to over 100,000 commercial shrimpers along the Louisiana coast. Adi
arrived at the Boiling Pot on a bicycle, making it more likely that she came
from one of the communities due south of New Iberia. She’d probably taken the
coastal road, which meant the most likely towns would be the ones back south,
toward the Gulf.

Griffith pulled up a map of the area on her laptop.
Where did you come from?
There were several possibilities along Highway 90. Morgan City had a fairly
large shrimping community, and Berwick and Patterson also had active shrimping
communities, though smaller. If she kept going down the coast, eventually
Highway 90 led to some much smaller communities. Should she start looking?
Griffith had never hesitated researching her subjects. Not even with Tabitha.
She’d been stymied by Tabitha’s machinations, but she did her best to get the
truth.
Why am I feeling
so conflicted? I’m just doing my job.

Griffith typed in Morgan City. After a minute’s hesitation, she
hit the enter key. She searched
missing
teenagers/Louisiana
and found a registry of missing persons. It
would be tedious, but this was the kind of research she was built for. Finding
the connections that led to her story took time and effort. Griffith was
determined not to shirk her responsibility to get it right this time. She read
through the entries, narrowing the window for disappearance to late 2007 to
early 2008.

Inputting her parameters brought her twenty-seven pages of results.
It would probably take her a week to go through the list just once. Questioning
whether it was worth her time, Griffith grabbed a notebook and got down to
work. After three hours, she leaned back and rubbed her aching eyes. Her list
of possibilities was short, only a handful of girls the right age and
description for Adi so far. She needed a break, and something to eat.

She contemplated going back to the Boiling Pot, but she wanted
something different tonight. She opted for a hibachi joint down the street from
her hotel.

The restaurant was cozy but clean. The shared tables were mostly
busy, which she took as a good sign. She put her name on the list then headed
to the tiny bar for a beer. She had taken one sip when someone placed a gentle
hand on her shoulder. T’Claude Michaud was standing beside her.

“Hey there. You aren’t scouting a new place for your story, are
you?”

“No, not at all. Just having dinner. How are you, Mr. Michaud?”

“Now, come on, call me T. I’m good. This is a good little place
to eat too. Can I buy you dinner?”

Griffith looked at him, gauging his motivation. Was he interested
in her or just being considerate? If it was the former, she would have to be
clear that he wasn’t her type. His warm smile alluded only to friendship.

“Well, that depends.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you’re thinking to influence my writing, I can’t be
bought. If you’re thinking to share a pleasant dinner, I’m all yours.”

He laughed heartily. “No influence peddling here. My dad took
care of that for the family. I would just enjoy talking with you over dinner.”

“You’re on, then.”

The hostess called them to be seated, and they crossed the bar to
the dining room. The other diners at their table were involved in conversation,
so they were able to talk uninterrupted.

“So, what do you think of the Pot? Is everyone treating you
nice?”

“Oh yes, everyone has been wonderful. Adi’s my primary focus, of
course. She’s very intriguing.”

“Adi? Really? I find her about as exciting as watching paint
dry.”

“Oh come on, you know she has a story. She’s hiding something and
that’s what I want to unlock. Her secret. I think the human interest potential
of a runaway turned professional chef will really appeal to the masses. Her
relationship with Bertie and you defines her. I want the backstory, the root.
What motivated her to leave home and how she ended up here.”

“You looking for pearls among the cockles, girl. Adi is as plain
as plain gets. She isn’t hiding anything. You want her to dredge up her past
for your story? What if her past is hurtful to her? That just ain’t right to be
pulling at someone for something they let go of so long ago. Look here, now, if
you hurt that girl, you’re going to have me to deal with, you hear?”

“I don’t want to hurt her. That’s the furthest thing from my
mind. I just want to have all the facts. If there is something in her past that
could damage you, or your business, wouldn’t you want to know?”

“Aw, you can’t be serious. Adi was practically a baby when she
landed at the Pot. She grew up right here. We know all we need to know about
her. She’s a good person with a good heart. And it don’t hurt that she’s an
amazing cook.”

“You have to wonder what it is that keeps her so tense all the
time, though.”

“She’s not tense all the time. That’s just special for you. Most
of the time she’s laid back and easygoing. I don’t think you get just how shy
she is.”

“I don’t find her shy at all. She’s hiding something, and she
knows it’s my job to find out what it is.”

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your job is to write about
the restaurant. Whatever Adi isn’t telling you has nothing to do with the Pot.”

“How can you say that? How can you even know? Has she told you
what it is?”

“No.”

“Then you really have no way of knowing how it could impact your
business. This article is going to bring all sorts of attention to you and your
place. If there is a time bomb ticking in the kitchen, it’s likely to blow once
we publish.”

“Whatever happens, happens. Just give Adi the space she needs.
She’s special, that girl, and she’s the reason my restaurant is so damn good.
Her past don’t affect the present.”

“I can’t give her space. It’s part of my job. If I don’t get all
the information I need to feel secure with the article’s veracity, I can’t put
my byline on it.”

“You can’t be serious. Something that happened, or didn’t happen,
to a fourteen-year-old kid is going to keep you from writing your story?”

“It all depends on what that something is, T’Claude. That’s why I
have to keep asking until I get the truth.”

“Whatever. Good luck with that.” He stood and dropped a couple of
twenties on the table. “Dinner’s on me. Take care.”

Griffith sat back and blew out a frustrated breath. She felt out
of sorts. The need for background on Adi was imperative, but talking to people
about it made her feel sullied. Dirty. She had to get Adi to open up to her on
her own. There wasn’t a clean way around it.
In
LA there wouldn’t be any question about the need to know what was in someone’s
closet. The people here are so…private.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number she had for
Adi.

“It’s your dime, best be talking.”

“Hello?”

“Yeah, what you want?”

“Um…this is Griffith McNaulty. I’m trying to reach Adi Bergeron?”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? This is Bertie. Adi’s still
working. She won’t be leaving the restaurant for a few more hours. You can call
the main line there if you need her. I doubt she’ll be able to take a call,
though.”

“What time does she usually finish on a Tuesday night?”

“It’ll be eleven if it’s a typical night. If it’s busy, it’ll be
closer to midnight.”

Griffith checked the time. Eight forty-five. Two or three hours
to go. She could go back to her room and search more missing persons reports.

“Okay. I’ll catch up with her later then. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If you want, you can come on over to my place
and wait for her here. I don’t have much going on. Just watching my programs on
television.”

“Thank you, Bertie. I might just do that. I didn’t realize she
lived with you. I guess I just assumed she lived on her own. Would it be okay
to come over around ten thirty?”

“Sure, honey. You come on when you feel like it. I’ll be up. I
don’t go to bed until I know my girl is home safe.”

“Great. Thanks again.”

“Well, all right. Bye now.”

Griffith said her good-byes and left for the hotel. She put in
another hour studying old missing persons notices before grabbing a quick
shower and heading over to Bertie’s house.

It struck her that she didn’t exactly know where Bertie’s house
was, but the feeling she knew them had made her forget that fact. She called
again and got directions. The house was charming, a little Victorian cottage,
probably dating from the early 1900s. There was a nice wraparound elevated
porch with a wicker swing.