Bitter Root (24 page)

“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.

“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.”

“Good, let’s go check her room.”

They went into the small bedroom near the back of the house. The
scent of Bertie was everywhere, but somehow Adi found it comforting. She walked
to the tall chifforobe in the corner where Bertie had her most precious things.
The top was adorned with pictures of Bertie and Adi, Bertie and her brother,
and Jacques and Adi individually. The top drawer held Bertie’s nightclothes,
mostly full-length silk gowns. The second drawer had as assortment of
knickknacks, a St. Anthony medal, several rosaries, some memorial cards from
the funerals of family and friends. A small box with mostly costume jewelry.
The third drawer finally revealed Bertie’s bible. Adi knew she kept some papers
folded within its pages.

She carefully lifted the book from the drawer and sat on the edge
of the bed with it. T’Claude dropped down beside her. They looked at the gilded
cover for a while, both lost in their thoughts.

“Bertie loved the Lord, that’s for sure,” T’Claude said.

“Yes, she did. This book meant an awful lot to her.” Adi opened
the cover and found the family genealogy page covered with names dating back
into the early 1800s.

“Wow, a true family bible. That’s so rare to see these days. This
book was held by Bertie’s ancestors. See here, that’s her mamma’s name there.
And here, at the end, that’s you.”

Adi looked at her own name carefully inscribed in Bertie’s family
bible.
She claimed me as
her own.
She felt her chest tighten as the depth of Bertie’s love
became clear. Adi had always felt like Bertie was her mother of choice, but now
she knew Bertie had shared that feeling. She wasn’t just being kind to Adi; she
truly loved her.

Adi flipped the page, not wanting to confront the grief that this
realization brought. Several papers fluttered to the floor with the quick
motion. T’Claude bent to retrieve them. He opened the first and read.

“This is her will. She left her house and her share of the Pot to
you, as should be. We need to give this to her lawyer for probate. And here,
this is a life insurance policy.”