Gabriel - Jessie Cooke Page 0,43

much to tone down how scary he could look. The young woman behind the desk in the empty front room let her eyes go wide as she looked up at him, swallowed hard, and lost a little bit of the color in her cheeks. “Hi,” she said, in a shaky voice. “How can I help you?” Blackheart smiled at her and that seemed to put her somewhat at ease.

“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Grossman.”

She glanced over at the closed door and then back at Blackheart. “Okay, do you have an appointment?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Just in town for one day and really need to speak with him.” She’d cocked her head to one side as he spoke and it dawned on him that she was having a hard time understanding him. Making sure to enunciate each word he repeated himself and she looked relieved and said:

“What’s your name sir?”

“Evan Babineaux.”

“And can I tell Mr. Grossman what this is in reference to?”

“No,” he said, adding, “Thank you,” with a smile.

“Please, have a seat.” Blackheart nodded at her and took a seat in one of the plastic chairs along the wall in front of her desk. She gave him a wide berth moving over to the closed office door and without knocking, she let herself in and closed the door behind her. Blackheart listened closely and could hear hushed voices, but not what they were saying. Finally, after a full five minutes had passed, the woman came out of the office, this time followed by the man he’d seen out front. Without his glasses on, Blackheart could see that it was, without a doubt, the Paul Grossman he’d seen a photo of. He was much older, but other than the gray hair and a few fine lines around his eyes, he looked the same. His smile looked forced as he came toward Blackheart with his hand out. Blackheart stood up and took it.

“Mr. Babineaux?”

“Yes. I assume you’re Paul Grossman?”

A slight tic appeared in the man’s left eye. “Yes, sir. Sounds like you traveled a ways to get here.”

Blackheart grinned. “I don’t sound like an East Coaster to you?”

Paul chuckled nervously. “No, sir, you sure don’t. I’d say maybe Mississippi or Florida?”

“Louisiana,” Blackheart said. “But you’re close. Can we talk privately?”

“Well, sir, I have quite a few appointments out of the office today. Would you mind telling me what this is about?”

“Kasey Cormier,” Blackheart said, watching the man’s face, closely. The man was good, Blackheart had to give him that much. His expression didn’t change and recognition didn’t show in his eyes. But the color was instantly gone from his face. He was as white as a sheet and Blackheart knew there was something the man either did, or didn’t, want to tell him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t...”

“You don’t remember the woman and the baby who lived with you for six months while you were in your twenties?”

With a nervous glance in the secretary’s direction, Paul said, “Maybe we should talk about this in my office.”

Blackheart smiled. “Yes, sir. Maybe we should.”

16

As soon as they were both seated in the surprisingly posh office for such a small town, Grossman said, “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Are you a relative of hers or...?”

Blackheart thought about that for a few seconds and then said, “Patrice is my daughter.” It was the first time he’d said it aloud without saying “maybe” or “supposedly” and he realized, as he said it, he believed it. The girl wasn’t looking for anything from him. The pages of her mother’s diary he’d read had described him, and the tattoos he’d had at that time, perfectly...and there was the fact that his twin was sitting across the street just then. She didn’t only look exactly like him, he was finding out more and more that she’d inherited a lot more than that.

Grossman’s eyebrows went up. “Oh...Kasey did say he was a biker...how did Patrice find you?”

“That’s not what’s important right now,” he said, still working hard to enunciate as now Grossman was cocking his head to one side like a dog listening for the mailman. He thought his English was fine, but if he ventured too far from Louisiana, he found out differently. “I need to know about Kasey...specifically, her death.”

Grossman picked up a bottle of water off his desk and took a long drink before saying, “I don’t know much about that.”

“Then maybe we should talk about why. I mean, I don’t know you, but