appointment."
She smiled nicely. "Oh, yes, Mr. Cole. I'm Darlene. Ms. Chenier's expecting you."
Darlene led me back along a corridor that was solid and enduring, with heavily lacquered pecan walls and art deco sconces and framed prints of plantations and cotton fields and portly gentlemen of an age such that they might have shared cigars with old Jeff Davis… Old times there are not forgotten… The whole effect was unapologetically Old South, and I wondered what Darlene felt when she walked past the slave scenes. Maybe she hated it, but then again, maybe in a way I might never understand, she was proud the way any person might be proud of obstacles overcome and disadvantages defeated, and of the ties with a land and a people that adversity builds in you. On the other hand, maybe not. Like friendship, you take your paycheck where you find it.
She said, "Here we are," and then she showed me into Lucille Chenier's office.
Lucille Chenier smiled as we entered, and said, "Hello, Mr. Cole. I'm Lucy Chenier."
Lucy Chenier was five-five, with amber green eyes and auburn hair that seemed alive with sun streaks and a wonderful tan that went well with the highlights. She seemed to radiate good health, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors, and it was a look that drew your eye and held it. She was wearing a lightweight tweed business suit and a thin gold ring on the pinkie of her right hand. No wedding band. She came around her desk and offered her hand. I said, "Tennis."
"Pardon me?"
"Your grip. I'll bet you play tennis."
She smiled again, and now there were laugh lines bracketing her mouth and soft wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Pretty. "Not as often as I'd like. I had a tennis scholarship at LSU."
Darlene said, "Would you like coffee, Mr. Cole?"
"No, thank you."
"Ms. Chenier?"
"I'm fine, Darlene. Thanks."
Darlene left, and Lucy Chenier offered me a seat. Her office was furnished very much like the reception area and the halls, only the couch and the chairs were covered with a bright flower-print fabric and there were Claude Monet prints on the walls instead of the plantation scenes. A blond wood desk was end on to a couple of double windows, and an iron baker's rack sat in the corner, filled with cascading plants. A large ceramic mug that said LSU sat among the plants. The Fighting Tigers. She said, "Did you have a nice flight?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you."
"Is this your first time to Louisiana?" There was a southern accent, but it was slight, as if she had spent time away from the South, and had only recently returned.
"I've visited twice before, once on business and once when I was in the army. Neither was a fulfilling visit, and both visits were hot."
She smiled. "Well, there's nothing I can do about the heat, but perhaps this time will be more rewarding."
"Perhaps." She went to the blond desk and fingered through a stack of folders, moving with the easy confidence of someone who trusted her body. It was fun watching her.
She said, "Sid Markowitz phoned yesterday, and I spoke with Jodi Taylor this morning. I'll bring you up to date on what we've done, and we can coordinate how you'll proceed."
"All right."
She took a manila folder from the desk, then returned to sit in a wing chair. I continued to watch her, and continued to have a fine time doing it. I made her for thirty-five, but she might have been younger. "Yes?"
"Sorry." Elvis Cole, the Embarrassed Detective, is caught staring at the Attorney. Really impress her with the old professionalism.
She adjusted herself in the chair and put on a pair of the serious, red-framed reading glasses that professional women seem to prefer. "Have you worked many adoption cases, Mr. Cole?"
"A few. Most of my experience is in missing persons work."
She said, "An adoption recovery isn't the same as a missing persons search. There are great similarities in the steps necessary to locate the birth parents, of course, but the actual contact is a far more delicate matter."
"Of course." She crossed her legs. I tried not to stare. "Delicate."
"Are you familiar with Louisiana 's adoption laws?"
"No."
She slipped off her right shoe and pulled her foot up beneath her in the chair. "Jodi Taylor was relinquished to the state for adoption on an unknown date thirty-six years ago. Under the laws of the state at that time, all details of that surrender and all information pertaining to