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 Jodi's biological parents were sealed. When Mr. and Mrs. Taylor adopted her, their names were entered as parents of record, and Jodi's birth name, whatever that might have been, was changed to Judith Marie Taylor. All records of that name change were also sealed by the state."
"Okay." Maybe I should take notes. If I took notes, she might think me professional.
" Louisiana maintains what we call a voluntary registry of birth parents and adopted children. If birth parents or adopted children wish to contact each other, they register with the state. If both the parent and the child are registered, then, by mutual consent, the records are unsealed and an intermediary working for the state arranges a meeting between the two."
"Did Jodi enter the registry?"
"Yes. That was the first thing we did. Neither of her birth parents are registered. I filed a request for special leave with the state to open the records, but we were turned down."
"So, legally speaking, that was the end of the road and now it's up to me."
"That's right. You'll conduct the actual investigation to try to identify Jodi's birth parents or locate a bio-family member who can supply the information she seeks, but you won't make contact with them. If contact has to be made, that will be my job. Do you understand?"
"Sure." Strong back, weak mind.
She took a folder from the larger file and passed it to me. "These are local maps with directions to Ville Platte, as well as some tourist information. I'm afraid there isn't much. It's a small town in a rural area."
"How far away?" I opened the folder and glanced at it. There was a Triple-A map of the state, a Chamber of Commerce map of Ville Platte, and a typed sheet listing recommended restaurants and motels. Everything the visiting private eye needs in order to swing into action.
"A little over an hour." She closed the larger file and placed it in her lap. "Our firm is very well established, so if there's any way that we can help with research or access to state agencies, don't hesitate to call."
"I won't."
"May I ask how you'll proceed?"
"The only way to ask about a child who was given up for adoption is to ask about a child who was given up for adoption. I'll have to identify people with a possible knowledge of the event, and then I'll have to question them."
She shifted in the chair, not liking it. "What do you mean, question them?"
I smiled at her. "Questions. You know. 'Where were you on the night of the fourth?' Like that."
She nodded twice, then frowned. "Mr. Cole, let's be sure that you appreciate the complexities involved. Typically, the birth parents of a child given for adoption in the nineteen-fifties were young and unmarried, and great pains were taken to keep that birth secret. It's just as typical that, years later, those birth parents are leading lives in which their current friends and families know nothing of that earlier pregnancy and the fact that a child was born. Nothing must be said or done that could possibly give away their secret. It's as much your job to protect the birth parents' confidences as it is to uncover Jodi Taylor's medical history. Jodi wants it that way, and so do I."
I gave her my most winning smile. "I just look stupid, Ms. Chenier. I can actually spell the word 'discretion.'"
She stared at me for a surprised moment, and a trace of color crept onto her cheeks and neck. She was wearing a necklace of large silver shells and they stood out against her skin. "That did sound like a lecture, didn't it?"
I nodded.
"I'm sorry. You don't look stupid at all. Perhaps I should tell you that these issues are important to me. I'm an adopted child myself. That's why I practice this kind of law."
"No apologies are necessary. You just want to make sure I respect everyone's privacy."
She was nodding. "That's right."
I nodded back at her. "I guess that rules out the ad."
She cocked her head.
"Famous actress seeks birth mother! Huge reward."
The laugh lines reappeared at the corners of her mouth and the flush went away. "Perhaps we'd be better served with a more conservative approach."
"I could tell people that I'm investigating an alien visitation. Do you think that would work?"
"Perhaps in Arkansas." Regional humor.
We grinned at each other for a moment, then I said, "Would you join me for dinner?"
Lucy Chenier smiled wider, then stood and went to the door. "It's very nice of you to ask, but I have other plans."
"How about if I sing ' Dixie '? Will that soften you up?"
She opened the door and held it for me. She tried not to smile, but some of it got through. "There are several fine Cajun restaurants listed in the folder. I think you'll like the food."
I stood in the door. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Maybe Paul Prudhomme will see me for dinner."
"Not even if you sing ' Dixie.' Paul Prudhomme lives in New Orleans."
"That makes two fantasies you've destroyed."
"I don't think I'll ask."
"Good night, Ms. Chenier."
"Good night, Mr. Cole."
I walked out singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," and I could hear Lucy Chenier laughing even as I rode down in the elevator.