Darkwater Truth

by Robin Caroll

  “Of course.” She laid a hand against his chest. Surely she could feel his heart almost beating its way out to her. “You be careful out there, Beau. I mean it.”

  He put a quick peck on her lips. “Yes, ma’am. For you, anything.”

  12

  — Dimitri

  Dimitri toyed with the plastic edge of the visitor’s badge clipped to his suit jacket as he licked his lips. The smooth plastic against his fingers seemed out of place contrasted with the harshness of the prison.

  Cha-clink!

  The sound echoed off the quiet walls of the federal penitentiary, causing his spine to stiffen as the electronic door of bars disengaged and slid apart at an agonizing snail’s pace.

  The guard tapped his shoulder again and gestured toward the private visiting room usually reserved for visits between attorneys and inmates. Beau had gotten Dimitri this privacy with his father, and Dimitri was suddenly more appreciative than he ever imagined. “I’ll wait right out here to take you back whenever you’re ready.”

  Dimitri nodded, then hauled in a long, ragged breath, let it out slowly, and proceeded into the room. His pulse hammered. He discovered his feet were reluctant to move, as if he were the prisoner condemned to spend years behind bars, not the man he called his father.

  Inside the prison walls was nothing like Dimitri had ever imagined. The air reeked of urine and feces, masked only by the overbearing odor of cheap disinfectant. He swallowed against the urge to turn and run, then steadied himself by glancing down. Cracks streaked along the dank, dismal gray floor in a repetitive pattern, causing a strange sense of normalcy invading his perception of the unexpected. The dreary, yet foreboding atmosphere overpowered his senses more than the stench.

  He sat in the cold, unyielding plastic chair on the side of the wooden table closest to the outer door. To make a quick getaway if need be? Maybe. Possibly. Likely. The room boasted no windows—no chance of sunlight, or hope, to pierce the stagnant atmosphere of the isolated four walls. Musty air hung in the room like a cloud of hopelessness.

  Footsteps echoed down a hall, then the door swung open and Claude Pampalon glared at his son.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Dimitri stood suddenly.

  The guard who’d escorted Claude hesitated at the doorway, as if gauging if it was safe to leave the two men alone.

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  A moment passed between them, then Claude shrugged. “Why not? At the very least, it’ll break up the routine here.” He moved to the opposite side of the table and sat. “Talking to you in here is better than sitting in the community room out there.”

  “We’ll be right out here.” The guard stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him, but standing beside the guard who’d brought Dimitri in. Both of them could see through the window filling the top half of the door.

  Dimitri sat back down. Now that his father was before him, he didn’t know what to say. How to start. Where to start.

  “Must be something important for you to actually come here.” Claude’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to my hotel?”

  “Nothing. We’re actually finishing up some remodeling Adelaide ordered. We’ll be able to add more rooms, which we need since we’re staying at capacity pretty much all the time.” At least, that’s how Adelaide explained it.

  “But those skeletons in the walls, huh?”

  Who had told him?

  Claude laughed. “It’s prison, son, not the dark ages. We do get newspapers and newscasts here.”

  “Oh. Right.” He hadn’t really thought about that. He’d hoped to get through the visit without the interrogation that was sure to come next.

  “I’m assuming the police haven’t identified the remains yet?”

  “Not yet. We’ve narrowed it down to the early to mid-1900s when renovations were done to the hotel.”

  “But no matches yet.” Claude didn’t ask.

  Dimitri shook his head.

  Claude sighed and sat back in the chair. The plastic popped a little. “If you came to ask me if I know anything about it, I don’t. Surely you can’t imagine something that happened when I couldn’t have been older than a child would be my fault.”

  “Of course not.” Dimitri shifted in the uncomfortable chair. “But while we were going through old documents, I came across a name in our family that I’ve never heard before. Harold. Harold Pampalon. Do you recognize it?”

  “Uncle Harold.”

  “What?” How had he never heard of a man his father deigned to use a familial term in reference to?

  “Harold was my father’s older brother.”

  “Then how come I’ve never heard of him?” Was his father just messing with him? Making up some story just to break his routine of boredom?

  “Because he ran away from home when my father was an infant and was never heard from again.”

  That detail matched everything he’d learned, but…

  “You see, my grandparents had tried to have children when they were younger, but couldn’t. Medical testing back in the early 1930s wasn’t what it is today. If a couple didn’t have children, no one really understood why not. Most either went childless, but some who were wealthy enough to afford it, adopted children. My grandparents, Louis and Eva Pampalon adopted Harold as a young teen.”

  Dimitri didn’t know what to say. He just leaned back in the chair and stared at his father.

  Claude nodded as he continued. “How I understand it is that Louis and Eva, childless and getting older and realizing they needed an heir to bestow the Darkwater Inn to, they opted to adopt. But not a baby. No, I was told that Eva didn’t want a newborn that wasn’t hers, so they adopted an older child. Harold.”

  Fascinating.

  “They sent him to the best schools, trained him in the hotel…basically giving him the best opportunities in life, much like I did for you.” Claude smirked at Dimitri. “But then, like you, Harold repaid them by running off from them.”

  Dimitri straightened in the chair. “I didn’t run off from you, Father. I told the truth. You were the one doing nefarious and illegal activities, putting not just yourself, but also the hotel at risk.” He stared at Claude across the table. “If anything, you were the one who caused this separation.”

  “Interesting that you decided to care about the fate of the hotel at that moment, despite my years of trying to involve you. Rather convenient, I’d say.”

  This was starting to sound all too familiar. “I didn’t come here to rehash it all with you.”

  “Why did you come, young Dimitri? Ah, yes. Harold. Fine.” Claude relaxed in his seat. “At any rate, no one knows why Harold ran away, but my father always said he was told it was because of him. Because Louis and Eva were finally able to have a son of their own, Harold was fearful he would be pushed aside in favor of my father, Henri.”

  Which, if Dimitri were being honest, sounded like the way it would’ve been in his family, the way it always went. Generations were hung up on the Pampalon name and producing heirs to carry on the hotel legacy.

  “Father said that there are a few pictures of Harold holding him as a child in an old photo album, but I never saw them. Frankly, I never looked because it didn’t concern me.”

  And the cold and calculating Claude had resurfaced. Prison might have started chipping away at his self-righteous attitude, but there was still a long way to go.

  “At any rate, if you’re truly curious about our family history, all of Father’s papers are in the safe in my bedroom at the house. There might be adoption records or papers in there.” Claude smiled that cocky smirk of his. “Oh, wait, you don’t have that combination, do you?”

  As usual, his father dangled something in front of him only to yank it away. But this time, it didn’t matter. “I don’t need a combination, Father. The police opened it when they served their warrant to search the house for any additional stolen pieces of art. That safe has been open since before you were imprison
ed.” He stood. “At least it wasn’t a total waste of time to come here. I’ll look for those papers.”

  Claude shot to his feet. “Sit down and let’s talk some more. Tell me what’s going on with the hotel.” The desperation to avoid minutes of loneliness almost got to Dimitri.

  Almost, but not quite. “Once the remodel is completed, I’ll have it appraised.”

  Claude nodded. “Good. Good to have the worth of the hotel kept up to date.”

  “Especially because Malcom Dessommes keeps calling with offers to buy. I wouldn’t want him to underbid.” With that, Dimitri turned and opened the door. He stepped into the hall and nodded at the guards.

  “You can’t sell my hotel! Dimitri! Don’t you walk away from me. You can’t sell my hotel! The Darkwater Inn is mine!”

  Dimitri never turned back, not even glancing over his shoulder. He started down the hall the way he’d been brought in, effectively ignoring his father.

  It felt fabulous.

  — Addy

  “Thank you for being willing to go through all this with me.” Dimitri opened the large box. “I don’t trust just anybody to go through whatever my father deemed worthy of keeping in his safe.”

  She was flattered, of course, but honestly, there wasn’t much else that she felt at the moment. What did that mean? She watched as Dimitri unpacked the box. “I still can’t believe how much stuff Father had crammed into his wall safe.”

  “To be fair, he is the owner of the Darkwater Inn and probably has a lot of papers in his home safe that are duplicates of what we keep in the hotel’s vault.” Addy smiled as she sat in one of the conference room chairs. She hadn’t expected to be back in this room sorting through papers so soon after finishing yesterday.

  “Well, it was a big safe.” He pulled out expandable folders, portfolio keepers, and stacks of papers.

  She still found Dimitri handsome as ever, and he was certainly sweet and sexy, but…she couldn’t quite explain that something inside her had changed, but she didn’t feel the same pull towards Dimitri that she once had.

  “A really big safe.”

  “Oh, my.” She’d expected Claude kept a lot of private documents, of course, but this…Dimitri was right—this was unbelievable.

  “Yeah.” He finally set the last packet of papers on the table and moved the empty box to the floor. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  The task did look overwhelming, but Addy knew they could tackle it. One pile at a time. She pulled the first expandable folder toward her. “Let’s just take everything as we come to it. We should be able to scan each pretty quickly and determine if there’s any reference to Harold.” His great-uncle. The information seemed insane, yet, also not. Not that that made any sense either.

  Nothing in her life was uncomplicated, it would seem.

  “Okay.” Dimitri pulled a pile of loose papers toward him and began skimming.

  Addy let out a sigh and opened the expandable folder. It might be they were chasing a dead-end, which would be something Claude would do—setting his son up with meaningless tasks just to prove a point, but chances were good that if there was any information on Harold’s adoption, it would be in this mess.

  But not in this slot of this folder. All these papers were in reference to the Pampalon house and estate.

  “I really appreciate Beauregard setting it up for me to see Father privately.”

  Addy put papers back into the folder. “He said he figured you’d rather avoid the ordeal of the regular visiting room.”

  “I did, and I’ll have to thank him.”

  She pulled out the next group of papers and began scanning, even as her heart pounded. Why? This was just Dimitri.

  “Adelaide?”

  She glanced up. “Did you find the papers already?”

  “No.” He set down the papers he clutched. “I want to talk to you.”

  She set down the papers she’d held as well, the tone of his voice telling her this was important. “Okay.”

  “You know how much I care about you. How wonderful I think you are and what an amazing woman you are. Right?”

  Her chest tightened, but she nodded.

  “I hope you know that I truly want what’s best for you.”

  The rush of blood pulsating filled her ears, numbing her thoughts. She slowly nodded. “I know all that, Dimitri, just like I hope you know I want what’s best for you. I think you’re wonderful and amazing as well.”

  “I do.” He smiled. “I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens between you and me, or you and Beauregard, I am your friend.”

  She let out a slow breath against a very dry mouth. She swallowed several times before she could speak. “I appreciate that.” Where was he going with this? How should she respond? How had her life become so complicated?

  “I just wanted you to know that.”

  She forced the smile she flashed at him and lifted the papers again. She’d felt sick at the thought of him ending a romantic relationship with her…but on the other hand, she hadn’t felt a sense of loss. What did that say about her? What did it all mean?

  “And I wanted you to know that despite it all, I think Beauregard is a good man, as well as being a good detective.”

  But the mention of Beau’s name…no, this definitely wasn’t the time or place. “He is.” She forced herself to look at the stack of papers she held. They referenced the autos and boats in the Pampalon estate—titles, deeds, etc. She jammed them back into their place, only slightly wincing as the divider shoved against her cuticle, and pulled out the last group from that folder.

  “Adelaide?”

  She really didn’t want to have this conversation about relationships with him…here…now. Okay, she didn’t want to have it period, but if he wasn’t going to let the matter drop, what choice did she have? She glanced across the table at him. His eyes were on a couple of sheets of paper he held, his face pale. It wasn’t about them… “What is it?”

  “These are the adoption papers of one Harold James.”

  She dropped her stack of papers onto the table beside the folder. “Details?”

  Dimitri nodded. “A male baby, born on October 31, 1917 to parents Robert and Samantha Holmes at Charity Hospital here in New Orleans. He weighed six pounds, six-and-a-half ounces and was eighteen inches long.”

  Addy rested her elbows on the table and continued to stare across at him.

  “He was adopted through St. Mary’s Asylum for Boys to Louis and Eva Pampalon on April 1, 1931.”

  Addy dropped her palms to the table and shook her head. “Wait a minute, this boy was born on Halloween and was adopted on April Fools’ Day? Then runs away on Christmas?” She couldn’t believe the irony. “This poor kid was doomed from the beginning.”

  “Apparently so. And an informational sheet from the hospital is here. It confirms the information on the birth certificate: date and time of birth, name of parents. Blood type. Attending physician’s signature.” Dimitri handed her the papers and flipped through the ones that were under it in his stack. “There’s nothing more here on Harold.”

  Only three sheets of paper, a birth certificate, hospital record, and an adoption certificate, and that summed up a whole person’s life? No, that couldn’t be. He had to have lived. Gone to school. Done something. Anything.

  She read his birth certificate again, then lowered the papers and stared at Dimitri. “Why did his parents give him up for adoption? He was two years old then.”

  “That’s a good question.” He shrugged. “Maybe they fell on hard times and couldn’t afford to provide for him.”

  No, that didn’t make sense. “I don’t think that’s it. The great depression wasn’t until the stock market crash of October 1929. This was a good decade before then, when times weren’t so hard. Most people were able to live comfortably before the bottom fell out.”

  Dimitri shook his head and tented his hands over the table. “I don’t know. Maybe the orphanage would have records. I
’m sure they kept more details than what was put in the adoption papers.”

  She read the adoption certificate. “He was adopted through St. Mary’s Asylum for Boys here in New Orleans, but they didn’t take babies. He must have transferred there.” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it. I mean, I know the St. Vincent’s Orphanage over on Magazine Street had a lot of babies back in the day. It’s been converted to a guest house you can stay in now. Maybe they know where to look for records like that?”

  Dimitri nodded. “Maybe. And I’ll put in a call to the Archdiocese of New Orleans parish. St. Mary’s had to have been a Catholic orphanage and I’m sure the district would know where such records are kept and if they are available.”

  “Smart.” She nodded. She flipped the page to the hospital record. “And maybe we could check with Charity Hospital, too. I mean, it’d be a long shot, but…” she stared at the information, something nagging on the edges of her mind.

  “What?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. Something…she should pick up on something…

  “I doubt the hospital would have any information about an adoption that happened on a child that was delivered there two years previously.”

  Not the adoption…something else.

  “Although, maybe the hospital had some notes if the child was deformed or needed future medical care, which could be a reason the parents would give him up for adoption. Adelaide?”

  The attending physician’s name…date…time…blood type. That was it, blood type! “The hospital recorded Harold’s blood type as B negative!”

  He stared at her from under wrinkled brows. “Yeah?”

  “Dimitri, the blood on the axe found here by the skeleton is B negative. The same as Harold’s.”

  “And he went missing on Christmas Day in 1938, during which time the Darkwater Inn was being renovated.”

  She grabbed Dimitri’s arm. “Our skeleton is none other than your great-uncle Harold.”