Chapter 6 – The Search
Bart got up the next morning and caught a cattle boat headed for New Orleans. He'd make the trip back by stage, passing through Lake Charles and Jonesville, but the boat, while smelling God-awful, was the fastest way to get where he was headed. He was there in two days and hoped he'd never have to ride another cattle boat in his life.
The first thing he did was check into the Chez Georges and order a bath; anything to remove the bovine stink. Then the hunt began. This was going to take a while, and he knew it. But he had to start somewhere, and the parish halls seemed the most likely. The spread out city of New Orleans had different parts housed in three separate parishes; Orleans, St. Bernard and St. Charles. He set out for Orleans Parish since the bulk of the city itself resided within its confines. He began with birth records from the ten years that surrounded Hanford Dupree's date of birth, hoping to find some trace of Helene Mazant, the first fiancée. There was none.
After many hours of searching old records for evidence of Helene's existence, he switched tactics. Instead, he searched through birth archives for Dalton Dupree, but at the end of the first day he'd found none of those, either. Tired and dusty from rifling through all the old documents, he headed back to Chez Georges. A change of clothes and a fine French dinner, complete with a glass of excellent red wine, helped to relax him and lessen the frustrations of an all day long fruitless search. He wandered into the gaming room of the Chez Georges and spent a most productive evening playing Chemin de fer, not his favorite card game but about all he had the energy for. His luck seemed to have returned, at least for this particular pastime, and when he decided to retire for the night he'd won several hundred dollars.
The bed was divine, and he had no trouble falling asleep. In the morning he headed straight for the parish hall, determined to finish his search in Orleans before the day was done. He finally struck gold when he switched to marriage records and unearthed one for Helene Mazant DuPree and Frederick Plessis, dated some six years ago. That was an interesting discovery. According to Bess, Helene and Hanford had broken their engagement before her mother and father met. Had there actually been a marriage, or had Helene just used the name after Dalton was born?
He once again went back through the old marriage registers but found none for Mazant and DuPree. At least now he had a married name for Dalton's mother, Helene DuPree Plessis. One more search to be made. As evening beckoned he finally abandoned the hunt, as he had the previous day, and retired to Chez Georges. He flirted shamelessly with the hostess of the gaming room and promised to return for her at two in the morning when she finished work.
By that time he was sure that his losing streak had been broken. Tonight he'd played poker and won the majority of the evening, and when the time had come for him to collect the delightful Genevieve from her position he took her for late night coffee and some excellent Creole pastries at the little café down the street. Genevieve insisted that she never did things like that, but returned to his room with him willingly and was happily asleep in his arms when the sun rose the next morning.
This third day he set off for St. Bernard Parish Hall and was rewarded almost immediately with records of the birth of Dalton Ulysses DuPree, to Helene and Hanford Dupree. He altered his search again, now searching for any sign of marriage for the Dupree's or a divorce for same. He again spent all day combing through old, hand-written documents, all to no avail. Genevieve had the night off and found herself wined and dined by the thoroughly charming and delightfully witty Bart Maverick, and once again when morning came the lovers could be found sleeping soundly, wrapped in each other's arms.
Bart spent one last day rummaging through old marriage records, this time in St. Charles Parish. One final time he hit pay dirt, uncovering the marriage registers of Hanford Dupree and Gabriela Baptiste, some two years after the birth of Dalton Dupree. He'd found quite a plethora of information – the birth of Dalton to Helene and Hanford Dupree, the marriage of Gabriela and Hanford, and the subsequent marriage of Helene to Frederick Plessis. Had Helene and Hanford married somewhere other than New Orleans, or was the birth of their son just recorded as if they were married? And if they truly were wed, were they never divorced? Was his subsequent marriage to Gabriela illegal?
It was on to the next step, and that was to try and locate Helene Plessis if she was still alive. That could take time and would definitely take patience, and Bart had wisely made arrangements to see Genevieve tomorrow night, rather than tonight. Two straight nights of enjoying a ladies company in the fascinating city of New Orleans and he was ready for sleep almost as soon as he'd finished dinner.
That night he dreamt, but this was one of the few nights that what he saw in his dreams wasn't about him or something that had happened in his life - the dreams were strictly about Bess, Dalton, Hanford, Helene, and Gabriela. And a nagging thought that had lurked in the back of his consciousness from the first time he'd heard the story of Hanford Dupree's murder – that maybe, just maybe, Dalton Dupree was not the person that shot Bess Dupree's father.
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Armed with the information he'd gathered over the past several days, the gambler decided to roll the dice and went looking for Helene Mazant Dupree Plessis. He tried every police department, every newspaper office, church, social club and tea parlor he could find. He checked with every ladies clothing store and hat shop, hoping the name would be recognized somewhere. Once again the day brought nothing until almost the last moment before suspending the search for the night.
He'd just asked the very agreeable lady at Mademoiselle Tourmaline's Exquisite Clothing Store if she knew anyone by that name, and she'd politely told him 'no.' As he turned to leave the shop, an older woman caught his arm. "Son, did I hear you ask about Helene Plessis?"
He politely tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am, that's the lady I'm searchin' for. Have you heard the name before?"
She was momentarily distracted. "Is that a Texas accent I hear? Bless my soul, a real one for a change! Some of these dandies around here try to fool the ladies . . . . . but I stray off course. Helene Plessis lives next door to me. About two blocks from here. May I inquire why you are trying to locate her?" She smiled at him, all the while thinking 'what a handsome young man.'
"Ma'am, I wish I could give you a better answer, but it's a personal matter. It has to do with a relative of hers. I assure you, I want nothin' from the lady but some of her time."
Once more she laid her hand on his arm. "I am Minnie Lavolier, son. What is your name?"
He placed his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture. "Bart Maverick, ma'am. May I have the honor of escorting you somewhere, Mrs. Lavolier?"
Minnie, who was old enough to be Bart's grandmother, giggled like a schoolgirl. "That, Mr. Maverick, would be the highlight of my day."
Bart opened the door for her, breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief. You just never knew where you were going to find help. Minnie Lavolier's arm in his, the gambler guided her slowly, carefully, down Carondelet Street, talking and laughing together the whole way. When they got to St. Ann Avenue they turned south, and within twenty feet Minnie Lavolier stopped. "This is it, Bart. I'm sure you'll find Helene home, she rarely goes out. I live right next door." She started to pull away from him and he stopped her.
"Now what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't make sure you got safely home?" With that he walked Minnie up the steps to her front door and waited while she found the key and unlocked it.
"Promise me you'll come back and have coffee with me before you leave New Orleans?" she asked while stepping inside.
"You mean tea?"
"No, sir. I may be an old lady but I'll never drink that colored water that passes for tea. I mean coffee."
That caused a slight chuckle from her escort. "Yes ma'am, I guarantee I'll come back to visit." He kissed the back of her hand and tipped his hat, and Minnie giggled once more and bestowed a dazzling smile on him. 'I bet she had more suitors than she knew what to do with,' he thought as he waited for her to close and lock the door. Once Minnie was securely indoors he practically skipped down the steps and up the next set to Helene Plessis' door. He knocked and waited, and was rewarded with the faint echo of footsteps.
"Yes?" A small, regal looking woman asked as the door opened.
"Mrs. Plessis? My name is Bart Maverick. I'd like to talk to you about Dalton Dupree."