To honor the release of the second Parata Occult Mystery book, The Betrayed, I’ve decided to give you guys a preview of one of my favorite new characters, Bernard Latour: 

New Orleans, Louisiana: 4:09 PM, Tuesday, October 16th, 1984

After spending a fruitless morning interviewing Burke Foundation volunteers, Rae and I visited a sandwich shop for a late lunch, then drove back over to St. Christina’s.

As we stepped out of the cruiser, Rae asked, “Do you know where the building Grimes mentioned is?”

I shook my head. “Nope, but I don’t need to.”

She followed my gaze to the side of the church, where Bernard was out in the garden trimming a decorative shrub, shears clicking away.

She shook her head and came around to join me as I crossed the street.

We skirted the scaffolding on the side of the bell tower and entered the garden through an open iron gate attached to a stout stone fence. Walking along tidy inlaid stone paths, we made our way through the garden to stand beside Bernard. He didn’t so much as look over at us; he was completely absorbed in his work.

Close up, I took a second to look Bernard over. He was a few inches shorter than me and maybe fifty pounds lighter, with a sturdy frame that was just beginning to go to fat. I guessed him to be about my age, with close-cropped hair thinning at the crown and graying at the temples. He was dressed in clean but worn work clothes, and his huge hands were covered in calluses and scars from a life of manual labor.

I watched him for a few moments, astounded at the skill he displayed with the clippers. He was expertly trimming the shrub, taking off millimeters of material at a time. It reminded me of watching my barber, an ancient black man who had been cutting hair longer than I had been alive. The way his fingers knew exactly how much to remove, and where, to create a perfectly sculpted shape out of such an insubstantial material never failed to fascinate me.

Rae nudged me, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Bernard?” I ventured, softly.

The clippers stopped immediately, and Bernard turned towards me, as if awakening from some kind of daze. As he did, his Creole eyes, light blue contrasting with his clay-colored skin, leapt out at me.

“Uh… yessir?” he responded, looking at me with an expression that reminded me of a mistreated dog - obedient and hopeful, yet fearful.

I felt my expression soften.

“Bernard, I’m Rev, and this is Rae. We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay?”

When Bernard’s gaze landed on Rae, I could almost see little hearts bubbling up in them like a Saturday morning cartoon. His ears, a light copper color, turned even more reddish, and he looked down shyly.

Rae smiled up at him with amusement. “Bernard?” she asked, trying to catch his eyes with hers.

Still avoiding her gaze, shifting in a kind of delighted discomfort, Bernard answered, “Oh, you can call be Bernie, miss. All my friends does.” His ears reddened further.

I shot Rae a grin, ceding the interview to her for the moment.

“You have a lot of friends, Bernie?” Rae asked.

Bernie looked down at his feet, shuffling. “Oh yes, yes ma’am.” He shoved the shears in a pocket, then opened one huge hand and began ticking down fingers.

“There’s Father Kelly, and Ms. Grimes, and Mr. Pritchard at the candy shop, and Ms. Alicia, and Jerome, and Ms. Daniels at the flower place…”

When he ran out of fingers he started back over, ticking off the same five fingers over and over.

“Then there’s Billy, who delivers the papers, Ms. Wilson, who always gives me pie on Sundays, Mr. Fitzgerald… oh, and Ms. Burke, who is always real nice to me.”

He looked down at his hand. “Five friends,” he proclaimed, proudly holding his large, calloused mitt up with all the digits splayed.

“I see,” Rae confirmed, beaming a smile at him. “Bernie, we just want to ask some questions about your friends. Is that okay?”

Bernie squirmed, smiling. “Sure Ms. Rae, you can ask me anything.”

“What kind of person is Father Kelly?” Rae asked.

“Father Kelly is a very nice man. He helps all kinds of folks. He lets me work in the garden.”

“You like working with the plants?”

Bernie nodded enthusiastically. “Father Kelly says God gave me a green thumb, but I thinks my thumb is the same color as the rest of me.”

Rae snorted in amusement, and I piped up. “Bernard, are any of your friends mean?”

Bernie looked over at me briefly, then back down at his feet. “It’s not nice to talk bad about folks, Father Kelly said.”

Rae jumped back in. “What about your favorites? Which friends do you like the most?”

“Gosh. Well, there’s Father Kelly, and Jerome, he’s funny, and Ms. Alicia,” he said, ears going red again at this last name.

“What about Ms. Grimes?” Rae asked.

“Ms. Grimes is the boss lady,” Bernie said. “She gives me work to do.”

“Do you like work?” I asked.

“Oh yes, yessir I do. I likes to help folks.”

I nodded. “Does Ms. Grimes ever say things that make you feel bad?” I asked.

Bernie looked up at me, fear and discomfort both plain in his eyes. “Well, sometimes she says I need to do a better job, and that makes me sad. I like to do a good job. But she always lets me try again and I always do better.”

I nodded. “Does Ms. Grimes ever hurt you, Bernie?”

He jerked his head up at me, a shocked expression on his face. “Oh no, no sir. But sometimes…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes what, Bernie?” Rae asked.

“Well, sometimes she takes me to the doctor, and he pokes me with needles, and that hurts. I don’t like needles.”

Rae smiled at him. “Neither do we, Bernie,” she added.

“How does Ms. Grimes treat the homeless folks?” I asked.

“Oh, like everybody else, I guess. Ms. Grimes ain’t mean, Mr. Rev, she just don’t know how to be nice.”

I smiled a little at that. “What about Mr. Fitzgerald? What kind of person is he?”

“Oh, he’s a real nice man. I see him at Mass, and he always shakes my hand and tells me to watch after Father Kelly.”

“Watch after? Like how, Bernie?” Rae asked.

“He says if anyone is to try and hurt Father Kelly, I am s’posed to make them stop.”

“Has that happened before?” I asked.

Bernie bounced from foot to foot, not meeting my gaze. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, Father Kelly said so,” he said.

Rae caught my eye, a look that seemed to say, ‘Let me take this one.’ I nodded.

“Do you think you could tell me if I promised to keep it secret?” Rae asked.

Bernie shifted from foot to foot some more, staring down at the ground, a pained expression on his face. “I can’t Ms. Rae, I can’t. I promised, so I can’t.”

“It’s okay, Bernie,” Rae said in soothing tones. She reached out and touched one of his massive arms. “Let’s talk about something else, alright?”

Bernie stopped shuffling and nodded, features relaxing.

“What about Ms. Burke? Is she another of your friends?” I asked.

“Oh, yes sir, Ms. Burke is very nice. She gives me lots of suckers, and I get to give them to other people so they can be happy too.”

Just then, his eyes lit up, like a scientist having a eureka moment. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a handful of lollipops. “You want a sucker Mr. Rev? Ms. Rae?”

I smiled. “Sure, Bernard,” I said, “Thank you.”

When Rae and I both had ours, Bernie unwrapped another and stuck it in his mouth, a look of pure pleasure crossing his face as he sucked contentedly. He jammed the rest of the wad of suckers back into his pocket.

Rae and I shared another look, then she turned back to Bernie.

“Bernie, what was Ms. Alicia like?” Rae asked.

“Oh, Ms. Alisha is the best. She’s got a little dolly she lets me play with sometimes. Some of the other folks laugh at me for playing with it, but never Ms. Alicia.”

He paused for a moment, then added, eyes downcast shyly: “She’s real purty. Just like you, Ms. Rae.” The red was creeping into his ears again.

Rae beamed a smile at him, and his ears changed a few more shades.

“Bernard, when is the last time you saw Ms. Alicia,” I asked.

Bernie shifted his gaze to me, a puzzled look coming into his eyes. “Well,” he began, brow crinkling in concentration.

“Bernie?” I interrupted after a few moments of Bernie staring in silence.

He looked up at me, eyes blank and confused. “I can’t ‘member, Mr. Rev.” Tears began welling up in his eyes. “I can’t ‘member.”

I hope you enjoyed meeting Bernie as much as I enjoyed writing him. Drop me a line and let me know what you think. 🙂