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“Hands up!”
“Don’t shoot me!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Don’t shoot me!” screamed Casey, paling as three weapons were pointed toward her slender body.
“Casey? What are you doing?” asked Islip. She held a photo in her shaking hand.
“W-who is this?” she asked with tears in her eyes, shaking.
“That’s my daughter. Where did you find that?”
“I-in your desk drawer. This isn’t me.” Islip stared at her, then back at the three men. He shook his head.
“Isn’t you? Casey, I don’t understand,” said Islip, shaking his head as he took the photo from her hand.
“I-I thought I was your daughter. I-I came to find my father.” Otto and the other men holstered their weapons, taking the photograph from Islip.
“She doesn’t even look like you,” said Otto.
“I’m so humiliated. I came all this way to be close to you, to try and have a relationship, thinking you were my father. I was angry, too. I thought my father didn’t care about me.”
“But my daughter’s name is Cassidy Islip. You’re Casey Morgan,” he said with a confused expression on his face.
“I used my grandmother’s maiden name. I was hoping you wouldn’t make any connections, but now I guess I know why you didn’t. My name is Cassidy Islip, but everyone calls me Casey. My father is Weston Islip.”
“Oh, Casey,” said Islip, reaching for the young woman, gripping her shoulders with a gentle hand. “I wish I were your father, but I am not. My daughter, Cassidy, works at the Louvre as an art curator.”
“God,” she sniffed, shaking her head in humiliation, “I’m so sorry. My mother said he was in New Orleans. He left us years ago but would send my mother money when he could. I just wanted to get to know him, find out why he left.”
“Where’s your mother?” asked Gabe.
“She died about five years ago. I went to culinary school and then tried to make my way here. I’m so sorry, chef.” She shook her head, wiping her eyes.
“You said your father’s name was the same as mine?” he asked with concern, tilting his head toward the girl.
“Yes.”
“Casey, I think I can help you,” he said. “Gentlemen, would you mind giving us a ride?”
“Anything,” said Gabe.
Locking the restaurant again, Islip took Casey’s hand, leading her to the vehicle. He gave Gabe the name of a place, and Gabe nodded, taking off in the direction. He was familiar with the location. His own mother has been there many times with donations, food, and even sitting for a while to visit with the residents.
“Where are you taking me? Are you arresting me?” she asked.
“No, Casey. I’m going to tell you a story. About twenty years ago, a man came to me looking for a job in the restaurant where I was working at the time. I was saving all of my money to buy La Fromage, but I wasn’t quite there yet. He was an excellent chef, so I thought we should give him a try.
“He did extremely well. He was the most skilled person I’ve ever seen in the kitchen with a knife. Amazing. We joked and laughed with one another often. Then, one day, I heard that he’d been fired by the owner. I had no idea why, but it upset me. I finally worked up the courage to ask the owner why. He just said ‘we don’t hire his kind here.’
“I still didn’t understand, so I tracked him down. I knew in my gut that this was a good man, and more importantly, he was a good chef. He was staying at this place,” he said, pointing to the large home.
“Peaceful Endings?” frowned Casey.
“It’s a home for people with incurable diseases, nearing the end of their life.”
“I’m not understanding,” she whispered. It wasn’t true. Casey did understand, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
