A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,80
father really was Thomas Milford. But I guess we have our answer in her name. The puzzle pieces fit together. Your mother wrote those letters.”
Con didn’t say anything. He looked at the typewritten name, unwelcome tears blurring his eyes and pain seeping through him. I miss you, Mom.
His breathing became erratic. He shoved the paper back at the clerk. “Thank you.” He needed to escape from the camera, from the punishing fluorescent lights, from the past.
“You really are descended from Louisiana aristocrats.” Lizzie touched his arm, making him flinch.
“Let’s get out of here.” He strode for the door.
Back at the house there was still no electricity, and Lizzie tried hard not to laugh at the exchange taking place in the unlit dining room after a hurried take-out lunch.
“Well, yeah, I probably could, but I don’t have an electrician’s license so it wouldn’t be legal,” said Con to a fierce-eyed Maisie.
“But they said they can’t get anyone out here until the day after tomorrow! That’s supposed to be the day of the wedding! We’re on a deadline here, for crying out loud. I have to be back in New York by the weekend.”
Con shrugged.
“Don’t you understand? There’s no electricity. None at all! The entire main circuit is blown. There are no lights. We can’t cook. We have no water. All the hotels are full because of some zydeco festival. It’s a disaster!”
“A propane range works without electricity, and the bayou’s out back.” Con adjusted his cuff. He looked up at her. “Maybe you could fly out an electrician from Manhattan.”
Maisie stared at him for a second. “You know, that’s not such a bad idea.” She stormed off, punching numbers into her cell.
“So much for our all-expenses-paid vacation in the lap of luxury,” said Con. “Everyone keeps trying to put me to work. They’re going to have me rebuilding the transmission on that van any minute the way Maisie’s running it into the ground.”
“I don’t think she knows how to drive stick either.” Lizzie winked. “Where’s your spirit of adventure?” She punched his arm, feeling strangely cheerful for reasons she couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe because she hadn’t had any time to sit and think.
Probably a good thing.
“I managed to get you an appointment with a local lawyer for this afternoon!” Gia burst into the room. She looked from Con to Lizzie, glowing with excitement.
“Why?” Lizzie wondered if Gia had been smoking something other than Dino’s cigarettes.
“He’s famous for tracking down missing people—heirs of estates in probate that kind of thing. If anyone can find Con’s brother, he can. And guess what?”
“What?” Lizzie said on cue.
“He’s the same lawyer who owns this house!”
“Oh. Okay. So can’t he do something about the electricity? Like, bribe a local electrician or something?”
“Oh yes, that’s all under control. He said he’ll have someone out right away.”
“Thank God. Tell Maisie before she blows a fuse.”
“Will do. Anyway, I have the lawyer’s address right here. He’s expecting you at two. No cameras, though. Something about attorney-client privilege. He wouldn’t budge on it.”
A strange buzz of excitement tickled Lizzie’s skin. “We’ll be there.”
“So you’re a Beale?” Eric Stapleton, esq., leaned into his wingback office chair and surveyed Con over his reading glasses. He was fiftyish, with silvering dark hair and a slight paunch straining his pinstriped shirt. Stacks of files climbed the walls of his office. Pictures of his perfect-looking family faced visitors from the top of his vast mahogany desk.
“I am.” Con sat straight as a cypress.
“Well, well, well. I thought we’d seen the last of the Beales in these parts.” The lawyer let out a laugh and wiped his nose with a large white handkerchief as if overcome by amusement.
Lizzie bristled.
“Things have been quiet around here since your daddy died. He sure did know how to stir up some excitement on a Saturday night.” The lawyer looked steadily at Con with a supercilious smirk on his face.
“Do you know where I can find my brother?” asked Con stiffly.
“Can’t say I do. As you said, there’s no record of him after your daddy died. My assistant did some preliminary poking around, and he’s off the school records after that year. Never registered with social services and nobody’s seen him since.”
He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “Must have left town. Do you have any relatives he could have gone to stay with?” He replaced his glasses and peered at Con through them.