A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 16

Con pulled the Jeep up in front of the nice-looking place with the yellow flowers outside and jumped out, palms sweating. He waited for Dino to get his camera going, then climbed the steps to the front door. Lizzie hung back until prompting from Maisie pushed her into the shot too. He had no idea who lived here, but there was one good way to find out.

He knocked.

“Coming.” A woman’s voice. The door opened to reveal a pretty girl with a baby on her hip and a perplexed expression on her face. She glanced behind Con and Lizzie to the camera, and her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh my gosh, did we win the Powerball?”

“No, no, nothing like that, I’m afraid,” said Con. “Sorry to get your hopes up.” He held his hand out, and she shook it gently as he spoke. “I’m Conroy Beale. I used to live just up the road.” He indicated the direction with a nod. “This is Lizzie, my… fiancée.” Fists clenched, Lizzie looked ready to explode with tension. “We’re visiting the place where I grew up, part of a TV show they’re doing on our wedding.” He pointed to Dino and Maisie.

The baby started fussing.

“I’m Charlene. Pleased to meet you. Um, won’t you come in?” Her expression was turning to one of alarm.

“Oh, that’s okay, we don’t want to impose, but would you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Um, sure.” She shifted the baby on her hip and pushed her fingertip in its mouth. She had long dark hair and skinny shoulders. The baby was a curly blonde cutie with fat thighs.

“How long have you lived here?” Damn, he sounded like Maisie.

“About five years now. My husband works a shrimp boat down the bayou.”

An irrational flare of hope soared through Con. “What’s your husband’s name?” Danny?

“Luke LeBlanc.” His heart sank. “He won’t be home for a couple of days. He’s lived around here longer than me. I’m from Thibodaux originally.”

Con racked his brain. Luke LeBlanc didn’t ring any bells.

“Do you know what happened to the people who used to live down there?” He cocked his thumb back up the road.

She shook her head and pursed her lips. “Nobody’s lived down there long as I’ve been here. Too wet now, I guess. The whole area’s sinking. Luke says we’ll have to move sooner or later.” The baby let out a cry of distress, and she moved it to her other hip. “You should talk to Mr. Gaudry up the road. He’s been here for ever.”

Con nodded. “Thanks. I remember him. He still shoot squirrels if they get up on his roof?”

She chuckled and bit her lip. “Yup. Shoots pretty much anything. He’s a mean old cuss. Hates kids.” She lifted the baby higher.

“Hasn’t changed then.” Con smiled at her. “Your baby’s very cute.”

“Thanks.”

He managed to get out an awkward goodbye and their entourage backed away to the cars.

Lizzie was white as a sheet. What was she all worked up about? This cozy little homecoming was all her idea. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you running a fever or something?”

“No.” she shook her head. Her gelled curls bounced around her shoulders.

“Your lipstick’s smudged. Let me fix it.” He reached into his pocket for a tissue, and wiped a smear off her upper lip. “Joe Gaudry shot our pig.” He glanced at Dino, who still had the camera trained on them. “I told you we had a pig, right?”

“Yes, I think you did.” Her lips tightened.

“Didn’t have it for long.” He pushed the tissue back into his pocket. “My dad won it in a poker game. It was just a baby. Danny and I caught food for it, fenced it in with sticks. It was a smart creature, I tell you.” He tilted his head. “Affectionate too. Kind of a like a pet. Anyway, we had it a couple of months, and it was getting big. It got too strong for our fence, broke out and ran off up the road when no one was around. It got into Joe Gaudry’s garden—he was proud of his peppers—and he shot it.” Lizzie’s moue of distaste gave him grim satisfaction. “My mom cooked it, but I couldn’t eat it.”

Lizzie looked away.

Aw, but sweetheart, I’m just giving you what you want. Did he feel sorry for her right now? Not really. He was working hard to hold himself together and being mean helped. Now he could see why Lizzie was so mean to him all the time.

“What a colorful story,” said Maisie, after a short pause.

“Yeah, that’s why I told it.” He didn’t smile. “I figured you’d want some color.”

Joe Gaudry must be about a million years old, he tried to reassure himself as they pulled up in front of his house. Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily affect his trigger finger. Funny how those old fears came crowding back, even though there was pretty much no way old Joe was going to point a shotgun at him with a camera present.

He half hoped Joe would be out, but the sound of a radio blasting Cajun music put paid to that idea as he stepped out of the Jeep. The old cuss had to have spotted them by now. The dog chained out back was barking up a riot.

Con waited for the cameras—he was getting pretty good at this—and climbed the wooden steps. There were at least ten of them. Old Joe’s house was always the highest for miles around.

Lizzie waited at the bottom.

He rapped on the door, right where “Private Property: Don’t Get Shot!” was painted in neat white letters.

He hauled in a breath as he heard someone fumbling with a chain on the other side.

“What?” snarled a throaty voice. The door swung open. Jesus, he hadn’t changed at all. Hair still speckled gray and slicked right back with pomade.

“Hello, Sir. I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Conroy Beale, I used to live just up the road.”

“Conroy Beale.” The rheumy hazel eyes narrowed. “The same Conroy Beale that let my dog loose and stole oranges from my tree?”

Con ran a hand through his hair. “Um, yes. And I’d like to formally apologize for that unlawful act.”

The dog barked on.

The old man didn’t say anything. His eyes narrowed further. Con almost wished Maisie would come on up and take charge. He had a feeling Maisie and old Joe were cut from the same cloth.

“I’m back in the area for the first time in years, and I wonder if you know what became of the people who used to live…in my old house.”

“You don’t know what became of your own family?” One gray eyebrow lifted. Con felt his disapproval like a smack.

He straightened his back. “No. I’m not proud of it, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

Joe Gaudry studied him for a moment. Looked down at his respectable shirt and pants. “Well, I admit I felt pretty sorry for you and your brother, even if you were both a pair of…” He licked his lips. “But never mind that. You do know your daddy died?”

“Did he?” Relief snuck through him, guilt hot on its heels.

“Yes. More than ten years back.”

“Can’t be. I left ten years back and he was still alive then.”

“Must have died right around the time you left. Hit by a car. Drunk as a lord at the time, of course.” He fixed Con with a hard stare. Con flinched. “The other boy, your brother, got sent off somewhere. The boys’ home I expect. Don’t think there were any other relatives. No one’s lived there since. Place fell down, then what was left of it got swept away in one storm or another. Improvement if you ask me. Not that I ever had nothin’ bad to say about your mother.” Con stiffened. “She was a good woman, minded her own business.”

Yeah, that’s what killed her.

Con took a deep breath. “Did Danny ever come back? My brother? I need to find him.”

“Why, you win the lotto?” Joe glanced down at the camera.

“No, nothing like that. Do you know of anyone who might know where he is?”

“Nope.”

The dog kept up its barrage of noisy barking, and Con’s nerves crackled to get going. “Can I give you my cell phone number in case you hear anything?”

“Don’t have a phone. Got no need of one.”

The radio launched into a lively dance number.

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

The old man gave a single nod, stared at him for a withering second, then closed the door.

Con’s blood pounded in his ears as he descended the stairs.

“Didn’t get much of that. Damn dog,” said Dino, as Con reached the ground. The dog still hadn’t let up.

“He didn’t say much. My dad’s dead, my brother got sent away.”

“Where to?” asked Maisie.

“Orphanage, he thinks.” His rib cage felt tight, squeezing on his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

Maisie nodded, her pale eyes fixed on his face and her thoughts obviously whirring behind them. “Let’s go back to the house and make some phone calls.”



“Then you suck the head.”

Lizzie grimaced as Con tipped the crawdad’s head into his mouth and slurped. “That’s the butter.”

“You mean the brains.”

Con shrugged. “Go on, try it.”

With the camera on her and the entire crew gathered around the big wrought-iron table on the moonlit patio, Lizzie didn’t feel like she had a choice.

She picked up a boiled red crawdad from the heaped plate, suppressing a shudder of revulsion. It was so…big. Why couldn’t they be like tiny shrimp or something? Or big like a lobster so you didn’t have to lift it? She snapped it, put the head down on her plate and cracked the shell off the tail.

The meat was tender and tasty. A lot like lobster tail. Con’s anxious face broke into a grin as he saw she enjoyed it.

“Good, right?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t help smiling too. “It’s great. But I’m still not sucking the head.”

Con, back to the camera, winked at her. “Alright. Maybe later, huh?”

Her face flushed. Raoul let out a raucous laugh that echoed around the crew.

This was all your idea.

Con chuckled. “Don’t let ’em get cold. That would be a tragedy. Come on everyone, dig in.”

The entire crew fell on the steaming mound of bright red crustaceans that the chef had boiled in two giant vats of water. A variety of dipping sauces left everyone with garlic butter running down their chins and hot peppers stinging their taste buds. The conversation meandered from food to the eerie beauty of the moon-drenched garden, to the house.

“Who owns this old place anyway?” said one of the lighting guys.

Gia sucked her fingers. “A lawyer in town. He rents it out though an agency. They do weddings and parties here, and a TV movie was shot here last year.”

“It’s beautifully maintained,” said Lizzie.

Con wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s just plain beautiful”

“The rooms are very well proportioned.” Maisie sucked the “butter” out of a crawdad head without batting an eye. “And the furnishings are really quite extraordinary. Worth an absolute fortune at auction. Genuine American treasures.”

“Maisie interned at Christie’s auction house in high school,” said Lizzie. “The one thing that’s still missing is air conditioning. I don’t know how the rest of you stand it.” Her armpits were soaked, as usual. She’d taken to wearing black so it didn’t show so much.

“Doesn’t bother me,” said Maisie, who apparently didn’t have any sweat glands. “But the A/C units are arriving tomorrow. They were booked up today with a convention, but tomorrow Con will think he’s back in Canada with his Acadian ancestors.” She picked up another crawdad, and looked around the group. Her eyes rested on the running camera. “The Cajuns migrated here from Acadia in Nova Scotia. A proud and fiercely independent people who maintain the cultural traditions of their native France, including an intriguing variant of the language. Did you speak French at home, Con?”

“Nope.”

Lizzie, who’d been inwardly rolling her eyes during Maisie’s pedantry, wondered if Con even was Cajun. Beale didn’t sound particularly French, now she came to think about it.

“It’s such a marvelously simple life, here in the swamps,” continued Maisie, cracking open her crawdad. “Spiritual almost, in the lack of materialism.”

“I think it’s called poverty,” muttered Lizzie. “Con’s childhood doesn’t sound all that spiritual to me.”

“Well, obviously Conroy’s family had its…Its challenges. But just imagine spending the day on the bayou, eating from the hand of Mother Nature, surrounded by the glory of creation…”

Lizzie couldn’t suppress a snort.

“Hold on a minute.” Con held up his hand. Finished his mouthful. “People down here live just like people in New York—we have TVs and cars and telephones.”

“You had electricity in that shack?” Lizzie raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.” Con sounded indignant. Then his mouth turned up at the corner. “Okay, so it wasn’t turned on all the time, but it was there. Like Maisie said, we’ve got spiritual light from within, we don’t need wattage.” He winked.

Lizzie couldn’t help chuckling. How did he always manage to make her smile? He was smiling too. In fact, he looked a bit too cheerful for someone who’d just learned his father was dead and his brother had disappeared off the face of the earth. Lizzie didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved or worried.

As if he heard her thoughts, Con turned to Maisie. “Did you find anything out about my brother?”

Maisie wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “Gia was on the phone all afternoon. We couldn’t find a single trace of him. Social services never heard of him. Is there another name he could have used?”

“I don’t think so.” Con stiffened.

Lizzie swallowed. “Maybe he went to stay with a friend and they left social services out of it?”

“The woman at social services suggested we check records, you know, births, marriages…”

“Deaths.” Con’s mouth flattened into a line.

“There’s no reason to believe he’s dead.” Maisie said it softly. Tilted her head to the side. How sweet and caring of her. Her blue eyes sparkled with moisture, and a simpering smile flickered across her pale pink lips. Lizzie’s skin prickled with irritation.

So Maisie was starting her campaign to seduce Con. They were perfect for each other, both had the emotional depth of an alligator.

Lizzie grabbed Con’s hand. “We should go into town and check the records tomorrow.” It wasn’t so much an act of reassurance as one of self-defense. This was turning into The Con Beale Show, and she was getting sidelined. If she didn’t watch out, he’d end up marrying Maisie in the final moments of the show and no one would notice she was missing.

Taking her cue, Con shifted closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He kissed her cheek. Damn. Why did his lips still spark a tingling reaction that sneaked right into her? His infuriating spicy smell crept up on her too.

“I’d like that.” His lips were almost on her ear. “I’m glad you’re with me, Lizzie. I couldn’t go through this alone.”

Her heart squeezed.

Yeah, yeah, cue the violins. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll hit the sack.”

Would he follow her? Or would he stay down here chitchatting with Maisie?

“Me too.” Con helped her to her feet.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

Of course, being Con, he took his time thanking the chef for the meal and working the room until everyone was smiling.

He really was her exact opposite, wasn’t he?

As he finally took her hand and led her up the stairs, the horrible drama of the day’s events started to pound in her head.

This was all her idea.

What on earth would she say to him now?