A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 19

Lizzie sat at the dining room table munching a croissant as long slivers of morning sun crept across the wood floor. Raoul had accosted her at breakfast, set up a mirror in front of her, and started work on her shower-wet hair while she was still eating.

“Sweetheart, you are looking goooood this morning.” Raoul’s smiling face leered behind her in the mirror. “Guess you took my advice about ice on the bags.”

“I just got a decent night of sleep.” Actually, she didn’t get all that much real sleep, but somehow unpacking some more of Con’s baggage and spending the night in his arms was more restful than a week at a spa. For the first time she could really see where Con was coming from.

Raoul chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you managed to keep young Conroy chained up long enough to catch some shut-eye. You’ll be married soon. That boy needs to learn to pace himself.”

Lizzie couldn’t help smiling.

Raoul spritzed her hair with some shiny stuff. “I don’t think any of us will get any sleep after they turn on those things.” He jerked his chin toward three enormous blue air-conditioning units that were being wheeled into the house.

“Thank God!” Lizzie closed her eyes for a second as the promise of being cool again almost unhinged her. “I had no idea how totally dependent I am on air conditioning.”

“Terrible for the skin. Dries it right out. The humidity has done wonders for your epidermis. It’s positively glowing.”

Yeah. Right. That glow has nothing to do with making love to Con and spending the night in his arms.

Hold up. No love was made. We had sex.

“You alright? You look tense. Like I was saying, now we’ve found the right routine—lots of moisture and a spritz of glycerine—the humidity makes your curls spring right up like Slinkys. Beautiful.”

“Thanks Raoul.” She took another a bite of her croissant and studied her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps her hair did look okay? Kind of like the “after” in a perm commercial. Would both Con and Raoul lie if they didn’t think it looked pretty?

Well, maybe Con would.

“Darling!” Lizzie jumped as Maisie’s voice boomed in her ear. “They’re steaming some wrinkles out of the dress and we’re going to do a fitting on-camera right after breakfast. Isabel Matsuo has outdone herself.” Maisie leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You know I’m almost ready to defect to her myself. What she’s done with the pearl beads is magnificent, the way it drapes—oh!”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. Whatever! It’s just a dress. Maisie took this stuff so much more seriously than she did.

“Raoul, you are the most talented hairdresser in the Northern Hemisphere. How on earth did you manage to get Lizzie’s poufy frizz to make ringlets?”

Lizzie gritted her teeth.

“Didn’t do a thing, sugar,” said Raoul, without looking at her. “Lizzie’s curl is 100 percent natural. This is what it does when left to its own devices, just as your hair hangs like wet shawl fringe.” He winked at Lizzie, who fought to suppress an explosive chuckle.

Maisie’s icy smile barely covered her teeth. “Well, I must go supervise the placement of the air conditioners.”

“Don’t know why we need ’em with her around here,” whispered Raoul, before she was out of earshot. “Puts a chill in the air wherever she goes. But I guess I shouldn’t talk that way about your cousin.”

“Please do. It’s music to my ears.”

“Here comes Prince Charming.” He smiled. Lizzie’s stomach tightened.

“Hey, guys.” Con wandered over, carrying a plate of food and looking his usual polished self. Lizzie tried to ignore the rush of warmth she felt at the sight of him.

“Guys?” said Raoul with a flourish of his hand. “Guys? Is that how you talk to your future bride? This is Lizzie Hathaway. Do you want her to think you fell off a turnip truck?”

“’S better than the truth.” Con took a hearty bite of croissant.

“Yeah.” Raoul stopped dusting a layer of fine powder over Lizzie’s face and looked up at Con, suddenly serious. “I heard about yesterday. But don’t you sweat it, sweetheart,” he said. Con chewed his croissant casually as if a man called him sweetheart every day. “What happened back then was none of your doing.”

“Amen to that,” said Con. “And no one’s going to be sweating around here once those things get fired up.” He gestured to the blue monsters being wheeled into position and took another big bite of croissant.

Did nothing bother him? Maybe he really did have no feelings? Lizzie took a deep breath to combat tightness in her chest.

She had far too many feelings for Con this morning and anger and resentment weren’t even among them. She bit her lip.

“No biting. Save that for later.” Raoul rolled his eyes toward Con. Lizzie forced a smile.

She wasn’t falling for him again. Really, she wasn’t! She just felt sorry for him. Simple compassion, that’s all. And strong sexual attraction. Just normal girl stuff, nothing along the lines of eternal love and all that crap.

It was a little disturbing she could only sleep with him in her bed, like a toddler with a smelly stuffed animal it can’t let go of, but that was hardly the stuff of great romance.

“Lizzie, darling, we need you!” Maisie’s distant voice startled her out of her rather panicked ruminations. “The dress is ready.”

“Coming.”

“I haven’t done your eyes yet,” protested Raoul.

“I’ll sport the natural look for now.” She rose out of her chair, relieved not to worry about mascara and liner streaking her cheeks for once.

“Later,” she said to Con, trying to sound cool and casual.

Con just nodded, but the look he gave her—dark, wary and brimming with unspoken words—made her breath stick right at the bottom of her lungs.



“It looks a little tight.” Maisie—who else?—loudly voiced the words on everyone’s mind.

Gia struggled to get the zipper up. It was stuck right above her waist. A seed pearl popped off the front and rolled to the floor.

Lizzie gritted her teeth and sucked in harder. Lights, set up around the elegant sitting room they’d commandeered as a dressing room, beat down on her like sun on the Sahara. Dino winced behind the tripod-mounted camera blocking the Adams fireplace. The dress weighed a ton, and was all she could do to keep her shoulders steady.

“Is there any room to let the seams out?” Maisie asked the seamstress who’d accompanied the dress to Louisiana. The tiny Japanese woman looked at her blankly. She didn’t seem to understand a single word of English.

“The seams,” shouted Maisie, with a forced smile, as if the woman was deaf. “Fix?” The seamstress’s smooth forehead creased.

Up on the makeshift podium, Lizzie closed her eyes.

Gia forced the zipper to the top with a lightning movement that left Lizzie’s nipples begging for mercy. “Got it!”

Thank God.

A vision of seed pearls exploding over all the open boxes of shoes and gloves and silk stockings made her afraid to breathe except in tiny sips through her mouth.

All of a sudden the giant blue box hunkered in the corner roared to life.

“Yes!” cried Maisie, like a cheerleader. “They said it couldn’t be done, and I simply insisted they do it anyway. A little determination, that’s all that’s required to accomplish most things in life.”

The machine shuddered and hiccupped and a blast of freezing air shot across the room, sprinkling goose bumps over Lizzie’s arms.

It felt really good.

It wasn’t even all that loud.

Euphoria accompanied the icy air. No more sweat drenching her armpits and pouring down her spine! No more droplets beading her upper lip and wetting the hair at her temples! No more—

The machine shuddered to a halt at the exact same moment all the lights went out and Dino issued a resounding, “F*ck.”

“Power’s dead,” yelled Roger from the other room.

“Someone give that boy a Pulitzer,” growled Maisie. “Get it going again!” she yelled through the doorway. She tapped her foot on the floor for a few seconds. It was encased in a rather frumpy beige pump to match her slim beige suit. “You leave Manhattan, and it’s like you’re in another century.”

Would someone please unzip me? was the only thought on Lizzie’s mind, which felt as squished as her torso. She didn’t voice it until Maisie had stalked out of the room, tut-tutting about primitive conditions and the need for hardship pay.

Gia unzipped her and she sagged with relief.

“I’m going outside for a smoke,” muttered Dino.

“I’m with you,” said Gia, already striding for the door.

Lizzie was left standing on the podium in a too-tight fifteen-thousand dollar dress, towering over a tiny Japanese woman whose name she’d not managed to catch.

This was all your idea.



Con’s blood crept like Arctic ice as he and Lizzie stood in the Parish records office with Dino’s camera trained on him. You weren’t allowed to look in anyone’s file but your own, but the kind young clerk had agreed to check Danny’s file to see if it contained a death certificate.

She pulled a folder from the file drawer and flipped through it. It took all Con’s strength to keep his face calm. He held himself steady as blood pounded in his head and cold fingers squeezed his heart.

“No death certificate.”

He sagged with relief. “Thank God.” Of course it didn’t mean Danny was alive, but there was hope.

Lizzie let out a breath too. She looked almost as nervous as him, twisting her fingers together, her face white. He wanted to hug her, but didn’t.

“Could Con see his own file?” she asked, as the clerk put Danny’s away.

“Yes.” The clerk looked at him. “Would you like to?”

Not really, was the answer that sprang to mind as a queasy sensation sneaked into his stomach.

“Come on, Con. You need to see your mother’s maiden name.” Lizzie put her hand on his arm.

No, I don’t. He didn’t want to know if she was that sad woman in the letters. His memories were sad enough already.

“Okay.” He couldn’t help feeling nothing good could come from digging up the past. Who knew what other skeletons lay rotting in the muck down there? He shivered in the air-conditioned room as they waited for the clerk to come back. Lizzie rubbed his back, and he took a deep breath.

“Conroy Aaron Beale.” The clerk drew out the file. Aaron? How could he not even know he had a middle name? He became acutely aware of the camera on him, like he was being stripped naked. It’s just a piece of paper.

“Can I see it?” His voice sounded disembodied.

The clerk handed it to him, and he pulled Lizzie close so she could see it too.

“Father, Daniel Patrick Beale.” That name still gave him a chill. Made bile rise in his throat.

“Mother,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Mother, Katherine Marie Milford Beale.”

“It’s her,” breathed Lizzie. “I knew it.”

A hurt deep inside him started to throb.

“Can we see her birth certificate?” Lizzie asked quietly.

“I’m afraid birth certificates are confidential for 100 years.” The clerk’s soft voice was apologetic. “You can only see your own file.”

“Why do you want to see it?” Con asked Lizzie.

“Just to see if her 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.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, we are up a tree without a ladder then, aren’t we?” His self-satisfied smile made Lizzie’s scalp tingle. “But if you care to retain me in this matter, I’ll have my secretary start doing some digging. She’ll call around to see if she can find his name on any school rolls or in the record books of any other— Come in!”

A knock on the door had interrupted him and his cheerful-looking middle-aged secretary appeared. “Mr. Hodgkins on the phone.”

“Thank you, Vera.” He turned to them. “I’m afraid I must take this call. It’s of the utmost urgency. A criminal matter, I’m afraid,” he said with a wink. “Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?”

Lizzie and Con rose and left the room.

“What an a*shole,” muttered Lizzie once they were outside in the cramped hallway. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” Con looked rigid with tension. She moved behind him and pressed her thumbs under the collar of his white shirt and into the muscle at the base of his neck. “Don’t worry, if he’s out there, we’ll find him.”

The secretary peered out into the hallway. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Sure.” Lizzie led the way to the spacious waiting room. The coffee actually smelled pretty good.

“That nice production assistant—Mia, was it?—told me you’re staying at Dumas House,” Vera said, as she handed a white mug to Con.

“Yes.” He took a sip. “We’re there filming our wedding.”

Lizzie got a funny feeling in her tummy. He didn’t say it with any undertone of amusement or mockery. He said it as if they were…getting married.

“How lovely. It sure is a beautiful place to get married. My niece had her wedding there two years ago in May.”

“Really?” Lizzie accepted a cup too. “So the house is often rented out for events?”

“Yes. Mr. Stapleton has been managing it for nearly six years now, since the owner died.”

“And he owns it now?” Lizzie peered over the rim of her coffee cup, holding her breath.

“He doesn’t own it. He manages it as executor of the former owner’s estate. We’ve been unable to locate any heirs. The old man was in his late nineties when he died, no family left to speak of. Mr. Stapleton’s been using the attached trust to maintain the place. If you ask me he’s made a world of improvements. I don’t think it had been renovated since the 1950s before he took over.”

“It must cost a fortune to maintain,” said Lizzie.

“I believe he’s had to invest a good deal of the trust in the house. He replaced the roof, updated some of the plumbing and electrical, and he keeps the gardens immaculate as it’s becoming quite the place for any outdoor social event.”

“Sounds like he has a pretty good business going,” Lizzie took a sip of coffee, grateful for the air-conditioning in the offices. “So who, exactly, are the heirs he’s been unable to locate?”

She heard Con choke on his coffee and recover himself, but she kept her eyes fixed on the woman.

“Apparently the old man who owned it—Thomas Milford his name was—had an estranged daughter. This all happened before my time, so I don’t know the details, but I believe it turned out she was dead.”

Lizzie shot Con a pointed look.

“No other descendants were found so Mr. Stapleton’s been managing it while he searches for any remaining heirs.” She blew her nose on a tissue. “But between you and me and the doorpost, he’s looking to buy it himself. Once the trust is exhausted there won’t be any cash in the estate to pay the local property taxes. At that point it becomes property of the parish, gets auctioned off and voilà! He’ll be the legal owner. He’s managed it like his own anyway, these last six years. You’ve seen the place, so you can tell just how much love and care has gone into it. Mr. Stapleton is a true guardian of our heritage.”

While she was speaking Lizzie’s breathing got shallow. Con stood motionless.

“Mind if I step outside for a smoke?” Lizzie asked, with what she hoped was a casual smile. Con shot her an odd look.

“You can smoke in here if you like,” the secretary replied.

“I don’t want to stink the place up. Come on, Con.” She grabbed him by his sleeve, almost spilling his coffee.

Outside, cars whizzed past as they stood on the immaculate postage stamp of lawn in front of the law office.

“Did you hear that?” she hissed.

“Sure, I heard it.”

“He’s supposed to be looking for heirs. Those would be the descendants of Katherine Marie Milford. Also known as you.”

Con’s knuckles were white around his coffee cup. “I just want to find my brother.”

“But don’t you get it? The house is yours. And from the sounds of it, Mr. Stapleton here is spending the trust money hand over fist while he builds up a tidy rentals business there. That explains why it’s so well renovated. He’s probably poured a million dollars into the place. New roof, new upholstery, soon it will have all central air. I’ve never seen such a thorough renovation of an old house, but it all makes perfect sense now. He’s deliberately trying to spend the money that came with it, so he can bankrupt the estate so it can’t pay the taxes, then when the taxes go unpaid, the town takes over the property and he buys it for peanuts. He’s trying to steal your inheritance.”

Con let out a growl of frustration. “Lizzie, the house isn’t mine. It never was and it never will be. I don’t really get why you’re—“

“Con, listen,” she leaned into him and hissed in his ear. “That slick bastard in there knows you are the heir. How could he not? He must know who your mother was, if they found out she was dead. So I bet he knows she has two sons, and what their names are. He may well know exactly where your brother is. But is it in his interest to tell you? To let you find out about any of this? Hell, no.”

Con stared at her.

She nodded. “Up until now he’s been sitting pretty on a goldmine that no living soul has a claim to—then you turn up like a bad penny. Right now he’s probably sweating bullets looking for ways to throw us off the trail. The one thing he forgot to do was scotch tape his secretary’s lips together. We’ve got to run with this information.”

At that moment the front door opened and Vera peered out. “He’s ready for you.”

Lizzie squeezed Con’s arm above the elbow, and followed him back in. Eric Stapleton summoned them back into his office with an avuncular wave of his meaty hand.

“So, we’re looking for Danny, aka ‘Tiny’ Beale…” he said, rifling in a drawer and emerging with a packet of extra-strong mints. “I’ll make a note for Vera to check the local prisons. Mint?”

“No, thanks,” said Lizzie, digging her nails into her palms. “We’re very much enjoying our stay in Dumas House. It is a fine old place. Must cost a fortune to maintain.”

“Labor of love, my dear. Labor of love. The place loses money hand over fist. Would have fallen down years ago if I hadn’t poured every penny I own into it. My wife wrings her hands over it every year, but to me it’s just my duty as a citizen of the parish.” He gave her a saccharine smile. “Now back to the matter at hand. As I said, it may be impossible to find Mr. Beale…”

“Your secretary said the renovations on the house are paid for by a trust,” cut in Lizzie. “A legacy that came with the house.”

“Why, yes, that is true. It was important to perform necessary repairs in order to preserve the integrity of the estate.” He linked his fingers together, looking relaxed as if they were discussing the weather prospects for his weekend golf game.

“Exactly how much is in that legacy?”

“Sadly, almost nothing at all, I’m afraid. It’s shocking the amount of money a place like that will eat through. As I said, it’s been a labor of love. I’m just glad of opportunities such as the one provided by the fine production company you’re working with. How many more days of filming do you have? Two, wasn’t it?”

“It could be a few more since the power outage has slowed things down.”

“I don’t know if that will be possible. I believe we have a long-standing rental next week that will require the property to be vacant. I’ve taken measures to make sure the electrical problems will be solved immediately so there should be no further delays in your filming.”

“Look,” Con leaned forward. “I’m not here to talk about the damn house. Can you help me find my brother or not?”

Lizzie’s ears pricked up at his aggressive tone.

“Regretfully, I suspect your brother has gone the way of so many of the men of your family.” The lawyer tipped his head to one side and lifted an eyebrow. “A fate most of us around here had sadly assumed to be yours.”

“Yeah? Well, guess what, I’m alive and kicking and I bet my brother is too.”

“I see you’ve inherited the Beale temper.” Stapleton leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “I bet you like a drink too, don’t you, son? Bourbon?” He reached into his desk and drew out a small bottle.

Con blew out a disgusted snort and placed a clenched fist on Eric Stapleton, esq.’s cluttered desk. “I didn’t plan to come back here—ever—but Lizzie brought me down here and now I’m up to my neck in the mess I left behind and I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

Lizzie stared at him.

“I have reason to believe you know where my brother is, and if you’ll give me that information you won’t see me again.”

“I have absolutely no idea where your brother is. Drunk in a ditch somewhere, I expect, so don’t you come in here with that tone of voice. I remember you when you were just a snot-nosed punk brought into court for stealing a frozen turkey.” He broke into a grating laugh. Con seemed to shrink back a little. “You probably don’t even remember that, but I do. Another one of those Beale’s. Like father like son.”

“Don’t you talk to him like that!” Lizzie was on her feet before she knew what was happening. “We happen to know that he and his brother are the heirs of Dumas House and that you are deliberately concealing that knowledge from everyone in the hope of taking possession of the property yourself!” Her shrill voice startled her.

Stapleton’s lips parted for second, then he drew them back together in a crooked line. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, and I want you out of this office, now!”

He pressed his finger on the intercom. “Vera! Escort our visitors out immediately.”

“You haven’t heard the end of this, Mr. Stapleton,” Lizzie said calmly. “Conroy Beale is back and he plans to demand his rights.”

As Vera escorted them down the cramped hallway, Lizzie couldn’t resist asking, “So is Mr. Milford’s will kept in this office?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Stapleton is the executor of his estate, but of course there’s a copy filed with the—”

“Loose lips sink ships, Vera!” boomed the lawyer’s voice from behind them. “Get them out of here and come into my office immediately.”

“Y…yes sir,” she stammered, giving Lizzie a wary glance.

Out on the tiny lawn Con ran his hands through his hair. “Why’d you have to go off on a tangent like that? We should have played it cool. Now he knows we know and he’s basically the enemy. We’ll never get anything out of him.”

“That house is your right, Con.”

“Bullshit. It’s my nothing. That mean old bastard left my mother to die. Didn’t even open her letters. I don’t want nothing of his. You expect me to think about a house when we don’t even know if my brother is—” He shuddered and broke off.

“So you feel you don’t deserve it because you abandoned your brother? Help me out here. You didn’t have any problem with planning to live the good life on the proceeds of my Grandfather’s corporate greed, and now you’re too moral to inherit your own wealth?”

Con’s head kicked back. His eyes shone, fierce. “Look, I already said I was wrong to have tried to marry you the way I did. That’s why I agreed to go along with your crazy TV wedding scheme and how I ended up back down here in the first place. Now I’m here, the only, and I mean it, the only thing I want is to find my brother. Stapleton can go live in that house himself and party all day and night for all I care.”

Lizzie growled with frustration. “This is why poor people don’t get ahead. You’re afraid to stir up trouble so you let people walk all over you. I liked you better when you were a big faker trying to marry money and claim your place on top of the pie!”

“Can we get the hell out of here before he has us arrested for something?” Con turned to where Dino had parked the Jeep and they both noticed Dino at the same time, backed up against the outside of the building, camera rolling.

“Uh, hi Dino.” Lizzie racked her brain to figure out what they’d revealed. That Con had tried to marry her for her money. Her face turned beet red. “Can you, uh, turn it off?”

He lowered the camera. A smile crept across his face. “I’ll rewind over this on two conditions.”

“What?” snapped Con.

“One, you have to buy me a six pack of beer.”

“Done.”

“Two, you have to go after that sonofabitch. I was listening at the window. His type makes me want to spit nails. Con, wouldn’t you like to see Maisie sharpen her journalistic claws on that bastard?”

Con raised an eyebrow very slightly. “When you put it that way, I think we can make a deal.”

“Any fine local brew will be acceptable.”

Lizzie let out a silent sigh of relief. “Dino, you are a man in a million.”

“And for the record, I think you two are made for each other.”

Lizzie frowned and tossed her hair. “Let’s go find a grocery store.”