A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 22

“So they think this guy is your brother?” Lizzie was almost more nervous than Con. Neither of them had touched the plate of chips and salsa set out to stave off starvation back at the house.

“Yes.” Con stared out into the gloom. “Eyewitness News said they interviewed him at the station, and he’s on his way over right now.”

It was dusk, and despite a large electrical crew working most of the day, the lights still weren’t back on. Everyone sat out on the darkening patio, rubbing bug repellant on sunburned flesh and mixing hard lemonade with a jug of vodka and two cartons of Paul Newman’s pink lemonade.

Con hadn’t touched a drop. He kept leaping up and pacing about. Lizzie put down the alcohol-free lemonade that was making her stomach feel even worse and fanned herself with a paper napkin.

“They’re here!” Rog called around the side of the house.

“Dino, get into position,” said Maisie, leaping up with her clipboard.

Con rubbed his mouth nervously with his hand. Lizzie instinctively went up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked almost startled to see her. “It probably isn’t even him,” he said, blinking.

“Maybe not,” she said softly. “But it can’t hurt to meet the guy.”

“What if I don’t recognize him?”

“It’s been a long time; I don’t think anyone would expect you to. Come on.” She linked her arm though his and led him around the side of the house. A blitzkrieg of lights had been set up near the Eyewitness News van camped there, and Lizzie saw the reporter having a microphone attached to her lapel and the back of her waist.

A pickup truck pulled in behind the news van.

“Do you suppose that’s his truck?” whispered Lizzie, as they hung back in the shadows.

“Could be.” Con’s voice was barely audible. The door of the truck opened, and someone got out. A big guy. Bigger than Con. It was hard to see much in the mauve semidarkness.

“Come on, Con,” hissed Maisie behind them. “We need you in the lights.”

“I’ll just wait here,” whispered Lizzie.

“No way.” Con tugged her hand. “I need you.”

A funny warm feeling smothered her jangling nerves and tightened her hand around his as they stepped cautiously toward the lights.

The reporter fiddled with her mike and said something to the cameraman. She gestured to the large man who’d climbed out of the truck.

He didn’t look anything like Con.

She squeezed Con’s hand.

As he stepped into the light, she saw the man had sun-bleached hair and rough-looking features. Totally unlike Con’s dark hair and aristocratic profile. Nut brown skin, a worn T-shirt, dirty jeans and pale rubber boots completed the contrast.

Lizzie bit the inside of her mouth. There was no way this could be the guy. Was Con feeling the same pinch of disappointment?

Con made a strange sound and let go of her hand. He said something she couldn’t understand. The big man let out a long, colorful curse, stepped forward and embraced him in a bear hug.

Lizzie stepped back out of the light. Did Con really think this was his brother? Wasn’t he supposedly called Tiny because he was so small?

Headlights raked over her as another car pulled into the driveway. Dwight? Timing was never his strong suit. Gia rushed forward to intercept him.

Con and the big man had pulled back slightly to stare each other in the face. Con said something, but again she couldn’t make it out. Too much emotion in his voice.

“You did what you had to do,” said the other.

Con was crying. Tears glittered on his cheeks, and she could see his shoulders heaving. She bit her knuckle, suddenly horribly embarrassed for him, with all the lights and technicians and cameras and total strangers standing around gawking.

Shouldn’t they all get out of here and leave him in peace? She started to back away as the brothers embraced again, even tighter.

Tears stung her eyes and she bit down harder on her knuckle, drawing pain, anything to distract from the uncomfortable mix of sensations boiling inside her.

“Lizzie.” A hissed voice from the darkness made her spin around. A long narrow face topped by a thick head of wheaten hair emerged from the gloom.

“Dwight?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and walked away from the lights and cameras..

“Why are you shooting out here in the dark?”

“No power in the house. Con’s meeting his brother.”

“Who?” Dwight wrinkled his face impatiently.

Did Dwight not even know about Con? A chill trickled through Lizzie as she remembered how she’d kept Con a secret from everyone. Her own prize, her dream, that she didn’t want anyone to trample on. Or was it because deep down she knew he wasn’t one of them and they wouldn’t really accept him?

He’d be one of them now, though, as heir to this place and a fortune in vintage sheet metal.

Shame seared through her at the superficial thought. She didn’t deserve someone like Con, who’d been through so much and emerged a warmer, nicer person than she’d ever be.

Dwight tapped his foot impatiently on the tarmac. “Where’s Maisie?”

Lizzie shook her head and gulped. “I don’t know. She’s out here somewhere. They’re in the middle of shooting, though, so you might want to go wait inside.”

Dwight smacked at a mosquito above the collar of his striped oxford shirt. “Ugh, this is ridiculous! I fly all the way down here and now—”

“Shhhhh!” came a hiss from the darkness.

Dwight stalked off to the house.

“Lizzie!” Lizzie jumped as Con said her name. “Come here.”

Anxiety spiked inside her as he beckoned her into the harsh glare of the television lights. What did he want with her?

“I want you to meet my brother, Danny.”

Her heart thudded as she walked toward him in slow motion. How did he know for sure it was his brother?

Con seized her hand as she came close. “Danny, this is Lizzie, the woman who brought me back down here. I wouldn’t have had the courage to come without her.”

Lizzie’s breath evaporated, and the television lights stung her eyes. “Hello,” she managed, as a large, very rough hand grabbed hers and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

Her words sounded stupid, but she had no idea what to say. She noticed that Con’s brother had tattoos on both forearms. His features, blunt and forbidding in the harsh light, melted into a smile when he spoke.

“I’m glad to meet you too, Lizzie. I’ve wished for this moment for ten long years.” A gentle voice, with its almost European-sounding accent. “Thank you for bringing my brother back to me.”

Lizzie colored, partly as a result of the strong emotion zinging between all three of them and partly out of embarrassment that her motives were so very different. She’d dragged Con here to punish him, and her plan had turned inside out.

She heard harsh whispering off to one side, and the Eyewitness News reporter stepped into the light.

Lizzie barely heard a word of the interview that followed. She backed away out of the light, slipping her hand from Con’s as he answered a question. Out in the darkness, Maisie fumed and stamped about being scooped, while a producer from the news station reminded her they’d been the ones to find Danny and she’d get her turn in a minute.

It seemed like an hour before all the news vans packed up their equipment and rolled off into the steamy darkness. Lizzie was ashamed to find herself hoping Danny Beale would climb back into his truck and roll away too, but of course he didn’t.

Con and his brother talked, animated and excited, touching each other a lot as if they couldn’t quite believe the other person was really there and they needed to make sure. Both beaming. She could see the resemblance between them now, even in the darkness. Not just features but gestures and the cadence of their speech. She knew she should feel very happy for Con, and part of her did, but the rest of her was…

Jealous? She wanted Con all to herself again.

The portable generator the electricians were using had roared to life again once the cameras turned off, and the jackhammer fury of its engine rattled her nerves.

“Dinner!” Maisie’s voice penetrated the darkness. “Let’s get out of here and into some light and air-conditioning before we all go mad.”

“Lizzie, come with us!” called Con. He stood by Danny’s truck. She swallowed and walked forward, tucking her hair behind her ears. She had a feeling Danny Beale would see right through her.

“I’ll sit in the middle.” Con climbed in, then held out his hand to help her up. The big old truck had a funky smell to it. She buckled herself in, then Con slid his arm around her shoulders and relief crept through her tight muscles.

“Danny, did you see the news story?” She’d missed that part of the conversation due to Dwight’s arrival.

“I didn’t, but when I went to get some breakfast after work, turns out everybody else in town saw it and heard my name.” His deep voice was rich with humor. “So I called the number, they asked me to come in and meet with a producer. I went straight there. Haven’t even changed my clothes. I don’t think they knew what to make of me.” He looked past Con and grinned at her. Two rows of perfectly straight white teeth, just like Con’s.

“Anyway, they sat me down and a girl asked me my age and all my particulars.” His hand on the wheel looked huge, dirty nails. They were following the taillights of the van with the rest of the crew in it, piloted by Maisie, and Dwight’s rental car was behind them. “Then they asked me the trick question Con came up with to weed out the fakers.”

“What was it?”

“They asked me what the name of our pig was.”

Con grinned and tightened his arm around her. “I told Lizzie about our pet pig. That’s what gave me the idea. I figured no one but you would know the answer.”

The weight of his arm drew tension from her shoulders, and the spicy, musky scent of him made her want to bury her face in his neck.

“And what was the name?”

Danny looked at her. “Delilah.” His mouth fought a smile. “Con came up with it. He always did have an imagination.”

They both laughed. It was nice to see Con so happy. He glowed with pleasure. She could feel the heat of his excitement rolling right off his skin.

“Man, do we have a lot of catching up to do! You still live around here?”

“Been living over on Bayou Lafourche the last couple of years. I’ve got my own shrimper. It’s a sixty-footer.”

“Alright! I knew you’d make it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Well, I hoped so anyway. I figured anyone who could make crab traps out of nothing the way you did was going to amount to something.” They laughed again.

Something was hanging from the rearview mirror. A string of pointy teeth?

“And what about you? You look like you’re doing alright.”

“Me? Oh, I’m getting by. Finding Lizzie’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He gave her a squeeze.

Her eyes popped open and a surge of warmth flooded through her. The best thing that ever happened to me?

“If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be back down here. I’m not ashamed to tell you, I was running scared. I had no idea the old man was dead. But Lizzie decided I had to face up to my past, and here I am.”

“And what’s all this about you comin’ into that house? I couldn’t see much in the dark but it looked like a big heap.”

“Yeah. Well, if it’s mine, and they say it is, it’s yours too, bro.”

Danny chuckled. “I never did too well in houses. I like to have water under me, but I’ll be happy to come spend time with you there.”

Danny obviously had an upbeat, easygoing personality like Con. He explained that he’d gone to live with an elderly fisherman friend in a nearby parish, dodging social services until he was too old for them to bother with him. When Con confessed the shame he felt at leaving him, Danny teared up and cursed at him for feeling guilty. His driving became a little erratic as he put his arm around Con and said he never gave up hope that they’d see each other again. Lizzie sniffed back her own tears. This reunion was partly her doing. A warm glow filled the cab, and she let herself bask in it.



The van ahead of them pulled up in front of a colorful seafood joint with Papa Ron’s on the sign out front. It reminded Lizzie of a Cape Cod clam shack.

“Good choice,” said Danny, pulling in next to the van. “I’m ready for some celebrating!”

Dinner was a raucous affair involving steaming platters of seafood and rice and shocking quantities of beer in iced jugs. Lizzie was the only one not drinking, and the conversation got more and more surreal as the level of alcohol rose in everyone else’s blood.

Party-girl Maisie held court like an empress, eyes shining with power and drink, while Dwight smoldered in a corner, nursing a dry martini. She’d just started regaling the bartender with tales of her recent trip to Bangalore, and the huge crocodiles she’d seen there, when he beamed a smile that shone brighter than his bald head.

“Y’all want to come see the gator I’ve got out back. Ten feet long and snarlin’ angry!”

Not really, thought Lizzie, but everyone else was already on their feet, following Maisie out the door. She heaved herself up and traipsed out into the muggy darkness.

An outdoor light beamed down on the alligator where it lay, looking small and oppressed, in a muddy pen surrounded by a low chain-link fence.

Poor thing.

“My nephew brought it here last week. Caught it in the bayou.” The man leaned over the edge of the fence and brandished a stick at the alligator, which swished back, snarled, and snapped at the stick, revealing its fearsome spiked teeth.

“I don’t know if Tiny here has told you,” he gestured to Danny. “But he’s done some alligator wrestling in his time.”

All eyes swiveled to Danny, who looked down at the alligator. “Nice looking creature. Young male, I’d guess. Wouldn’t want to get between those jaws.”

“Don’t let him fool you!” said the bartender. “He’s taken down fifteen-footers. Learned it from the Indians.”

“There are Native Americans around here?” asked Maisie.

“Sure,” said Danny. “But he’s talking about a stint I did out in Florida. I was a paid professional alligator wrangler for the Seminole tribe. Did it for two years.”

“You’re a Seminole?”

“Nope, but they don’t care. If you can wrestle a gator out of deep water in front of a crowd of tourists, you’re good enough. The Seminole kids have casino money now, and they want to work in a nice office. Not me. That’s where I saved up the money to buy my boat.”

Lizzie glanced at Con. He was wide-eyed like her. “Did you ever do that when you were a kid?” she whispered in his ear.

“Nope.” He didn’t take his eyes off Danny.

“Your brother is something else.”

“Yeah.” Con shone with pride.

“Danny, would you wrestle it on camera, please!” Maisie was suddenly right in front of him.

“Wrestle it into doing what?” asked Danny, with a smile. “It’s just laying there.”

“I don’t know. Can’t you make it mad and sit on it or something?” Maisie looked like she was about to start jumping up and down with excitement.

“Tell you what,” said the proprietor slowly. “If one of ya’ll New Yorkers want to help Danny carry this gator to the pen over there—” he gestured out into the darkness. “Your drinks are on the house.”

“I can carry it by myself, chief,” said Danny.

“I know, but where’s the entertainment in that? I’ve got a bar to run.” The bartender slapped him on the back. “Come on, who’s willing to help move this magnificent creature for me?”

The tree frogs sang.

“Oh come on!” protested Maisie. “Conroy! Here’s a chance to get back in touch with your bayou heritage.”

Con laughed.

“Don’t be a spoilsport! I’m sure your brother would love to have you do it with him.”

“Sure, it’d be fun.” Danny looked as relaxed as if he’d been dared to go floss his teeth.

Con hesitated.

Adrenaline surged through Lizzie. “No, don’t! You’ll get hurt.”

“No, he won’t,” said Maisie. “Look, it’s not even moving. And it’ll make such a great cliff-hanger at commercial break.”

“Well, I guess I—”

“No!” said Lizzie. “Con, you can’t!”

“Why not? As Maisie said it isn’t doing much.”

“I’ll take the head, and you hold the tail still. I’ll walk you through it.” Danny settled his hands on the rim of the pen, ready to jump the fence and get started.

“Alright.” Con took a step toward the fence.

A vision of those hideous teeth closing around Con’s arm, or worse, his head, swam in front of Lizzie’s eyes and sent adrenaline surging through her. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare get into that pen, Conroy Beale!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?”

There was a lengthy pause. Lizzie flushed violently.

“Nice to have someone who cares about you,” said Danny softly. He lifted his hands off the fence.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all,” she mumbled. “I just…”

I just love you.

“Alright.” Con slid his arm around her. “I won’t do it if you really don’t want me to, Lizzie.” He kissed her forehead gently. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Lizzie tried to act like she didn’t care much either way. Which was hard when Con settled his lips on her cheek and squeezed her waist, sending a current of heat and relief charging up through her.

Maisie scanned the group. “Roger?”

“I think I’ve drunk a bit too much,” he slurred, swaying like a redwood in the wind.

“Dino? I’ll take over the camera.” Dino just looked over the camera, which was running, and raised an eyebrow.

“Raoul.” She sidled over and slapped him on the back. “Come on. Just think of the great stories you’ll have to tell. You’ll be dining out on this for years.”

Raoul lifted his chin in the air. “Sweetheart, I don’t do mud.” He straightened his shirt lapel.

“Ugh!” Maisie put her hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed in the harsh light above the door. “You’re all such wimps. I’ll do it!”

Even the tree frogs shut the hell up.

Danny looked down at her from his impressive height, and a slow smile spread across his tanned face. He strode up to her and gently lifted her hand, as if they were about to step out in a minuet. “I’d be delighted.” He kissed her knuckles gently.

Maisie shook her hair back and stuck her chest out. “Good. Let’s get started.”

Lizzie covered her eyes with her hand. “That poor alligator.”