“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 doe
sn’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?
Chapter 17
Up in the room, Lizzie stripped down to her black underwear, grateful to have fewer layers between her and the muggy night air. She didn’t bother to suck anything in. He’d hardly care what her body looked like after the day they’d had.
Con undressed while she sat on the bed, scratching at the mosquito bite on her ankle.
He washed his face and underarms at the basin. Filled a glass and drank it. Gargled and spat, rinsed it, then held it up. “Want some water?”
She shook her head and drew up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “You scare me. How can you act so calm after today?”
“What do you want me to do? Break down sobbing?” He tossed his towel over a chair and strode toward the bed. “Move over.”
She moved, making room on the bed for him. She couldn’t make him sleep on the floor after what she’d dragged him into today. Didn’t even want to.
“Would you like a hug?” she asked shyly.
“Why? You think that’s going to make me feel better?” He stretched out on the bed, muscles cracking. His onyx stare made hair rise on the back of her neck.
“No, of course not. I don’t know.” She turned on her side and faced away from him. Her emotions had been pretty much stretched to the limit today, and there was a real danger she might cry. She bit the inside of her mouth hard and dug her fingernails into her palm.
“Hey.” He rested his hand on her hip. Her skin tingled under his fingers. “I know you just wanted to have a little fun with me. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”
“That’s for sure.” Her words emerged on a sob. She gritted her teeth as a tear crept from behind her squeezed eyelids.
“Don’t cry over me. I’m fine. In fact, I’m glad we’re here. I’ve been shit scared of this place for years. Now I’m back, it’s just another place. And the old man is dead. It sounds a terrible thing to say, but that’s a weight off my mind.”
Lizzie turned to face him. He let his hand slide over her hip, soft and reassuring.
“But it’s all on camera,” she said, her lip quivering. “Surely you don’t want the whole world to know…?” She swiped at a tear on her cheek.
“I don’t mind.” Con looked calm. He smudged her tear away with his thumb. “In a way I’m glad the camera’s here, so I can set the story straight. I have a feeling I’m going to be a different person after this whole experience.”
“You are? How?”
“Because I’m not pretending any more. I’ve been pretending since the day I left that patch of ground you saw today. Pretended I was older to get a job, pretended I was someone else so I could get arrested in Mississippi and they wouldn’t send me back here. Pretended—”
“You got arrested on purpose?” she cut in.
“Sure.” He picked up a curly strand of her hair and toyed with it. “Free food, school classes, you know? I used another guy’s name so they wouldn’t send me home.”
“Oh.” Another tear fell. Con leaned in and kissed it away. His lips soft and warm on her skin.
“I lied about my experience to get work as a mechanic. I’d finally found something I was good at, that I had a real knack for, but I didn’t have any qualifications. I got used to working the angles, being whoever I needed to be to get by.”
His face was inches from hers and she could smell his skin, musky and soothing. He leaned in and kissed her again, this time on the nose.
A strange crumpled sensation pulled at her stomach. Why wasn’t she mad?
“I’ve always lied about my age. I honestly think you are the only person I’ve ever told my real age to.”
“The same as mine,” she murmured.
“Exactly. I’m even born in March, like you.”
“Pisces?”
A smile crossed his lips. “Yup.” He kissed her other cheek “Just like you.”
“But we’re not alike at all,” she whispered, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
“Why not?” He tipped his head back and looked at her, dark eyes narrowed. “Maybe we’re more alike that you think.”
“Because you’ve been through all this…” She waved her hand in the air to compensate for words that wouldn’t come to her.
“Hard times? Lies? Bullshit? Don’t be so sure we’re not alike. You’re going through all that right now.”
“Not like you.”
“Sure it is. The circumstances are different, but the hurt is the same. You’re all alone, making up crazy stories to hustle up some cash. Do you think they real
ly believe you want to marry me?”
“You don’t think they do?”
“I don’t know. I think Raoul does. He’s a true romantic.” His mouth tilted into that familiar crooked smile.
Lizzie squeezed her eyes against the tears but they trickled over her cheeks anyway. Her throat was tight. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I just can’t seem to—”
“Hey, that’s okay.” He stroked her hair. Leaned in and kissed her cheek in a way that made her skin buzz. “It’s good to let your emotions out. Don’t want to keep them all bottled up inside where they can drive you crazy.”
“How come you don’t?” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Don’t what?” He stroked her shoulder.
“Show emotion? Cry?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t feel that much anymore. Kept everything battened down so long the bolts are rusted. Don’t let that happen to you.”
He cupped her cheek, wiped a tear away, then leaned in to kiss her. “I’m glad of our lie,” he whispered. “Because I like being with you. I like you, Lizzie.”
The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, hot and forceful, his tongue in her mouth. She shuddered as he gripped her round the waist and pulled her right into him, her belly pressed against his flat stomach.
Hot relief flooded through her as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. She kissed him back even harder as her hands groped into his hair and her breath came in loud gasps. Too much emotion, too much feeling, all with nowhere to go, and it hurt.
Suddenly they were tugging at each others’ underwear and he climbed over her, panting and rolling on a condom he’d rustled up from somewhere. She couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, didn’t know how to do anything but try to press her body against his.
He gave her a rough kiss as he entered her. Something ragged inside her tore a little further, splitting her open and making her cling to him tighter. He pressed against her, grinding, sending shivers of dangerous arousal rippling through her and crashing against the swells of raw emotion. She gripped his neck, gasped and moaned as he increased the tempo, thrusting her deeper and deeper into a frenzy of tortured excitement.
A Bad Boy is Good to Find Page 18
