A Bad Boy is Good to Find Page 16

  “I like it curly.” Con put his comb down on the dressing table in front of her. “I think Lizzie’s hair is beautiful in its natural state. Wild and lovely, just like her.”

  He leaned in, all spicy scent and warm muscle, and planted a featherlight kiss on her cheek. Left her skin humming and her face heating. Bastard. “You always look beautiful to me, babe,” he said. “See you downstairs.

  She noted with deep satisfaction that he picked up a shirt on his way out.

  “You’re a lucky woman,” said Raoul after Con had left the room.

  “Yeah,” said Lizzie, with no conviction whatsoever. How much had Raoul overheard? And what might he do with that information?

  “So, shall we wash it and see what happens?”

  “Lizzie, darling!” Maisie beckoned to her from the floodlit dining room.

  She came down the stairs rigid with self-awareness since she’d noticed a camera trained right on her. Raoul had used some kind of greasy gel on her hair that made it hang in stringy tendrils about her shoulders. She looked like a wet wood nymph. He’d talked her into wearing cutoff jeans by some SoHo designer and a halter top with a built in bra, so she was a wet wood nymph who’d dipped into Daisy Duke’s wardrobe. She’d been rather impressed with her swamp-sexpot look in the age-spotted bedroom mirror, with Raoul standing behind her claiming jealousy. In full view of the crew, with 3200 Kelvins of artificial daylight blasting her from every direction, she felt like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

  “Wow.” A grin spread across Con’s face. “I like this look.”

  She cringed at the blush creeping up her chest, which was pushed into view by a large quantity of industrial-strength underwire.

  Maisie stood off to one side, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Cut!” She strode forward. “Goodness, Lizzie, Raoul does get creative doesn’t he? Shame it took so long, but I imagine it was a lot of work.” She picked up a clump of “wet look” hair. “I was just telling Con about our plans for the day. We’re going to drive over to Mudbug Flats—” She lingered over the name a bit—“after breakfast. You two are taking a sweet little white Jeep we’ve rented. Of course, they’ll be a cameraman in the car with you, but the rest of the crew will be in a van.”

  Maisie paused to look at her clipboard. Lizzie paused to regret ever coming up with this stupid idea.

  She glanced at Con. He stared rather too intently at his cup of coffee.

  “So, darling, the only snag is that when we tried to scope out the exact location, we couldn’t find it, so Con will have to show us the way.”

  Con seized his cup and took a sip, without looking up. His shirt was on and buttoned.

  “Your family will be expecting us, I imagine?” Maisie looked at Con.

  Family? Lizzie felt a drip of sweat trickle down her back. It hadn’t really sunk in that Con could have a family of real people. He certainly never mentioned them. What would they be like? What on earth would they think of her? She swallowed hard.

  “No one’s expecting me.” Con’s voice was throaty. “I’ve been gone a long time. Haven’t stayed in touch.”

  Maisie stared at him, her smooth brow furrowed. “Reallllly?” she said slowly. “So this is sort of a prodigal-son-returns type of piece, then?”

  Con licked his lips. No sign whatsoever of his usual polished charm. “I don’t know what kind of piece it’s going to be.”

  “But you will be able to find the place?”

  “If it’s still there, I can find it.” He pressed his lips together. Lizzie tried to catch his eye but couldn’t.

  “Alright then, we’ll go there and see what we see. Make a day of it.” Maisie smiled brightly. “Breakfast!” She indicated a spread on the table. “Let me get out of the shot for a moment.”

  Con seemed to recover himself as Lizzie sat down with a plate of spiced sausages and scrambled eggs.

  “Looking forward to seeing the old place?” she said brightly. Took a bite of her eggs. Squinted under the harsh spotlight.

  “I haven’t been back in so long, I don’t know what to expect.” His worried brown-eyed gaze threatened her defenses.

  Don’t fall for it. Picture him chuckling about you with Raoul over the free weights.

  “I understand. Change can be so traumatic. I hardly recognize the block on East 66th Street where I grew up..” She smiled, bracing herself against any unwelcome emotion.

  She noticed Maisie snap to attention and give some kind of signal to Dino. Maisie strode forward and sat down at the table next to Con, opposite Lizzie. Lizzie braced herself.

  “Morning, Lizzie, Morning, Conroy,” she said, brightly. A kind of ‘on-air’ glow made her smile shine whiter. She spoke to Con. “We’re all very excited to be here with you for this little homecoming. As you know, Lizzie grew up in a luxury brownstone in one of New York City’s finest neighborhoods. As cousins we spent many beautiful Christmases gathered around the fresh-cut tree in the magnificent living room of that house, surrounded by Van Dykes and Gainsboroughs.”

  “In a way it was the end of an era, a time of unsurpassed luxury and genteel living, when the Hathaway family was riding high on the success of the company founded by Lizzie’s grandfather, Ezreel Hathaway.”

  Con, who had retained something of a poker face during this barrage of backstory, couldn’t keep his lips from twitching with mirth at the mention of Grandpa Ezreel.

  “Rising from the ashes of the depression, the Hathaway company brought new advances in sanitation into the homes of millions and created jobs in all fifty states. Now after decades as a beacon in American industry, the company is gone, the workers laid off, and the Chairman and CEO Ronald Hathaway—” She pressed a slim hand to her breast. “My uncle and Lizzie’s father is facing a jail sentence for stock fraud. Unbowed by the disgrace to our family, Lizzie has boldly struck out on her own and claimed a new life with you, Conroy.”

  Lizzie squirmed as sweat tickled her back. She glanced at Con, who gave every appearance of having been a professional poker player at some point in his checkered past. Entirely possible, of course. Though his eyes were fixed on Maisie, somehow his entire posture and bearing seemed to project one thought.

  I told you so.

  Lizzie gritted her teeth.

  “So, Conroy, how do you feel about marrying into such a famous—now almost infamous—family?”

  Lizzie tensed.

  “People are people,” he said. “When I met Lizzie, I knew she was the woman for me.” He cocked his head, exuded confident charm.

  Yeah, right. That’s my kind of money was your only thought.

  “Now, Conroy, Lizzie was still a wealthy woman, with the expectation of a large inheritance when you met her.”

  Lizzie’s last bite of sausage lodged in her throat.

  “How did you react when you found out she was wiped out in the stock scandal?”

  “It was a shock, of course, but Lizzie and I both feel it’s for the best.” He leaned into Maisie a little.

  Lizzie’s eyes widened.

  “Lizzie and I want to live a simple life. As she’ll tell you herself, she’s never had expensive tastes. She’s looking forward to living like a normal person for a change. To having car payments and mortgage payments and having to save for vacations. We’re excited about building our own American dream.”

  Lizzie realized her jaw was hanging open. If she wasn’t mistaken that was almost word for word the little speech she’d given on that terrible night. When she still believed in Con and thought they could make a life together. That moment of desperate hopefulness rang in her heart. Stung her with fresh pain at how totally she’d loved him.

  “And Celebrity Access is delighted to be able to set that dream in motion with a wedding you’ll never forget.” Maisie beamed.

  Please don’t talk to me. Lizzie tried desperately to gather her thoughts, to catch her breath. She could feel Maisie getting ready to launch a missile in her direction, and she couldn’t take the hea
t. She caught Con’s eye and shot him a pleading glance.

  Con cleared his throat. “It was Lizzie’s idea to come back here to Louisiana. We’re from very different backgrounds, and Lizzie wanted to see where I’m from.”

  “Where you’re from,” repeated Maisie, in a sonorous imitation of Barbara Walters. “Did you grow up in an antebellum mansion like this one?” She arched a slim brow.

  “No.” Con narrowed his eyes slightly. “No, I grew up in much…simpler surroundings.”

  “A stark contrast, I imagine, to the lap of luxury that nurtured your fiancé?”

  “No doubt.”

  “You told me earlier, Conroy, that you haven’t been home in a long time.” Maisie lowered her voice, leaned forward. “Is this homecoming somewhat difficult for you?”

  Con didn’t flinch. “It was Lizzie’s idea, like I said, but she’s right. It’s something I’ve put off far too long.”

  “And on that note, we have a journey to make. A journey to Conroy’s hometown. A little place in bayou country, known to its inhabitants as Mudbug Flats.” Maisie held her smile in place for a count of three. “Cut.”

  Con leaned back in his chair, obviously relieved the inquisition was over. Lizzie’s head buzzed with his words—her words—that she’d said in another lifetime.

  “A good start, I think. Thank you, Conroy.” Maisie looked disgustingly pleased with herself. In a pale beige power suit that set off her rather subtle coloring, she was elegant and composed. A perfect on-air interviewer. Lizzie could already envision the fifty year retrospective of her illustrious career in journalism, beginning with her very first on-air story…

  This one.

  She closed her eyes and willed away an incipient headache. “Let’s go.” She wanted to get this Mudbug Flats ordeal over with and get back to the world of hand-trimmed seamed silk stockings and artfully arranged roses that was at least familiar.

  Twenty five thousand dollars. You can do it.

  Chapter 15

  “If it’s still there, it’s down the end of this road.” The hair on the back of Con’s neck stood on end as he steered the Jeep into the cool shadows of the familiar cypress swamp. He’d half expected the trees to have blown away or sunk or been cut down. They weren’t all that far from the big house where they were staying, but it felt like another world. Neat trailers with cars in their driveways flanked the narrow road and reassured him that they were still in ordinary America, not on a trip into a murky underworld he might not come back from alive. He was glad most of the homes looked tidy and well kept. He didn’t want Lizzie, or anyone else, to get the wrong impression.

  Though why he should care, he had no idea.

  “So is this Mudbug Flats?” Lizzie’s voice sounded tight.

  “Not yet. Mudbug Flats is kind of the end of the line. We’ll get there soon.”

  The line of houses came to an end and trees crowded the road. They went a stretch of half a mile or more without any sign of human habitation. They had the windows up to keep the A/C in and the bugs out, but he itched to roll them down and inhale the sweet honey smell of the swamp, to fill his ears with the lively bustle of birds and insects. Right now he could feel the camera trained on his right ear as he drove. Could smell Dino’s acrid sweat.

  As they emerged from the darkest grove of trees his stomach tightened. His mind expected to see the pale blue walls of Tim LeJean’s old place. Nothing.

  “This is the town.” His voice caught as the Jeep hung up on a pothole in the road and they lurched forward. Lizzie steadied herself with a hand on the dash.

  “What town? I don’t see anything.”

  Me either. A nasty cold sensation snuck up his back. Miss Dee’s store used to be right there on the left, big oil drums of produce stacked in front of the porch, fishermen smoking in the plastic chairs outside. He didn’t see anything there now except an overgrown clearing. Was the town totally destroyed? Gone?

  No. A wall appeared through the thick cypress canopy and came into view as they drove further. “That’s the Gaudry place.” Relief loosened his chest. Joe Gaudry’s cabin looked solid and immovable as ever on its high pilings, sun beating down on the gray wood. “Shall we go see if anyone’s home?” He had a powerful urge to talk to someone. Even mean old Joe Gaudry. Get a heads-up on what to expect.

  Procrastinate.

  “No, let’s keep going to your place. We can come back.”

  “Okay.” No turning back now.

  Would Danny be there?

  A rocket flash of anticipation surged through him and stung his fingers. A painful swell of hope and fear made him grip the steering wheel tighter.

  You abandoned him.

  Shame crept over him, and a host of shadowy memories loomed like the ancient cypress. A smart new trailer on the right caught his eye, and he wondered who lived there. Two yellow lawn chairs flanked a colorful kid’s wading pool. A neat ring of yellow flowers surrounded a statue of the blessed virgin.

  Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our…

  The Jeep slammed into another pothole. The blacktop had deteriorated once they entered Mudbug Flats. Not surprising, since the population seemed to have largely vanished. He glanced at Lizzie.

  “You alright?” The look of genuine concern in her eyes touched him someplace that hurt.

  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. The camera was trained on him, but somehow it didn’t bother him. It felt almost natural, like the eye of God.

  God? What the hell was he thinking about God for? Was God now haunting the swamp he’d abandoned all those years ago?

  He realized his chest was heaving. The click of his mother’s rosary beads flashed into his memory.

  Holy Mary, mother…

  He slammed on the brakes. “I can’t do this.”

  “What?” Lizzie lurched forward then turned to him, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ears.

  “I didn’t tell you… I don’t… I can’t…” He couldn’t formulate words or thoughts as painful memories rushed his brain. Thoughts he’d shoved down and locked up for years pushed to the forefront of his consciousness.

  Lizzie’s hand touched his arm, her fingers soft, squeezing the skin.

  “It’s okay.” She sounded wary, like she didn’t believe it.

  “It isn’t,” he whispered. He could hear the camera whirring. “It isn’t okay.”

  “Con,” she said softly. “I don’t know what’s out there for you, but I do know that you need to face it.” She squeezed his arm again.

  Their eyes met. For once there wasn’t a trace of anger, malice or cruelty in her face. Just compassion. “You know you do.”

  Something stirred in his heart, and he nodded and jerked the stick shift back into drive.

  What was he afraid of? The old man and his fists? The camera was protection, not that he needed it anymore. He wasn’t a skinny kid cowering under the house. He took a deep breath.

  Danny wouldn’t be there. He’d be twenty-one by now, gone off to lead his own life, if he’d lived long enough to have one. The grim realization brought an emptiness that almost passed for calm.

  Lizzie’s hand stayed on his arm as he drove. She rubbed it, intending to be reassuring, but her touch stirred up more anxiety. She’d regret this maybe more than he would.

  He wasn’t going to be able to play it the way she wanted.

  His blood pressure ratcheted as he noticed Remy’s house was gone. Just the stilts were left, poking up out of black dirt. The road itself was dirt now too, flecked with an occasional hunk of tarmac, but looking like it washed out regularly.

  And there it was.

  Nothing.

  He threw the car into park, jerking them all forward again.

  One ragged wooden stilt stuck up out of the muddy dirt.

  Nothing and no one there.

  “This is the place,” he muttered. So low he could barely hear his own voice. “Must have washed away.”

  Lizzie h
ad a hand pressed to her mouth.

  A terrible wave of relief swept over him, followed by an undertow of guilt. Was this really it?

  Oh, yes. He could feel pain and anger still lodged in the damn trees.

  He jumped out of the car. The ground squelched beneath his feet. Wetter than it used to be, sinking into the swamp around them. The road continued on through the trees, but not for much further, he’d bet.

  All gone. Except the memories, and he’d sure tried to get rid of those. As shadows of the past crowded toward him, he stiffened his back, like a gladiator ready to fight for his life in the ring. He was angry as hell and done keeping quiet. If Lizzie didn’t like it she had no one but herself to blame.

  She climbed out the Jeep and picked her way toward him. Her sandals sank into the dark mud.

  “Home sweet home,” he said coolly.

  She hugged herself. Smacked at a mosquito on her arm. Her trendy outfit left her exposed and her forehead creased into a pained expression that softened him. Almost.

  What had she expected? Lizzie figured it would be a shack in a swamp and here they were, the remains of a shack in a swamp. She was relieved there were no actual people here, but she’d never really thought there would be.

  So where was her thrill of victory?

  Con walked toward what was left of the stilt foundation and she followed, stick-littered mud squishing under her feet.

  “This was the house,” he said, scratching his head. He seemed to have regained his cool. “Up on stilts, ’cause as you can see, it gets wet around here. Two rooms.” He gave a grim little smile that felt like a stab in her gut. “This what you expected?”

  She nodded. Bit her lip.

  “The bayou’s right back there. You can see it if you’re up a bit higher. We used to get around by boat. Didn’t have a car except for one time when my dad won a few dollars in the lottery. Gone soon enough though.”