A Bad Boy is Good to Find(53)

“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 *,” 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.”