Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [38]
“I’d hoped once she met me, she’d want to know me.” He paused a beat. “Or perhaps you could get a DNA sample for me. Hair from a brush, a toothbrush. You have access to the house and everything in it.”
“I don’t steal from my clients,” I said hotly.
“Not even for the sake of justice?”
His question stopped me. In my heart of hearts, I did believe Monica owed him something—if she was truly his mother. People shouldn’t run around dropping babies like sacks of laundry and leaving them behind. There was a duty to a child, an obligation that went something to the effect that if a life was brought into the world, the people responsible for creating the baby also had responsibility for caring for him or her. If Barclay was telling the truth, Monica had violated him in a way many people never recover from.
“And why should I believe you?” I countered.
“It’s easy enough to determine the truth,” he said. “I’d be a fool to lie about it and then come here in search of DNA evidence.”
“He has a point.” Cece’s gaze moved from his dimple to his broad shoulders. It wasn’t hard to guess what thoughts were flying around in her head; I could almost hear the “boom, chicka, boom” sound track for a bad 70s porn flick. I used my hip to nudge her back to reality.
“He does have a point,” she insisted, irritated that I’d interrupted her fantasy.
“Following the family tradition of legally changing my name, I am indeed a Levert. I have a right to my inheritance.” The anger was building again. Barclay Levert had a lot of issues and a short fuse. Was he capable of violence? I couldn’t say for certain.
My theories on how inherited wealth ruined most kids would be of no interest to Barclay. He wanted what was his, and he had yet to come to the realization that what he most desired—his mother’s love—could never be demanded or legally awarded in a court of law. Monica had cheated him greatly, and it could never be redressed. For that, I could find pity for him. Cece, who’d undergone a similar emotional battering by her unaccepting family, would relate even more.
“Monica and Eleanor don’t have to give you anything,” I pointed out.
He considered what I said. “I know that. But I believe the Levert name means much to them. I am Monica’s son, a true Levert, whether she wants to acknowledge me or not.”
“Have you spoken to her?” Cece asked.
“I was hoping for the DNA proof first. That’s why I approached Miss Delaney and Mrs. Richmond in the Eola bar. I heard they were working for the sisters on the missing necklace. Gossip in Natchez is like the wind. My intent was to ask them to help me.”
“But you didn’t. You said you were some strange fictional character,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t sense a willingness to hear me out.”
“Sarah Booth and Tinkie can be pretty pigheaded at times,” Cece cut in.
“So Monica has no idea you’re in town?” I asked.
“She doesn’t. I’ve followed the sisters—from a distance. I admit it. I saw them in the tearoom the other day waiting for you and your partner. I watched them for a long time, but I didn’t approach.”
“And what do you know of Briarcliff?” I asked.
“I know the stories.” He offered the crook of an arm to each of us. “Shall we stroll? Let’s find a quiet place to sit and talk. I’d like to buy you a drink. I need your help, and I’m not too proud to ask for it.”
Cece attached herself without a qualm. Her hand caressed his biceps and she gave me a look that said, “Watch out, this bad boy has met his match.”
I almost felt sorry for Barclay. Almost. Reluctantly I tucked my hand through his other arm and we set off for the far end of the street.
“Bennator’s is quiet. We can finish this conversation without interruption,” he said as he escorted us to the quaint little restaurant. The place was dark, quiet, and perfect for conversation. This wasn’t a hangout for the young or tourists. This was a place where locals could drink quietly and hold a discussion.
We found a table in the back. Barclay settled into a chair and then glanced from