Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(23)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

Glancing at him from behind a lock of hair that covered her eyes, she got an eyeful of hair and tattoos and faded khakis hanging off sun-weathered skin.

“My bad, sir,” she said, straightening and smiling innocently.

He nodded, finally seeing her. And giving her a chance to see his face and any resemblance to Dylan. Brown eyes, yes, and maybe the mouth, but…

She realized he was checking her out, too. “We forgive pretty girls around here. Apartment policy.”

“Thanks and, um, listen, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a Mr. Jeffrey B. Munson, do you?”

He frowned slightly, shaking back some long, streaked hair. “You’re looking at him. Why?”

“Really? That’s fortunate.” She slipped her hand into the side pocket of her purse where she kept her business cards and handed him one. “My name is Liza Lemanski, and I work for the County Clerk in Collier County as head of the public records department, and we’ve been looking for you.”

“County Clerk. Shit.” He refused the card, all friendliness gone. “Parking ticket? Moving violation? Don’t tell me I owe freaking back taxes, lady. Call my lawyer.”

“None of the above, sir. A deceased citizen of Collier County has named you a beneficiary in her will, and we have to complete some paperwork and identification in order to expedite the payment.”

His eyes widened. “Seriously? How much?”

She gave him a tight, professional smile. “Most people usually ask the name of the deceased.”

“Oh, yeah.” He brushed back some hair. “Who croaked? Aunt Thelma from…I don’t know where the hell Collier County is.”

“The woman’s name was…” She took a chance. “Bailey Banks.”

His jaw unhinged, color draining from his face. “She’s dead?”

At least there was a hint of remorse in his tone, but if this was going to work, there had to be none in hers. “I’m afraid so, and her estate attorney is trying to locate all of the beneficiaries to get copies of the will, but you—”

“How did she die?”

No emotion, Liza. None. “I believe it was a car accident. And it was instant.” Oh, why did she add that? A county courier wouldn’t know that. “Anyway, I have a few questions for you, and then we’ll get the paperwork mailed out.”

He looked at her, but she could tell he was thinking about Carrie—Bailey—and not her questions. Which made it a good time to ask them.

“Can you confirm the date she left Key West?”

He frowned, pulled back to the moment, maybe not smart enough to wonder why that question would matter to an estate attorney. She hoped.

“Um, I’d have to check something—no, no. Of course I know. It was my birthday, well the day after. We’d had a party, and shit got pretty real, you know, and she didn’t like it. She just…took off.”

“And that day was…”

“June 13, however many years ago. Four? Five? I guess five years ago.”

Exactly the week Carrie had come into the County Clerk’s office. They’d always celebrated June 20 as their “friend anniversary.” She tilted her chin up, willing herself not to show any reaction.

“And she was alone when she left?”

“Yeah, as far as I…well, yeah. Sort of.” He looked away for a second, his wiry frame tense.

“Mr. Munson? Was she alone?”

He blew out a breath. “More or less.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, listen…” He threaded his fingers though his hair, then kept his palm on his unshaved face, rubbing it while he looked at her. “Does that will really call her Bailey Banks?”

The way he asked the question made perfect sense if he knew her real name. And Liza had seen her Social Security card. She knew her friend’s legal name. “Actually, that’s what we call an aka. Her legal name was Careen Cassidy, but they are one and the same.”

He nodded, all doubt erased from his features as if she’d given him a verbal password and could be trusted. “Yeah, she liked to use that Bailey name. She thought it sounded prettier or…” He shook his head slowly as the facts hit him.  “But, wow, so she died. Man, that’s sad.”

“Very.”

“Did she, um, have any other beneficiaries in that will?”

Just Dylan, her son. She hedged her bets with a nonanswer. “Her parents passed away.”

“I know that. I went to their funeral.”

Did he? Because Carrie’s journal said Nate had accompanied her there. Oh, Carrie, why did you leave behind this mess? Why couldn’t you tell me the truth? “Then who do you mean?”

“Like, did she have any…a kid?” He croaked the last word.

“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Munson. Why do you need to know?”

“Because…” Another puff of air, this one loud and slow. “‘Cause when she left…” He looked to the side, embarrassed. “She was pregnant.”

Here we go.  She took a wee breath of fortitude and looked him straight in the eye.  “Are you the father?” she asked bluntly, willing every muscle in her face to stay in the act of impartial third party and not someone who loved that child with her whole heart.

“Well, technically, yeah, but…”

“Technically?  You are or you aren’t, sir.” Her heart punched her ribs so hard it had to be leaving bruises.

“Would it change me getting any money?” he asked. “I mean, I hate to be crass and all, but we did some…you know…paperwork.”

A slow heat rose up from her belly, threatening her stability. “What kind of paperwork, Mr. Munson?”

“I signed a piece of paper. Something called a terminal…rights termination or—”

“Termination of Parental Rights?”

“You know what that is?”

“I do.” He’d signed a TPR already? “And if you could just show me a copy of that paper, Mr. Munson, and your legal ID, then I can”—adopt Dylan—”get on my way. Do you have it?”

“Somewhere. How much money do I get?”

Nothing. “As a courier, I’m not given that information, but an attorney will contact you after I get a picture of that form. Can I see it?” Please, please.

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a sec.” He turned and walked a few feet to the door of unit five. “Just wait out here. The place is a hellhole.”