“I mean, what was she looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
John marched to the closet and pulled the boxes down. He could see folders and piles of old papers. Photographs and schoolwork from when Stephanie had been little. He wasn’t interested in the sentimental crap, but he looked at the pictures anyway, trying to find something that would give him a clue.
There were photos of the family when Stephanie was little. He hoped he wasn’t going to find that guy Branson’s smiling face.
That thought gave him pause. She didn’t know him from her past, did she?
He looked up, seeing Swift watching him.
“Get me some coffee. No cream. No sugar.”
He could see the man wanted to say he wasn’t John Reynard’s servant, but he kept his mouth shut and shuffled out of the room. John could hear him rattling around downstairs.
Swift brought a mug of coffee. At least it was a strong New Orleans brew laced with chicory. He sipped while he lookedthrough folders, wondering if anything would strike him. And wondering why he was bothering. Maybe because if he couldn’t have Stephanie with him, he could at least paw through her past.
The notion made him snort. John Reynard didn’t settle for less than he was due. But in this case, he’d have to settle until he could change the equation.
He came across some forms and instructions from a place called the Solomon Clinic in Houma. Apparently, it was a fertility clinic. It looked like Stephanie’s mother had gone there for treatments before she was born. That was interesting. Did it mean that Stephanie would have trouble conceiving children? He hadn’t considered that when he’d decided he had to marry her because it certainly hadn’t been his main reason for wanting to keep her close. Kids would be good, though, because it was a way to keep hold of her. If she was worried about losing custody of her children, she wouldn’t be quick to leave her husband. But that was all in the future. It didn’t give a clue as to where she was now. He put the folder back into the box and kept looking for information he could use.
“Do you have a second home?” he asked Swift.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He gave the location.
That might be a possibility.
When his cell phone rang, he looked at the number with annoyance, displeased to be interrupted in the middle of his search.
Then he recognized the area code and knew it was the guy in DC he’d hired to dig up stuff on Craig Branson. Maybe he’d found something that would be more useful than these piles of old papers and pictures.
He got up, walked into the hall, and answered the phone.
“Mr. Reynard?” the detective said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been digging into Branson’s past.”
“Have you found any dirt?”
“Not anything illegal that he’s done, but he was involved in an incident a number of years ago.”
John felt his heart leap. Was this something he could use?
“What?” he demanded.
“He and his family were eating dinner in a restaurant when a mob boss named Jackie Montana was gunned down.”
John felt the hairs on his arms prickle.
The man continued. “The guy and two of his bodyguards went down. It turns out Branson’s twin brother, Sam, was collateral damage.”
An exclamation of disbelief sprang to John’s lips. “You mean at a place called Venario’s?” he managed to ask.
