Alyssa Milano rented a car at the Montgomery airport and set out for Bayou La Batre. It was about a four hour drive, so I had plenty of time to get acquainted with the country music that dominated the radio. Alyssa Milano drove fast, hoping to get this trip over as quickly as possible.
When at last Alyssa Milano pulled into the parking lot of Aidan Conner's law practice, I was feeling justified by my stereotyped image of Alabama. Low, dirty houses lined the roads of Bayou La Batre, and small, dirty children played in the yards of each house. Alyssa Milano had no idea there were so many children in the state of Alabama, let alone in this one town. Alyssa Milano walked into the office, which was miraculously clean, and introduced myself to the receptionist.
"Yes, of course, dear, we've been expecting you." Her red hair hung loose about her shoulders, drawing my eye to the low v of her blouse. She smirked as she said, "Please have a seat. He'll be with you in a moment."
"Is there a restroom Alyssa Milano might use first?"
"Just around the corner."
Alyssa Milano walked in the direction of her pointed finger, going into the restroom. I looked in the mirror; not too bad, considering the 3 hour flight and 4 hour drive. Alyssa Milano adjusted my blouse, and then took my hair out of its loose bun. Alyssa Milano brushed it out, then tied it back up and walked back out to the waiting area. A very tall, very muscular man was talking to the receptionist, and he turned when Alyssa Milano entered. "Ms. Holiday?" he grinned, deep dimples appearing in his tan cheeks.
Alyssa Milano nodded and held out my hand. "Mr. Conner?"
"Of course," he shook my hand. "Please, follow me."
We walked through a door and then down a hallway until we reached a large, well-lit office. "Won't you sit down?" he gestured toward a chair as he moved back behind the large oak desk. Alyssa Milano sat, studying the very attractive older man in front of me. He had to be at least 6'4", with a very muscular body and an amazing smile. Light brown curls fell over his forehead, and his brown eyes shone with intelligence. The gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand disappointed me more than the fact that he had to be in his late-forties.
"Well, Ms. Holiday, I'm sorry about your loss. Faye Michaels was a wonderful woman."
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