Brand New Me (8 page)

Craig didn’t comment on that. He figured even if Dee-Dee wasn’t quite ready yet, he could always fix things so she would be. With Brandenburg money behind him, he’d find a way to bring her back to her senses. And, of course, back to him.

Deirdre managed not to groan as she sank into her chair at the back of the Faro. Two days of cleaning had shown her how little her yoga classes had prepared her for real physical labor. Every muscle in her body had its own particular ache. And now she had to go out to the bar and carry trays of beer steins for three or four hours.

Clem slid a ham sandwich in her direction before flopping down on the other side of the table. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a knothole. Are you sure it’s a good idea to work both shifts and clean that shithole in between?”

Deirdre sighed. “Probably not. But I need to get the basic cleaning done so I can start painting. The place needs to be in shape before I can bring in equipment.”

“You should ask Tom for advice on renovating. He brought this place back from the dead.”

“How long has he owned the Faro?” Deirdre frowned. “I thought he’d been here for a long time.”

“He’s been here a couple of years. The owner before him ran the place into the ground, more or less. Tom put it back on the map and made it work. It’s doing better now than it ever did before.”

Deirdre glanced around the room, curiously. She hadn’t really had time to take a good look at it until now, plus at night it was mostly too dark to see details. She didn’t have a lot of experience with bars, but the Faro looked better than some she’d been in. Like a lot of Konigsburg, it had an old-timey feel. Limestone block walls, pegged pine floors, a carved mahogany bar that looked like it was part of the original fixtures. The pictures on the walls seemed to be antique too, sepia-tinted photographs and engravings, along with some mounted deer horns and a huge buffalo head at the end of the room.

Deirdre blinked. The buffalo was wearing hoop earrings.

Clem grinned. “That’s Bruno. Part of the original fixtures. Tom added the earrings.”

“Interesting sense of style.”

Clem nodded. “He’s got a feel for the place—that’s what made me sign on with him. I had a catering business that wasn’t going anywhere since I had to compete with people like Allie Maldonado and Brenner’s restaurant. He hired me to make bar snacks for a while, and then he took me on full-time when he decided to try serving meals. Now we’ve got enough business to support you and Bobby Sue and Sylvia, with Marilyn on the weekends, along with Leon and Harry and Chico. Hell, he could probably use some more help. My guess is we’ll be doing dinners within a month. Tom’s making it work. It’s his bar, and he cares about it.”

Deirdre considered the unexpected phenomenon of Tom Ames as a successful entrepreneur. Well why not? Nobody ever expected her to have any business sense either. And yet she’d managed to keep a couple of her father’s smaller divisions from going under.

Clem raised her eyebrows again. “You’ve never told me exactly how you ended up waiting tables here, you know. And don’t tell me you’re earning money for your coffee shop. We both know you won’t earn enough here to open it, even with the good tips you could start pulling down eventually.”

“I can always apply for a loan when the time comes.” Deirdre took another bite of her sandwich and concentrated on chewing.

“Come on, give. Everything about you screams Smart Kid From the City, and if you’re related to Docia, you’re probably rich, too. What’s going on, Deirdre? Where’s the money?”

She sighed. “I have some money. I just can’t get to it right now. My father and I had a…disagreement, and he’s put a block on my funds. But that should be straightened out soon.” At least she sincerely hoped it would. On the other hand, she wasn’t too optimistic about it. “I’ll use whatever I earn here to clean the place up, then I’ll order equipment when I get access to my own money again.”

“No offense, honey, but you need to use some of that money you’re earning to fix yourself up, too.”

Deirdre glanced down at her khakis. Okay, the knit shirt was looking a little wilted. She’d washed it out in her kitchen sink at night, so at least it was clean. It wasn’t like she had a lot of choices in her closet, unless she started wearing her business suits. “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?”

“Nothing if you want to disappear into the woodwork, which, by the way, won’t get you much in the way of tips. Plus you’re beginning to look a little like a bag lady from River Oaks.”

Deirdre frowned. “I can’t afford a new wardrobe right now.”

“Sure you can. Take tomorrow afternoon off from cleaning. We’ll go over to Too Good To Be Threw, on Spicewood. They’ll have stuff you can afford, I guarantee it.”

“Shopping?” Deirdre felt like sighing. She really hated shopping. “I haven’t done that for a while. I mean, I used to use a shopping service.”

“You mean like a personal shopper? How does that work, anyway?”

“You tell them what you want, and they find it for you. Saves a lot of time. Besides, I’m no good at shopping.”

Clem grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert. Think of me as your personal thrift store shopper.”

Deirdre bit her lip, trying to fight back the sense of encroaching doom. She pictured her closet at Docia’s apartment, the rows of sober business suits. Business suits she’d probably never need again, given that she was going into the coffee business. “Does this store buy clothes, too?”

“Sure. They’re basically resale, so they take a lot of stuff on consignment, or Carolee can give you a flat payment.” Clem took a gulp of her iced tea. “Why, you got some stuff to get rid of?”

“I might, now that I think about it. And then I could use the money to buy something that would be appropriate here.”

Clem shook her head. “I shudder to think what that might be, but Too Good To Be Threw has a little of everything.”

“Okay.” Deirdre nodded decisively. “I’ll take some time off tomorrow after the lunch shift.”

“Good.” Clem stood up again. “Time to set up the nachos so y’all can throw them in the microwave when you need to.”

Deirdre pushed herself away from the table, thinking about her suits, her shoes, her matching bags.
A whole other life that I won’t be needing anymore. At least with any luck I won’t.
She rapped her knuckles lightly on the wooden table, then turned toward the bar to get change for the night.

Chapter Six

Craig drove his Suburban to Konigsburg, leaving his BMW at home. He figured it was best to be inconspicuous, at least at first, and the Suburban would definitely fit in better in the Hill Country. Dee-Dee should be glad to see him, given how long she’d been out there on her own by now, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. After all, he hadn’t expected her to stay out this long in the first place.

He sauntered down Main, looking for a bookstore. Big John hadn’t been able to give him the name of the place, just that his niece owned it and he’d know her when he saw her (“Six feet tall and orange hair. Never been one to hide her head under a basket either”).

Kent’s Hill Country Books looked like his best bet, given that the niece’s maiden name had been Kent. He hadn’t exactly decided what he’d say if he found Dee-Dee working there. It depended on how miserable she looked. Maybe she’d just let him bundle her up right then and there and take her home, which would really work out best for everyone concerned. He wouldn’t remind her how dumb she’d been, either.

He didn’t see Dee-Dee in the shop when he walked in, but he didn’t see any six-foot redheads either. The woman behind the counter was small and dark-haired. He managed not to grind his teeth in frustration.

“Can I help you?” the brunette asked.

Craig gave her his best promoter’s smile. “I’m looking for the owner.”

The brunette smiled. “That’s me. I’m one of them, anyway. Janie Toleffson.”

Well, hell.
This was going to be more complicated than he’d thought. “Actually, I’m trying to find Docia Kent. Is this her bookstore?” Big John hadn’t been able to remember his niece’s married name either.

Janie Toleffson’s forehead furrowed slightly. “This is her store, but her name is Toleffson now, too. Are you a friend?”

“Not exactly.” He upped the warmth of the smile. “We’ve never met. I need to ask her about someone—a common acquaintance.”

The brunette’s forehead didn’t get any smoother. “I don’t know when Docia will be here exactly. Perhaps you could leave a card with your number so that she could call you.”

Craig figured he wouldn’t hold his breath waiting for that call, but it was the best he could do at the moment. He handed the brunette a business card, with one more smile. “She can reach me at my cell number. I’ll be in town for a few days.”

Janie Toleffson glanced at the card, then looked more closely. “Brandenburg, Inc.?”

He nodded. “I work for Mrs. Toleffson’s uncle.”

Something flickered behind her eyes for a moment, almost too quickly for him to notice. But he had, and he had a good idea what it meant. She’d made the connection with Dee-Dee, and maybe she knew where Dee-Dee was.

The brunette smiled again. “I’ll give this to Docia when she comes in.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Craig left the store with a spring in his step. He might or might not hear back from Docia Kent Toleffson, but he’d learned something even more important. He was reasonably certain now that the old man had been right—Dee-Dee was somewhere in Konigsburg. Which made her a hell of a lot easier to find.

Deirdre wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Too Good To Be Threw, but then she’d never been to a vintage clothing store before. She wasn’t even sure what made something vintage instead of just used.

Clem introduced her to Carolee Guttenberg, the owner, and Deirdre brought in a half dozen of her suits. She figured she might need to keep something to wear to the bank when she applied for the loan she was more and more certain she was going to need, but she also figured she wouldn’t be wearing most of them any time soon.

Carolee held them up, narrowing her eyes slightly, then blew out a quick breath. “Good quality. Very good. The labels alone should bring in a nice price. You’re sure you want to get rid of these?”

“I don’t need them anymore. Do you think they’ll sell?”

Carolee grinned. “Lord above, they’ll sell in a split second to the right person. Some yuppie from Austin’s going to find this stuff and think she’s hit the mother lode. That’s if I don’t grab them myself first. You want to leave them on consignment or take a payment now?”

“I’ll take a payment this time—I need to buy some things for myself. I may have some more for consignment later.”

Carolee grinned again. “Any time, sweetie.”

Deirdre tucked the money from the suits into her purse, then headed toward the back of the store.

Clem had already started flipping through a rack. “Okay, grab a few of these and try them on. Let’s see what fits.”

Deirdre narrowed her eyes. “Jeans? I’ve got jeans.”

Clem shook her head. “I’ve seen your jeans. They look like boyfriend pants, and not in a good way either. We’re trying to come up with a look that will improve your tips at the Faro, not one that’ll scare the customers away.”

Deirdre thought about protesting. Then again, she’d bought her jeans for comfort, not fashion. They were what she’d worn to laze around her apartment on the weekend. Maybe comfort wasn’t as important at the Faro.

Clem pulled a couple of pairs of jeans off the rack and handed them to her. “Try these on first. That way we can get an idea of fit.”

Deirdre stepped into the minuscule dressing room at the back, pulling off her sandals. The jeans were so old the fabric felt like suede. She pulled them on, zipped them up, and stepped out to look at herself in the mirror. “These look nice.”

Clem shook her head. “Wrong size. Try these.”

Deirdre squinted at her reflection. The jeans looked fine to her, but Clem was her personal shopper this time around. And she needed those tips.

She stepped back into the dressing room and pulled on the next pair. These were a lot harder to zip. She took a breath, pulled up the zipper, and stepped out again, panting.

Clem narrowed her eyes, studying her in the mirror. “We’re getting there. Maybe a half size more.” She handed her another hanger. “Try these.”

This time, Deirdre had to ease the jeans over her hips bit by bit, unfolding them gradually until they reached slightly below her waist. It took two tries to get the waistband closed. She worried about the strength of the zipper. Taking a few shallow breaths, she stepped out of the dressing room again, telling herself she didn’t really see spots dancing in front of her eyes.

Clem broke into a grin. “That’s it.”

“But I can’t breathe,” Deirdre gasped.

“They’ll loosen up a little as you wear them. Besides, breathing’s overrated.”

Deirdre gritted her teeth. “Not by those who do it regularly. Anyway, I can’t bend over in these. How am I supposed to serve drinks?”

“Try bending your knees.”

She bent slightly. She could swear the fabric groaned behind her.

“See? You can bend down like that. And besides, once they get molded to you, you’ll be able to bend over too if you want.”

“I don’t know, Clem.”

“Carolee?” Clem called. “Come back here and look at her, will you?”

Carolee peeked over a clothes rack, then broke into a grin. “Oh my. You’re gonna wear those to wait tables? You’ll start a riot. Everybody in town will be down there.”

“I rest my case.” Clem handed her another pair of jeans. “Try these, too. Boot cut Levis.”

After a half hour, Deirdre had three pairs of jeans and a stitch in her side from holding her breath. “I guess they’ll be okay. But I need to buy some blouses to go with them. I don’t have anything besides that knit shirt I’ve been wearing all week.” Obviously, the tailored silks she had for her suits wouldn’t exactly work for the Faro, although they’d be a sort of interesting look with the jeans.

Clem shook her head. “No blouses. T-shirts. Preferably in juvenile sizes.” She headed toward a table at the side of the shop. “Check these out. Vintage concert shirts. You can load up on country and heavy metal.”