Venus in Blue Jeans (3 page)

“Aw, come on, Ms. Kent.” Dub’s voice rose to a thin wheedle. “It’s not like I’m askin’ you to do much. Just hold onto a package.”

Docia frowned. There was absolutely no good reason to get into this except curiosity. “How big?”

“Not big.” Dub spread his hands a foot apart, sketching a rough square. “All folded up. Doesn’t take up much space at all.”

No good reason, Docia, none
. “How long would you leave it?”

“Few days, maybe a week. Just ’til I close the sale.”

Dub was smiling cheerfully again, blue eyes twinkling. If she hadn’t known him very well, she’d think he was a charming old coot.
Charming, my ass.

Docia refolded her arms across her chest. “I’m not holding anything unless you tell me what it is first. And I’m not helping you with anything that isn’t legit, Dub.”

Dub’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t know what it is. Safer for you, I mean.”

“Safer?” Docia frowned. “Safer from what? What’s this all about?”

Dub shrugged, his eyes watchful.

Hell.
Docia pushed herself upright again. “Okay, that’s it. I don’t know what you’ve got going on here, Dub, but if it’s that dangerous, it’ll go on without me. Buy yourself a safe. Buy yourself an alarm system. Buy yourself a pit bull. I am
not
getting into this.”

She flipped the button on the front door lock, pulling the door open.

Dub shook his head. “Not that way,” he muttered. “Let me go out the back.”

Docia stared at him, brow furrowing. “Lordy, Dub, just who are you hiding from? What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Dub grinned, bright-eyed again. Whatever the hell he was up to, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. “How ’bout I raise the commission to seven percent?”

“Still nope.” Docia sighed, re-locking the front door. “But I will let you out the back.”

Nico hopped off the counter and trotted after them, apparently hoping, as usual, for a little extra breakfast.

Margaret Hastings arrived in Cal’s examination room promptly at ten-forty-five. He’d already seen six patients with female owners before she showed up. The ladies of Konigsburg apparently had problems with hypochondriac pets. A Siamese who was supposed to be “listless” but who seemed chipper enough to Cal. A golden lab that was reportedly off his feed, although Cal thought he could use the diet. Even a parakeet, although since Cal wasn’t certified in avian medicine, he couldn’t say much about whether the bird really did have a speech defect.

Another dozen brownies had also shown up at the front desk. Double fudge. Bethany, the clinic assistant, muttered about sugar shock. Cal began to think Wonder might have a point.

Cal studied Margaret as she walked in. As usual, she was dressed in Pioneer Housewife style. The flounce on her denim skirt brushed her ankles. Her white blouse had ruffles at the wrists and a wide, lace-trimmed collar buttoned to her neck. Given that the outside temperature hovered in the nineties, she was probably wildly uncomfortable, but unlike ordinary mortals, she wasn’t sweating.

Margaret owned Angels Unaware, one of the more popular gift shops in Konigsburg. She looked a little angelic herself—tiny, demure, blonde, always smiling sweetly.

Cal didn’t trust her an inch.

She had Señor Pepe in a white wicker carrier with an opening for his head to stick out. The dog rested his fawn-colored nose against the edge of the carrier. Cal thought he was the saddest-looking Chihuahua he’d ever seen.

“What seems to be the trouble, Ms. Hastings?” he asked, carefully.

“Margaret,” she replied in her slightly nasal voice. “Please call me Margaret, Doctor Toleffson. Mercy, I’ve been in so many times now I feel like we’re old friends.”

She gave him one of her odd smiles, where her lips spread decorously, concealing her teeth as if showing them would be in bad taste.

Cal concentrated on Señor Pepe, rubbing his fingers across the dog’s bulbous forehead. “Hey, boy, what’s up?” Señor Pepe began to tremble, lifting huge chocolate eyes to Cal.
Help me!

“He’s scratching himself again.” Margaret pursed her lips. “All around the neck. He’s given himself another rash. Honestly, I don’t know what to do!”

Señor Pepe glanced in her direction and then yipped, digging his paws against the wicker.

“Bad dog,” Margaret snapped. “No barking.”

“Let’s get him out of his carrier,” Cal said quickly.

He flipped up the metal catch, opening the folding top. Señor Pepe hopped out and made a break for the edge of the examination table, toenails clicking frantically against metal.

“No, no!” Margaret cried. “Stay right there!”

Cal wrapped his hand around Señor Pepe’s small body, lifting him back from the edge. “Whoa, there, buddy. It’s okay.” He turned to Margaret. “He’s fine.”

“Except for the rash. Please tell me it’s nothing serious.” She raised her large, slightly protruding brown eyes to gaze wistfully at Cal. For a moment, she looked a little like a Chihuahua herself.

“It’s nothing serious,” Cal said obediently, running his fingers along Señor Pepe’s neck. “Looks like a little dry skin. What are you feeding him?”

“Oh, this and that.” Margaret stretched her lips in a smile again, bending her head back to look up at him. He doubted she was more than five-foot-three at most. “Some dry food, cans sometimes. He had leftover steak last night and he loved it, didn’t you, Precious?”

Señor Pepe turned long-suffering eyes on Cal.
Help me, for God’s sake!

“Try a dry food that has omega fatty acids. That may help. And no people food—not even steak.” He gave Margaret his best professional smile.
Professional, please notice, not personal.

“Oh, of course.” Margaret ran her fingers through the long golden hair that fell straight to her shoulders from a bright blue ribbon. “It does seem such a shame to throw out good food, though. I love to cook, you know, but sometimes it’s hard for just one person.”

Cal had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming. On the other hand, like a train wreck seen from a considerable distance, he hadn’t a clue how to head it off.

“I’d love to fix dinner for you some evening, Dr. Toleffson, if you’re free.” Her lips stretched.

“Oh, well,” Cal mumbled, “that’s really very kind of you, but…”

“Wonderful,” Margaret said briskly. “Shall we say tonight? Sevenish?”

“Um, well, I might have to work late…”

“Sounds perfect. Just give me a call if you do.” Margaret plucked Señor Pepe from his hand and plopped him back into the carrier, flipping the top down in place again. “Come on, Precious, Mama’s got to go back to work.” She turned at the door and gave him another lip stretch. “Until tonight, Doctor.”

Cal watched the door swing closed behind her and sighed. “Right. Tonight it is.”

“You could have told her no,” Wonder said. “It’s done all the time.”

Cal shook his head, leaning his back against the Dew Drop bar. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I swear to God, she just slipped it right by me.”

“This is a very bad idea, Idaho. You realize the woman owns a shop that specializes in angel figurines.” Wonder reached for the bottle of Spaten Ingstrom had placed at his elbow. “I warned you about that. She also doesn’t believe in alcohol. Whatever she cooks, there won’t be any booze to go along with it.”

“Just as well.” Cal shrugged. “I think I need to keep a clear head around her.” He pushed his bottle of Dos Equis further away.

“Definitely,” Wonder growled. “Make nothing that could be construed as a commitment. No matter how innocent.”

Cal squinted into the gloom at the other end of the bar. No goddesses were hiding in the shadows.

“She’s not here.” Wonder shrugged. “Probably over at Brenner’s. Much more respectable place.”

Cal’s shoulders slumped. He’d cleaned up before coming this time, even trimmed his beard. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go down to Brenner’s now?”

“To a wine bar?” Wonder’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “I assume that was a rhetorical question. Besides, don’t you have a dinner to go to?”

“So Docia Kent doesn’t come in here much.” Cal felt even more depressed. He’d been hoping to do a little goddess-watching, at least. Maybe buy her a quick drink before heading to his dinner at the Little House on the Prairie.

“This place is like Rick’s in
Casablanca
. Everybody comes in here eventually.” Wonder leaned his elbows against the sticky surface of the bar. “The trick is to wait until they come to you.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “So how’s that working out for you?”

“I expect it to start working any day now.” Wonder took a long swallow of Spaten.

Docia looked down at the small plate Lee Contreras had just placed in front of Janie. “Okay, I give up, what is it?”

“Fried mussels,” Lee explained. “In rice flour batter with lemon-cilantro dipping sauce. What do you think?”

Janie nibbled carefully on a mussel. “Ooh, it tastes sort of like oysters. It’s super, Lee.”

Lee gave her an indulgent smile. Janie was a great test audience.

Docia glanced around the room as she bit into her own mussel. The collection of heavy second-hand tables, mismatched chairs, and faded antique sofas shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, added to the rough limestone block walls and the gleaming oak floors, it felt like home. Assuming that home featured a fabulous cook and a wine list to die for.

“Tastes fine to me.” Docia swirled the mussel in the pale green dipping sauce. “Everything you do is good, Lee.”

Lee sighed. “Pass it on, ladies. I love it here and so does Ken, but the appetite for tapas in Konigsburg is not exactly flourishing.”

Docia shook her head. If her experience was typical, local reaction to new businesses, including Kent’s Hill Country Books, tended to be suspicious. “Believe me, if I knew how to appeal to Konigsburg appetites, I’d be doing it. Maybe you should just add a rib-eye and a couple of upscale burgers to the menu. If you build it, they will come.”

“Worth a try. As long as I don’t have to do anything chicken fried.” Lee shuddered slightly and drifted away to greet the tourists at the next table.

Docia glimpsed a couple across the room—she thought she recognized the woman from the Merchants Association. She gave her a tentative smile that faded as the woman turned away.
Struck out again.
“Maybe I should try a new mouthwash.”

“You shouldn’t worry so much about Konigsburg people.” Janie shrugged. “It just takes a little while for them to adjust. Once they see you’re here to stay, they’ll come around.”

“What more would I have to do to convince them, beyond spending an unholy amount of money redoing the bookstore?” Docia raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know—offer a couple of upscale burgers?” Janie grinned. “Just relax, Docia. It’ll happen.”

“Right.” Docia poured a little more sauvignon blanc into her glass, then handed the bottle to Janie.

“Gee, I almost forgot, Dub Tyler was looking for you.” Janie crunched another mussel, licking a drip of sauce from her lower lip. “Maybe he wants to be your new BFF.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Docia slumped back in her chair. “Doesn’t that man ever take no for an answer?”

Janie paused in thought. “No, I don’t believe he ever has.”

“What did he want?”

“He wouldn’t say.” Janie reached for another mussel, dragging it through the dipping sauce. “Just said he’d raise it to eight percent, whatever that means.”

Docia grimaced. “It means I’m going to lock the door the next time that old coot comes around.”

“Oh, he’s not so bad. He got me the job with you, after all.”

“How did he do that? I don’t think I ever talked to him before this year.”

“He told me you were probably going to hire someone a few months after you opened. He figured you were doing too much business to handle it on your own.” Janie picked up a piece of foccacia to drag through the now-mussel-less dipping sauce. “Said I should think about moving up from waiting tables at the Hofbrau Haus, which was definitely true. He knows everything about everybody in town. Told me once he makes it his business to know. He can be a nice guy sometimes.”

“He can also be a pain in the ass.” Docia picked up a piece of foccacia for herself.

“That too.” Janie grinned at Ken Crowder as he moved around the tables, being a conscientious wine steward. Where Lee was small and dark, Ken was the all-American boy—red hair, freckles, and baby fat.

“Hey, ladies!” He placed a couple of wine glasses on the table. “Can I interest you in a little sherry? Just got a new bottle of manzanilla—you’ll love it. Goes with the tapas.”

“Thanks anyway. I’ve got to get home.” Docia tipped back the last of her wine, then stood as Lee arrived with another plate.

“Don’t leave,” he exclaimed. “Not when I just brought baked cheese pita chips.”

“I’ve got to.” Docia smiled at him. “If I eat any more, they’ll be rolling me down the street in a wheelbarrow.”