Brand New Me (3 page)

Her cousin owned Kent’s Hill Country Books. For a relatively small shop, it always seemed fairly busy. Deirdre was hoping they could use an extra clerk.

Docia shook her head, regretfully. “Bad timing. I just hired on a new clerk last week to help me and Janie at the shop. And Jess and I decided to hire a nanny together, so we don’t need an au pair. She starts next week. If either of them doesn’t work out, you’ll be my first choice for a replacement, though.”

Deirdre felt the same tightness in her chest she’d felt every day since she’d left Houston.
You’ll be fine. You will.
It wasn’t like she didn’t have any alternatives. Really.

“Have you considered going down to San Antonio?” Docia asked. “Mama would give you a job at the foundation in a shot, and since she runs it, Uncle John wouldn’t have any say.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I need to stay here. I was hoping I could find a shop location and maybe start working on getting it in shape.” Assuming she could find a landlord willing to give her a lease based on a windfall in three months.

Docia sighed. “Listen, Deirdre, I can’t give you a job, but I can give you a place to stay. Cal’s brother Erik just got married, and he and his wife have moved out of the upstairs apartment at the bookshop. I used to live there. So did Pete and Janie. You can stay there as long as you need to, rent free.”

Deirdre licked her lips again. A truly independent woman would probably say no. A truly independent woman would be more concerned about making her own way in the world.

A truly independent woman wouldn’t be scared shitless at the thought of being totally on her own, without funds, for the first time in her life. Deirdre blew out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Thanks, Docia. I appreciate it.”

She patted Deirdre’s hand. “That’s okay, kid. Believe me. I’ve been where you are. I came up here on my own, too. And it was a pretty scary time.”

Of course Docia’s mama and daddy had never disowned her. If anything, from what Deirdre remembered, they’d wanted to help her more than she’d wanted them to help.

Baby Rolf whimpered slightly, and Deirdre eased her grip, staring down at the baby’s astonishing blue-black eyes. “He’s so beautiful, Docia,” she murmured.

Docia’s grin could have lit the city of Konigsburg, with enough left over for Marble Falls. “He is, isn’t he? Come to Mama, kid.” She stretched her arms toward Rolf, who gave her a miraculous toothless smile.

Deirdre’s chest clenched again, but at least this time it wasn’t from fear.

Tom Ames watched the Steinbruner brothers shoot pool, badly. Pool was one of the games he’d learned to play well early on, since pool hustling had a longer and more honorable tradition than card sharping. He could do both, of course, and had when he needed to. Fortunately, now that he owned the Faro himself, his earlier professions made it easier to spot those who were trying to hustle his customers.

The Steinbruners could have been hustled by the average eight-year-old with good hand-eye coordination, but they were usually too broke to make hustling worthwhile. They’d been nursing their beers for over an hour now, close to the house record but typical.

The brothers were a holdover from the bad old days of the Faro. From what he’d managed to pick up listening to other old timers, Tom gathered they’d been better at fighting than at pool, which wasn’t hard to believe. It had taken him a little while to convince them that the Faro’s fighting days were through, but apparently they liked playing pool more than they liked bashing heads. At any rate, they’d become fixtures by now, even if they did manage to get by with no more than two beers in a night.

Tom leaned his elbows on the bar and watched one of them scratch for what seemed like the twentieth time. He wasn’t sure which one it was—he had a hard time telling them apart. Probably Denny, since Harold and Billy Ray were even worse than he was.

Beside him, Nando Avrogado whistled through his teeth. “Maybe they could start betting on the one who makes the least number of points. That way they’d at least have some competition going.”

“Probably make them start winning, given the well-known Steinbruner luck.”

Nando grinned and sipped his beer. He was one of the few locals who frequented the Faro instead of the Dew Drop. Since he was one of the Konigsburg cops, he might have come around to keep an eye on things, but Tom didn’t think so. Nando was currently off duty. No, his presence was more likely a tribute to Chico.

Tom glanced at the other side of the room where Chico Burnside sat dozing on his stool. His massive arms were folded across his chest. His legs were stretched out in front of him, far enough that anyone wanting to walk along that side of the room would have to make a slight detour. He wore a red bandana tied around his forehead to hold back his long black hair, and his arms were inscribed with a network of blue and red tattoos. Just looking at Chico was enough to make most drunks think twice about starting anything, which was sort of the point since Chico was the Faro’s bouncer.

He was also a distant relation of Nando’s, although Tom had never been able to pin down the exact degree of separation.

One of the Steinbruners hit the cue ball so violently it popped off the table, bouncing across the floor to rest against Chico’s toe. One of them—Harold?—inched over in Chico’s direction. He reached down for the ball, jostling Chico’s foot in the process.

Chico’s eyes slitted open enough to give the Steinbruner in question a lethal look. “Watch it,” he rumbled.

Harold grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb your beauty sleep.”

At the table, the other Steinbruners snickered.

Tom sighed, tossing his towel on the bar. “Crap.” He strode quickly toward the opening at the end of the bar.

Chico’s hands formed into fists at his sides. Harold had already turned away from him, heading back toward the table. Chico slid off his stool with an animal grace that would have shocked most patrons of the Faro if they’d ever paid attention. Tom, who’d seen Chico in action more than he liked to admit, wasn’t shocked at all.

At the bar, Nando stood up from his stool.

“Hey,” Tom called sharply.

Chico paused and turned in his direction, his shoulders tensing. The three Steinbruners gave him a cursory glance before they returned to their game.

Tom stepped next to the table. “You scratch that felt, Billy Ray, and you’ll have to pay for the repairs.”

Billy Ray blinked at him. “Aw, c’mon, Ames. It’s just a game. We didn’t do anything to the table.”

“Maybe. But it’s the only pool table I’ve got, and I don’t want it gouged.”

The Steinbruners all stared at him blankly, then slowly became aware of Chico standing at the side of the table. Denny cleared his throat. “Right. We’ll be careful. No damages.”

Tom watched them play for a few minutes longer, then walked back to Chico’s stool. “Okay?”

He shrugged, slowly. “Just startled is all. I wouldn’t have done anything to them, just reminded them about the rules. That Billy Ray’s a disrespectful little shit, though.”

Tom nodded. “Right.” He picked up a few empty bottles from one of the tables and headed back toward the bar.

Nando had already relaxed, sipping his beer while he watched the Steinbruners rag each other.

Tom leaned back against the bar again. On the far side of the room, Sylvia was balancing a tray that was overloaded with beers. Tom tensed, ready to sprint to her side if they started to fall, but she managed to place them on the table. The customers at the next table were already waving empty bottles in her direction, and Sylvia turned toward them, glowering.

“You need a new barmaid,” Nando commented.

Tom gave him a dry smile. “Maybe one of the Dew Drop barmaids is ready to move on.”

Nando shook his head, grimacing. “You need a barmaid that would class up the place. Not a refugee from
Mystery Science Theater 3000
.”

Tom collected the bottles Sylvia handed him, then supplied her with a new round. “He’s right,” she snapped, nodding in Nando’s direction. “I can’t do everything.”

“Ah sweetheart, what you do, you do real well.” Nando gave her his best killer smile.

Sylvia snarled and headed back to her tables.

“A new barmaid.” Tom sighed. “Wonder if Docia Kent would consider applying.”

Nando nodded. “Not a bad idea. Not Docia, of course,” he added hastily. “But maybe a Docia type.”

“A six-foot redhead with a figure like Venus de Milo? There aren’t many of that type available.”

Nando grinned. “Just keep looking, Ames. If you build it, they will come.”

Tom frowned. Coincidence that he’d been thinking the same thing? Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.

Chapter Three

Deirdre bought a cup of coffee to go at a café a few blocks from her new apartment above the bookshop. The café was called the Coffee Corral, but the coffee wasn’t one of its best features. At least, she hoped it wasn’t. If it was, the food must be really awful. She wandered down the street, feeling the warm autumn sunshine on her face. This was the slow season in Konigsburg, assuming the place ever had a really slow season. No upcoming festivals, no school holidays to bring families up for the weekend, just the usual blue-haired retirees and shoppers clogging the sidewalks on Main.

She figured she could spend a couple of days checking out possible shop locations before she had to find some kind of temporary job. Once she had an idea of what was available, she could start sizing up the landlords, trying to decide how to convince them to give her a lease on spec, since she had next to no money for a down payment.

She took a deep breath, pushing away the familiar clenching in her chest.
You can do this. You’re almost twenty-five years old. You have a degree from the McCombs School of Business. Docia can vouch for you with the Konigsburg landlords. You’re not helpless.

She felt helpless, though. It had always been so easy when she had money. And, of course, up to now she’d always had it. Having money was much easier than figuring out how to get it.

Which is why you’re in this spot right now. You took the easy way.

Deirdre blew out a breath, squaring her shoulders. She wasn’t taking the easy way any more. It was way past time to be a grown-up.

She strolled along Main, sipping the lousy coffee and studying the shop windows. This was the central part of town, the area with the most tourists and the greatest visibility. Also, of course, the area with the highest rent, and, probably, the fewest empty buildings. Not many landlords in this part of town would be interested in making a deal. She saw a couple of empty windows, but both spaces were wrong for what she wanted, more retail than food. She couldn’t afford a place that needed lots of renovations. If the place she rented needed anything fixed, she’d have to do it on her own. At least at first.

Farther up Main, the shops thinned out. More restaurants and bars, interspersed with merchants who actually served the real citizens of Konigsburg rather than the tourists—insurance agencies, dry cleaners, a hardware store.

Deirdre glanced back down the street at the discreet sign for Brenner’s restaurant. They’d be one of the first places where she’d try to sell her custom blends, the kind of restaurant where the customers would be willing to pay a little more for a premium cup of coffee. And the owners were friends of Docia’s.

In front of her, another sign wasn’t nearly as discreet as Brenner’s. The Faro. Deirdre narrowed her eyes, trying to remember what she knew about the place. Live music on weekends. Beer garden out back. Limited food service, probably burgers, nachos, bar food. So not a potential customer.

She grimaced. Potential customers for a hypothetical coffee shop. Talk about putting the proverbial cart before the proverbial horse. She went back to scanning the storefronts. Maybe if she went one street over, back to the street where the Coffee Corral was located, she might find more affordable possibilities.

She glanced idly at the limestone block building that housed the Faro. And stopped.

Next door to the bar was a small, glass-fronted shop, the same aged limestone block construction and tin roof as the club. Maybe even part of the club once upon a time—they shared a common wall. She leaned forward, pressing her face against the glass so that she could see inside. It looked like a single room, fairly narrow, stretching back to a counter at the rear. She could dimly see a door in the back wall, probably to a storage area beyond.

The floor at the front looked like concrete, although it also looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the first Bush Administration. The walls between the built-in shelves were just as dingy. They’d need to be scrubbed, but she’d guess there was a good surface underneath.

Deirdre did a quick mental estimate of the floor space. Enough for four, maybe five tables with three or four chairs each.

Her chest clenched again. Her heart pounded in her ears. Perfect. Absolutely what she was looking for. Plus it just felt right.

This is the place. This is what I want.

Maybe she should go find Docia. Ask her what she knew about the Faro, particularly about the shop next door to the Faro. Maybe Docia knew the owner of the building. Maybe she could call him and…

Enough! This is
your
project, Deirdre Ann.

She licked her lips, squaring her shoulders again.
This is what I want.
The first step would be to locate the owner of the building. She’d see how things went after that.

Tom took a desultory swipe at the bar with his rag. It was clean, or as clean as he could get it without stripping it down to bare wood and starting over. He watched Bobby Sue take orders from the customers sprinkled around the lunch tables. Food service wasn’t exactly their biggest source of revenue, but people liked Clem’s burgers and enchiladas, and she was beginning to branch out into more interesting things, some soups and salads. They weren’t making a lot of money off food yet, but the customer base was building.

Even with the widely spaced lunch tables, Bobby Sue was having trouble getting around. Tom figured her arthritis was acting up again. At her age she should probably be sitting with her feet up, knitting an afghan or something. Instead, here she was limping from table to table, writing orders on her green pad. Part of the reason she still worked the lunch crowd was her own aversion to what she called “idleness”. The rest of it was most likely Bobby Sue’s boy, Leon, who had a fondness for get-rich-quick schemes that quickly turned into get-poor-quick.