Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  Of course, that could also be good advice for him. He’d wanted a good-looking barmaid, and he’d gotten Audrey Hepburn, circa 1958. Not exactly what he’d been expecting. But the real question was, could Audrey Hepburn sell Shiner Bock?

  He watched Deirdre slide nervously between the tables, apparently trying not to get trapped by groping hands. Of course, if anybody tried any serious groping, Chico would be on them in a split second. Still, he was amazed that someone so heartstoppingly beautiful was so unsure of herself. As if she had no idea what she looked like.

  He blew out a quick sigh. At least a few more locals might come to the bar after the town heard his new waitress was related, although distantly, to the Toleffsons. And Deirdre didn’t give any indication of being a pain in the ass. He’d known his share of knockouts, and they’d all been trouble on a stick. Deirdre Brandenburg didn’t strike him as any kind of trouble at all. Except for the trouble she might cause if she ever showed up wearing something besides L.L. Bean.

  “Two margaritas,” Sylvia snapped.

  He’d been so busy watching Deirdre he hadn’t even noticed her walk up. Oops. He turned back to grab the tequila.

  “Where’d you find her?” Sylvia’s voice sounded particularly edgy tonight.

  “She walked in today. Needed a job.”

  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

  “She will.” He placed the drinks on her tray.

  “She doesn’t belong here.” Sylvia sounded almost envious, like she wished she didn’t belong in the Faro either, all evidence to the contrary.

  Tom sighed. “Sure she does. Just roll with it, Sylvia. She’ll work out.” He watched Sylvia flounce back across the room and profoundly hoped he was right.

  Deirdre was at her shop by nine the next morning. Her shop. She paused to let the idiot grin fade away. She’d managed to get Tom Ames to give her the key the night before so that she could at least see what needed to be done. Now she stood in the middle of the room, fighting a mixture of elation and dismay.

  The place was dirty. Really dirty. Dirtier than any place where she’d ever spent time before. The concrete floor was streaked with dust and some stains that looked like grease. The walls needed to be washed down and then repainted. The finish on the shelves was cracked and peeling. She walked slowly toward the back. The counter at the end of the room was at least in decent shape, although the surface needed a good cleaning.

  She measured the space between the back wall and the counter carefully. The coffee maker could go here, although the roaster would need to go in the back storage room, along with the sacks of beans. Since the sink was on the other side of the wall, the plumbing connection should be easy. The cooler would go on the other side of the door, so that customers could see what they had for drinks besides coffee. Right now, she figured mineral water and maybe some artisan sodas. And iced tea for the traditionalists.

  That was assuming, of course, that she could clean off at least a few layers of grime. Right now the health department would probably shut her down in about five seconds if she tried to serve anything edible. She turned back to the sack of cleaning supplies she’d picked up at the grocery store on her way there, hoping she’d gotten enough, at least to start.

  An hour later, she’d managed to wash most of the surface dirt off the floor, although the stains looked like they’d need either a scraper or a steam cleaner. Deirdre bit her lip, wondering if Tom Ames would be interested in splitting the cost of renting one, assuming she could run it herself. She sighed. Probably not, since he’d let the shop get into this condition in the first place.

  Someone knocked on the front door she had propped open, and Tom himself stepped inside. He wrinkled his nose. “Stinks in here.”

  She shrugged. “Ammonia. It’s in the cleaner. That’s why I’ve got the doors and windows open.”

  He glanced around the room, frowning. “Floor looks better. What do you want to do about the walls?”

  “I’ll get to them next. They’ll need a good washing down and then some paint.”

  He nodded absently. “And the shelves?”

  “They’ll need to be stripped and repainted too.” She swallowed. “Would you be willing to spring for the paint?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. It’s my place. Are you sure you can do all of this by yourself?”

  Deirdre blew out a breath. “I’ve already figured out what I need. I can do it.”

  “If you think you can, go for it. Of course, I might need to raise the rent after you finish fixing the place up.”

  She stared at him until she saw the corners of his mouth edge up into a grin.

  “Relax. I’m kidding.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You might want to go home and get cleaned up yourself. Lunch shift starts in less than an hour.”

  She glanced regretfully at the damp floor. One more pass might do it. On the other hand, she was currently too filthy to wait tables, even at the Faro. “I guess I’d better start bringing clean clothes with me when I come over here in the morning. Then I can just clean up in the back before I start work.”

  “Okay by me. See you later.” He started toward the door.

  “What should I do with those boxes in the back room?” she called after him.

  He paused, frowning slightly. “Ferguson’s T-shirts? I’ve been using them for bar rags. I guess you could use them for cleaning. They’re not worth much more than that.”

  “Oh.” She glanced back at the boxes piled in the storeroom. “They’re all T-shirts? All those boxes?”

  “Far as I know. Do what you want with them—like I say, they’re not worth much.” Tom headed back out the door.

  Deirdre stood staring at the storeroom, with its leaning tower of T-shirts, then glanced at her watch. Unfortunately, Tom was right. She’d have to leave them until this afternoon, after the noon rush was over.

  Craig Dempsey sat opposite Big John Brandenburg’s desk, pretending he wasn’t intimidated. Brandenburg’s desk was an antique—heavy mahogany, burnished to the color of old honey, a good six feet across and a yard wide. Plenty of room for Big John himself and a message to anybody sitting on the other side.

  Be impressed. Be very impressed.

  Craig was. Money always impressed him, mainly because he knew how to spend it. He figured he’d be spending Big John’s soon enough, right after he dragged Dee-Dee back where she belonged and got the requisite ring on her finger. Maybe he’d even get a desk like this one as a reward.

  “So you talked to Reba,” Brandenburg rumbled. “Did she know where Dee-Dee was?”

  “She said no.”

  “You think she was lying?”

  Now there was an interesting question. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one he had a good answer for. “I don’t think so,” he said carefully. “She seemed surprised Dee-Dee was gone.”

  “Hell.” Brandenburg stared down at the pile of papers in front of him. “She can’t have gone too far. She doesn’t have any money.”

  Craig thought of Dee-Dee trying to get by without money. Without her father’s support. Without all the cushions she’d had most of her life. “No,” he agreed. “She wouldn’t be able to get too far away. Are there any other relatives she might call on?”

  Big John gave him one of those looks that he’d grown to recognize. Why don’t you already know this? Weren’t you almost engaged? “We never spoke much about your family,” he explained quickly. “It seemed to be a sensitive subject.” He had no idea whether that was true, but it sounded like he cared.

  Brandenburg shrugged. “Maybe so.” He stared down at his desk again, his forehead creased in thought.

  Craig wondered what he was supposed to do now, if anything. He wasn’t a private detective, which was what the big man probably needed. He had no idea where else to look. Left to his own devices, he’d just wait for Dee-Dee to limp home on her own once she gave up in defeat. A defeated Dee-Dee would be a lot easier to bring around to his point of view anyway.<
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  “Konigsburg,” Brandenburg muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Konigsburg.” He glanced up at Craig. “It’s where my fool niece ended up. Running a damn fool bookstore. Married some nobody and got herself a kid. Dee-Dee might head over there. To see her cousin Docia.”

  “Konigsburg?”

  “Hell, yes. Hill Country town. Don’t tell me you never heard of it.”

  Of course, Craig had heard of it. Every Texan had heard of Konigsburg, and most of them had been there at least once. It was blue-hair central. His own grandmother had loved the place. She’d dragged him up there one summer to look for the over-decorated china figurines she collected. That was far from his favorite childhood memory. “Yes sir, I’m familiar with it. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of place Dee-Dee would end up in.”

  “That’s where she is, I’m sure of it.” He brought his fist down on the desktop. “Goddamn it. Reba’s got a house up there. I’ll bet you anything, Dee-Dee’s staying with her or that daughter of hers. She flat out lied to you, boy.”

  Craig studied his employer. The big man seemed a lot more pissed than the situation warranted. But he might be able to use that reaction to his advantage. “I didn’t think she was lying, sir. But I’ve been wrong about women before.” He shrugged, giving him a rueful little smile. Just one more man betrayed by female deviousness.

  “You need to get up there.”

  “To Konigsburg?”

  “Yes to Konigsburg. Get up there now.”

  Craig took a breath, trying to figure out how to be diplomatic. “What do you want me to do up there, sir?”

  Brandenburg waved an impatient hand. “Find Dee-Dee, of course. Track her down. Tell her to stop being an idiot. Get her back here.”

  “And if she doesn’t want to come?”

  Brandenburg’s face darkened. “She will. She’s been out on her own for a while now. You can tell her she’s got a job waiting in Houston. She’ll be good and ready to come back by now.”

  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.