by Meg Benjamin
The pet owners sitting in the waiting room today were still about ninety percent women, even though Toleffson had left for lunch. Horace shook his head. Most of their pets were more or less healthy, but at least they’d get their shots on time for once. And some of the owners might remember to get the animals’ teeth cleaned.
As long as it wasn’t Margaret Hastings and her Chihuahua. Horace shuddered briefly at the memory of the Teeth Cleaning From Hell. As if he’d deliberately conjured her up, Margaret walked in the front door, carrying her wharf rat dog in its wicker basket.
She gave him one of those creepy smiles of hers where she didn’t show her canines. “Good morning, Dr. Rankin. How are you today?”
“Tolerable, Margaret. How’s the dog?” Horace couldn’t bring himself to look at the poor thing. What kind of dog had to be carried around in a basket, for God’s sake? It went against nature!
“Oh, he’s doing very well. Very well. Wonderful care you give here.” Margaret’s gaze darted around the waiting room, her brow furrowing slightly as she noted the number of women already waiting. “Is Dr. Toleffson in this morning?” Her lips stretched in another of those smiles. They made Horace’s skin crawl.
“Out to lunch,” Horace harrumphed. “Gone to Allie Maldonado’s place most likely.” Let Toleffson deal with her. No reason Horace had to put up with problem pups like that Chihuahua when they were clearly Cal’s problem. Wasn’t that why he’d taken on a partner to begin with?
Margaret blinked. Then smiled again. “Well, thank you so much. We’ll go find him there. Won’t we, Precious?”
Horace made the mistake of looking at the dog, catching the full brunt of those anguished eyes. Help me help me help me.
Well, horse crap! Not his business, drat it. We just fix ’em, we don’t save ’em.
“Tell Toleffson I said hello,” he snarled.
—
Her father favored Docia with one of his patented, buy-a-tract-of-land-from-this-man smiles. “Was that an officer of the law I just saw leaving your back room there, missy?”
“Yes sir, it was. The chief of police, actually.” Docia concentrated on flexing her hands, which had unaccountably balled themselves into fists at her sides. She was suddenly aware that her hair was caught up haphazardly in a banana clip. She could feel strands floating around her face. Terrific.
“And what would the chief of police be doing in your back room?” Her father raised an eyebrow. “You had any more trouble?”
He was still smiling, sort of, but his eyes snapped. Did his eyes ever seem warm anymore? Docia wasn’t sure she’d seen it lately, at least not when he looked at her. “Not me, no. A man’s disappeared and the chief wanted to know if I’d seen him.”
“A man?” Her father frowned. “What man? Friend of yours?”
“Not exactly. A rare book dealer named Dub Tyler.”
The child with the waffle cone had moved on. Docia narrowed her eyes as small, sticky fingers reached for a gold-embossed leather book cover with a longhorn on the front.
Her father leaned back against the edge of one of the display tables. “Dub Tyler. I haven’t heard that name in years.”
With a last scowl at the child and her inattentive mother, Docia turned back to him. “You know Dub?”
“Knew him. Did some business with him a few years ago.”
“You collect Texana?” Docia blinked. Her father could afford to collect anything he wanted to, but he’d never shown much interest in books before. At least, not that he’d ever told her about.
He shrugged. “There was a market for it for a while. Not now, though.” His gaze roved around the shop, pausing now and then at a particularly outlandish tourist. “Not much money in books, is there, missy?”
Docia’s shoulders stiffened. Here it comes. “Enough for me.”
“How much would that be?” Her father’s hard gaze bored through her. “How much do you make here on a weekday? Enough to cover the bills?”
Docia unfisted her hands again, carefully. “Enough. We’re doing fine.”
Her father snorted. “Yeah. No doubt. Probably better than the last business you were into.”
Docia locked her jaw. It had probably been too much to hope that he wouldn’t mention it. “That wasn’t my business, Daddy, that was Donnie’s. I was just an investor.” If it had been hers, they never would have gone to her father for money.
Her father nodded slowly. “Right. So how much did you lose on that so-and-so’s little development?”
Around eighty thousand dollars and a broken heart. “Enough that I learned not to make the same mistake twice.” Docia managed a thin smile. “You in town long?”
“A while.” Her father glanced around the shop again. “How many units you move on a weekend.”
“Did you come here to check the accounts?” Docia folded her arms, trying to look casual. She managed to force her lips into something resembling a smile. “Trust me, Daddy, I don’t really need your help. I’m doing okay.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said the last time, as I recall. Until it was too late for me to do anything.” For a moment, her father looked almost hurt. But then it was gone.
Jesus, Donnie is still screwing with the family. Docia softened her voice. “I could offer you a cup of coffee upstairs in my apartment if you’d like.” She tried to remember if she’d picked up the living room. Her father would notice anything that indicated she wasn’t in the right tax bracket.
“No time.” Her father stood upright again. “Got some business to attend to here in town. I’ll take you to dinner tonight. Say seven-thirty.”
“I’ve got a date,” Docia snapped from between gritted teeth.
Her father shrugged. “Bring him along. Might as well meet him now as later. Seven-thirty, darlin’.”
Docia took a deep breath, watching him stride out her front door. “Well, crap,” she mumbled. “Seven-thirty it is.”
—
Cal was sitting in Konigsburg heaven. He knew it now, could identify it in a heartbeat. Warm shade, quiet patio, the smell of freshly baked bread from Allie’s kitchen combining with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and petunias, a wondrous meal digesting in his belly, the occasional kamikaze hummingbird going for the feeder above his head.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it. He just hoped it didn’t stop.
Wonder was sprawled in the chair opposite, eyes closed. Cal would have believed he was dozing if his eyes hadn’t opened slightly every time Allie walked by.
“Man, that woman can cook,” Cal murmured. “Has she ever made anything that wasn’t good?”
Wonder regarded him lazily, resting his arms across his full stomach. “She won’t do enchiladas. I’ve tried to convince her, but she says her mama’s got the title for Best Enchiladas in South Texas and she’s not even going to try.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Of course, we could always go visit her mother.”
“Watch it, Wonder.” Cal grinned. “You just volunteered to meet a woman’s mother.”
“Ah, but think of the enchiladas.” Wonder closed his eyes again, sprawling back in his Adirondack, his hands folded behind his head. “A worthy sacrifice. How come you weren’t at the Dew Drop last night? Hooking up with the delectable Docia?”
“She was out of town.” Cal smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. “We’ll get together tonight.”
He heard a quick intake of breath and looked up. Margaret Hastings stood in the entrance to the patio, Señor Pepe’s basket on her arm. She looked like she was contemplating violence.
—
Margaret was so angry she could hardly stop herself from turning around and stalking away from the bakery. Docia Kent! Bad enough that he wasn’t interested in dating Margaret herself, but then he had to date that upstart. Meanwhile, Margaret was reduced to Ham Linklatter and his serial killer smile. There was no justice, none at all.
Someone else needed to suffer.
She took a tighter grip on
Señor Pepe’s carrier and stepped onto the patio. “Good afternoon, Doctor.” Her voice didn’t sound too bad, just a little higher than usual. “Or should I say, good afternoon, Doctors.” She gave Kleinschmidt a fierce smile that involved gritting her teeth.
“Hello, Margaret, sorry I can’t stay, talk to you later, Idaho.” Kleinschmidt delivered the entire sentence in the time it took him to retreat into the restaurant.
Allie Maldonado stuck her head out the door a moment later. “Hi, Margaret, can I get you anything?”
“Oh, no, not really.” Margaret smoothed the back of her hair, raising her chin. “Everything you do is delicious, but I have to watch my calories.” She did a quick survey of Allie’s ample hips. Allie pulled back inside abruptly, closing the door with a sharp click.
“Well, Cal, so you’re dating Docia Kent. How interesting.” Margaret turned a smoldering gaze on the big man sprawled in his blue chair.
Cal straightened slightly, looking uneasy. “Yes. I think so, anyway.”
“Such a unique person, Docia. We’ve so enjoyed having her here in Konigsburg these last couple of years. Of course—” Margaret opened Señor Pepe’s carrying case, revealing his trembling body, “—it’s very hard to fit in around here. The people are so careful about getting close to outsiders. Not that you’ve had any problems, Doctor, but then Docia’s so ‘special’, isn’t she?”
Señor Pepe hopped out of his carrier and skittered between Cal’s feet. Traitor.
Margaret widened her eyes slightly, moving into her Perplexed Heroine look. “I really do think Docia will be accepted here. Eventually. If she keeps a low profile.”
Cal leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Why wouldn’t she be accepted here?”
“Oh, well, you know, I think she will be, but people around Konigsburg are so clannish sometimes. They don’t take to outsiders, particularly standoffish people like Docia.” And they wouldn’t ever like her any better if Margaret had anything to say about it. The skirmishes were over. This was open war.
She managed a smile that was almost sincere. After all, she was beginning to enjoy herself.
—
Cal watched Margaret with unwilling fascination. He’d treated his share of pythons, but this was the first time he’d ever seen a human snake in action.
The eerie thing was that she never stopped smiling. A rueful little smile that played around the corners of her mouth, never reaching her eyes. She should have been an attractive woman— smooth, golden hair, big brown eyes, full lips. But something about her affected him like fingernails on a blackboard. Right now, of course, it was the conversation.
She was apparently passing on a year’s worth of gossip about Docia’s relationships with men, or lack thereof, along with the shortage of Konigsburg men who were interested in her. Cal gathered she was implying perversion on Docia’s part, but he wasn’t sure what kind. He wondered briefly if Margaret had any deep dark secrets of her own, but in reality, he didn’t want to know anything about her sex life.
After ten minutes, what he wanted most of all was to escape the patio, away from Margaret’s sweetly droning voice with its swift undercurrent of bile. He made a great show of checking his watch. “Gee, it’s almost one. I’d better be getting back to the clinic.”
Margaret’s expression curdled, her eyes going flat. Her lips pursed for a moment, and then she smiled again. “Mercy, I wouldn’t want to create problems for you with Dr. Horace. He’s an important man in Konigsburg. It wouldn’t do to be on his bad side.”
Cal had no idea where she was headed this time. He had a feeling it wouldn’t do him any good to try to get away from her before she was finished. He moved his feet, and Señor Pepe scampered back to avoid him.
“Sorry, buddy,” he murmured, turning to extend his hand behind his heel.
Señor Pepe was hunched in a ball, his pointed little nose tucked between his paws. Cal ran his fingers over the dog’s soft forehead. “It’s okay, boy, come on out now.”
Suddenly, Margaret was on her knees, reaching for the dog, “Time to go,” she said, dragging him from beneath Cal’s seat. “Come on, Precious, come to Mama.” Her voice was savage. Her smile could eviscerate a grown man at forty paces. She dumped Señor Pepe’s trembling body into the carrier.
Señor Pepe froze in her grasp and then yipped faintly as she jammed the top down over his head.
Cal winced. “Careful there, Margaret.”
“I know how to take care of my dog, Cal. I don’t need any of your advice.” Margaret grinned with clenched jaws, then jerked to her feet.
As she reached the gate, she turned back. “Have fun at the Liddy Brenner Festival. It’s what Konigsburg is all about. Most of us think so, anyway. Maybe you can help Docia Kent to understand that this year.” She gave him another simmering smile, and then she was gone.
Cal told himself he didn’t actually smell a faint whiff of sulfur drifting in her wake.
Allie peeked around the door. “Is she gone?”
Cal nodded.
“Good.” Allie sighed. “Although I think she wilted my petunias.”
Feeling very guilty and not at all sure why he should, Cal began to walk back toward the clinic. He suspected his guilt feelings had more to do with Señor Pepe than with Margaret Hastings.
He took a deep breath. All of a sudden, he wanted to see Docia—not even talk to her necessarily, just see her. He cut over to Main and walked the two blocks to the bookstore.
When he swung the door open, Janie Dupree was ringing up a tourist’s purchases at the cash register.
She raised her gaze, frowning slightly. “Docia’s in back.” She nodded toward the door to the storeroom. “But if you go in there, better duck and cover.”
Cal gave her a bemused look as he opened the storeroom door. And then stood staring.
Docia was standing in the middle of the room, demolishing what looked like a CD rack with a crowbar.
Cal felt himself become instantly hard. He’d never seen anyone look so simultaneously terrific and terrifying.
She was wearing a black tank top and cutoffs, showing a significant amount of alabaster skin. Muscles flexed and moved in her arms as she pried the sides of the rack off. Her red curls stood out in an immense halo around her face, which was set in a fierce grimace. In the background, Emmylou Harris sang a song on an MP3 player about being born to run and how no man would ever be her master.
All in all, it struck Cal as a dangerous place for anybody with a penis. “Hey,” he said, tentatively.
Docia looked up, skewering him with flashing green eyes.
He was having that effect on every woman he encountered today. Maybe it was pheromones in reverse. “Need a hand?”
“No.” Docia went back to prying. “Goddamn thing’s too big for the space in the back of the shop. I’m lopping off two inches.”
Cal restrained himself from putting a protective hand across his crotch.
“Ouch, goddamn it.” Docia dropped the crowbar and jumped back, shaking her hand.
“Here.” Cal stepped forward, catching her hand in his. One fingertip was bright red. “Did you pinch it?”
“Yes.” Docia’s lower lip protruded slightly. Suddenly, her emerald eyes filled with tears. “Damn, damn, damn, damn!”
Slowly, Cal brought her hand to his lips, sliding the injured finger into his mouth. He sucked gently, running his tongue across the tip, his gaze locked on Docia.
She exhaled in a whoosh, then closed her eyes. “Interesting therapy you have there, Doc.” After a moment, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.
Cal put his arms around her, pulling her close. He suddenly felt better than he had for the last hour or so. “I assume your morning was about as much fun as mine was.”
“Oh, more, probably. Still want to go out to dinner tonight?” Docia pulled back to look at him. “I should probably warn you—I’ve got company.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“My dad. Okay?”
Cal shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Brenner’s?”
“Nope, the Silver Spur.”
Cal frowned. “That’s a steak house.”
“It’s also the only place my father will eat in Konigsburg. I wouldn’t inflict him on Lee and Ken.” Docia sighed. “They don’t deserve that kind of trouble.”
“He’s taking us out?” Cal said, carefully. After Margaret Hastings, he wanted to make sure he had all the nuances worked out in advance. And if he was paying for steak dinners at the Silver Spur, he might need to take out a loan.
“If you can put up with him. He showed up this morning and announced he was taking me to dinner.” One corner of Docia’s mouth edged up. “It’ll be loads of fun, trust me.”
Cal grimaced. “Right. Anything I should know about him before showing up?”
“He’s from San Antonio. In…real estate. Come to think of it, maybe we should both have a couple of stiff drinks before we meet him.”
“Right.” Cal grinned. “Shall we say the Dew Drop Inn? Five-ish?”
Docia nestled her head against his collarbone again. “Five-ish it is.”
Chapter Eight
Cal was sitting on his barstool at the Dew Drop with a bottle of Dos Equis in his hand when Wonder sauntered in around five. “You are a bloody coward,” he growled. “You left me alone on that patio with Margaret Hastings.”
“I did indeed.” Wonder nodded to Ingstrom, who dug a bottle of Spaten out of the cooler. “One of my best traits. I know when to beat a strategic retreat.”
Biedermeier’s head came up fractionally from the bar, and he scanned the room quickly. “Margaret Hastings in here?” He sounded worried.
Cal raised an eyebrow. “She wouldn’t come in here, Terrell. She doesn’t drink. Why so nervous?”
“One of my customers,” Biedermeier mumbled. “Don’t wanna run into her.”