Brand New Me Page 4

Big John cleared his throat. “She doesn’t have any credit cards anymore.”

  Craig licked his lips. Clearly he was treading around the edges of a minefield here. “What about her bank accounts? They could check ATM withdrawals.”

  The big man’s jaw tightened. He shook his head.

  Well, damn. Craig cast around quickly, trying to think of something relevant that wouldn’t make an already shitty situation turn lethal. “What about her friends? People she might call to ask for… People she might get together with.”

  Big John turned a burning gaze toward him. “You’d know her friends, wouldn’t you? Who’d you two hang out with?”

  His friends, of course. It hadn’t occurred to him that she had any friends worth getting together with. Craig tried desperately to think of a few names and came up dry. “Nobody special. What about family?”

  Big John blew out a breath. “There’s my sister, Reba, down in San Antonio. She and Dee-Dee were close when she was a little girl. You might give her a call.”

  Craig made a quick note, wondering when he’d suddenly been placed in charge of this investigation. No matter. Not the best time to be asking the big guy any probing questions. “Anyone else?”

  Big John shook his head. “No more Brandenburgs. And Kathleen’s people are all in Ireland.”

  “All right, sir, so you want me to locate Dee-Dee. Do you want me to do anything else?”

  Big John raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  “Well, give her a message, maybe bring her back to Houston?”

  The big man grimaced. “She won’t come back. Says she’s gone off to open a coffee shop. A coffee shop, goddamn it!” He brought his palm down on the desk with a smack. “A Brandenburg and she wants to be a goddamn waitress.”

  Craig blew out a quick breath. This situation was beyond weird, but he’d manage to find some way to make it work for him. “I’ll find her, sir. And I’ll let you know where she is, as soon as I know myself.”

  Big John gave him a weary nod. “You do that. And if you can think of any way to head her off before she ruins her life, you’ve got my permission to go for it.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll remember that.”

  Craig managed to conceal his shit-eating grin until he was outside the office. Big John Brandenburg giving him carte blanche to do whatever he thought best. Oh, the next few days held all kinds of interesting possibilities.

  Deirdre’s heart was beating so fast she was afraid she might faint. The bouncer, Chico, was the biggest man she’d ever seen, including some of Craig Dempsey’s old football buddies. He looked like one of the villains in biker movies, with his long black hair, his bandana, his moustache and goatee. She wasn’t sure how she’d worked up the courage to talk back to him. Maybe because for a few moments he’d sounded like her father.

  She shook her head. She needed to get hold of herself. Even if this wasn’t a world she was familiar with, she could still make it work. She was smart, she was experienced, and she wasn’t going to take any more shit from anybody.

  Oh yeah, as a mantra that really works well.

  Ahead of her, the landlord, Tom Ames, was unlocking the door to the shop. She took a moment to study him. Maybe a little over six feet, but not husky. Lean, tough body. Close-cut blond hair. Blue eyes the color of ice.

  That ice-blue gaze had seemed to bore straight through her when she’d asked about the rent. She had a feeling he was way ahead of her. Probably already knew what she was going to ask and knew how to turn her down.

  One step at a time, Deirdre.

  She moved inside the shop, blinking in the sudden dimness. Sunshine streamed in from the front window, and from the two side windows on the wall away from the Faro.

  “The previous tenant left sort of…unexpectedly,” Ames explained. “I didn’t do much more than clear out the stock he left on the shelves.”

  Deirdre turned slowly, studying the room. The walls were in worse shape than she’d realized, with scuff marks and gouges. The concrete floor felt gritty beneath her feet. She turned toward the counter at the back. “Is that the storeroom behind the counter?”

  Ames nodded. “I’ve got some of the previous owner’s stock back there now, but I could clear it out. Maybe.”

  She stepped up to the door, peering through to the darker room beyond. There was a utility sink at the side. Several boxes were piled against the back wall. “Looks like a small space.”

  “It’ll be larger without all the T-shirts.”

  “Does it have plumbing? Rest rooms?”

  He shrugged. “The back room has water. There’s a door through to the bar for rest rooms.”

  “Right.” She turned back to him again. “It should work for me. And I like the location.”

  He frowned. “Next to a bar?”

  “Away from the central retail area. I’m going to be roasting coffee beans. Some stores might not like the smell next door.”

  “Roasting coffee?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Right. Custom blends. Partly for restaurants, partly for walk-ins.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the counter. “You’ve done this before?”

  She nodded. “I worked for a specialty coffee shop in college and I interned with a coffee roaster for a year.”

  “And you’ve got the equipment you need?”

  Okay, tricky. “I know what I need, and where to get it. I don’t have it yet.”

  “References?”

  Deirdre smiled. “Docia Toleffson is my cousin. She can vouch for me. So can my Aunt Reba. She runs a foundation in San Antonio.”

  “Okay.” Ames pushed himself up from the counter. “Works for me. I’ll have my accountant draw up the paperwork—he’s Docia’s brother-in-law, as a matter of fact. First and last month’s rent in advance and you’ll be good to go.”

  She took a breath, steadying herself. “Yes. About that.”

  “About what?”

  “The rent. I can give you the first and last month in advance. But I can’t give you more than that. Yet.” She licked her lips. Even giving him the first and last month in advance would cut deeply into the little she had in the bank. Once she paid him, she’d have less than a thousand dollars to live on until she found a temporary job.

  Ames leaned back against the counter again, frowning. “Yet?”

  “I’m…I can’t get access to my funds right now. For the next three months, in fact. But once I’ve found a job to tide me over, I can begin paying you on account. And, as I said, I can give you the two thousand up front.”

  Ames’s frown looked even darker. “Look, Ms. Brandenburg…”

  “I know it sounds awful,” Deirdre blurted. “I mean, I wouldn’t trust me either. But if you call Docia, she can tell you. I’m honestly good for it. And I’ll start paying you as soon as I’ve found some kind of work.”

  The frown didn’t disappear exactly, but he looked a little less dubious. “What kind of job are you looking for? What were you doing before you came here?”

  She shrugged a little helplessly. Executive vice president of a Fortune 500 company. Right. Which really explains why I only have two thousand dollars to pay you right now. “I was doing office work. But right now I’m just looking for a job. I’m not fussy about what it is.”

  He stared down at his feet, then back up again. “Tell you what. I could use another waitress and barmaid. If you’re interested. Pay’s crappy, but the tips would be good. Probably. And you get lunch and dinner.”

  She licked her lips again. “I’ve never been a waitress. Or a barmaid. But I guess I could learn.”

  Ames stood up again. “I guess you could. It’s not exactly rocket science.” He extended his hand. “Deal, Ms. Brandenburg?”

  Deirdre blew out another breath, then took his hand. “Deal, Mr. Ames.”

  Chapter Four

  Craig Dempsey studied Reba Kent’s office at the Brandenburg Foundation. Not as spacious as the big man’s office at Brandenburg, Inc., bu
t probably more appropriate for a non-profit, as the foundation was supposed to be. The building was a few blocks from the San Antonio River Walk, prime location if the foundation actually owned the place, and given how long they’d been in business he was willing to bet they did. Like everything else attached to the Brandenburg family, it reeked of money.

  Kent’s desk was some kind of old table, probably an antique or something. Craig’s decorator could have told him, but he never paid much attention to stuff like that himself. If Reba Kent had the same tastes as her brother, Big John, it was probably not only an antique, but an expensive one.

  Big John Brandenburg’s sister was pretty big herself. Craig put her height at a little under six feet, although given the high-heeled shoes she was wearing, it wasn’t easy to tell. She wasn’t exactly fat, but she’d never make the cover of Vogue, either. Sturdy. That’s how he would have described her if he was being diplomatic. She must have been a major babe at some point in her life.

  Now she looked more like a society matron than a babe. Her suit was Texas class, bright blue with a diamond pin in the shape of a cactus on the lapel. Her hair was like a silvery platinum shell, with little feathery flips around her face, and she had one of those big grins that made people grin back. The look in her cornflower-blue eyes didn’t match the grin, though. He couldn’t decide if she was angry or wary, maybe some of both. Big John Brandenburg must be hell on wheels as a relative to inspire that kind of reaction long distance.

  “You’re looking for Dee-Dee?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes discreetly. “Why? And how did my brother manage to lose track of his only child?”

  “They had some kind of…falling out, as I understand it. Now Mr. Brandenburg would like to find her to apologize, but he doesn’t know where she went. He thought perhaps she might have reached out to you.”

  In reality, of course, Big John would apologize when the demons went snowboarding in hell, but Craig didn’t figure he needed to point that out.

  “What sort of falling out did they have?” Mrs. Kent widened those cornflower eyes a little more, giving a really good imitation of innocence. He was impressed.

  “I’m not clear on the details. Apparently it was some kind of business matter.”

  “How sad.” She gave him a bland smile. “Family quarrels are always a shame. I’m sure John is devastated.”

  Actually, Craig was willing to bet she wasn’t sure of that at all. But gamesmanship was apparently part of the Brandenburg genetic code. “Have you heard from your niece, Mrs. Kent? I’m sure it would relieve Mr. Brandenburg’s mind to know she’s been in touch.”

  “No doubt.” She pushed a pencil around her desktop with her forefinger. “Unfortunately, I haven’t talked to Dee-Dee in several weeks. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He gave her his best concerned expression. “Do you know anyone else she might contact?”

  “Surely John knows her friends,” she said in a bland voice. “Or perhaps you do.”

  “Me?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “The last time I spoke to him, John implied you were interested in my niece, Mr. Dempsey. In fact, he implied that the two of you had some kind of…understanding. Something that was leading toward an engagement.”

  Craig didn’t know whether to be flattered by Big John’s confidence in his ability to pin Dee-Dee down or annoyed that he’d been the unwitting subject of a conversation with Reba Kent. “We’ve been dating, yes.”

  “Well, then, you must have met her friends. She must have told you about the people who were close to her.”

  He managed not to grind his teeth. She was watching him all too intently. Why was it such a big deal that he didn’t know Dee-Dee’s friends? Hell, his friends were famous. Spending time with them was a big deal. Dee-Dee’s family should be happy for her. And when they’d talked about her family, it was mainly Big John. He didn’t remember her ever mentioning anybody else. Not that he’d ever asked. “She doesn’t seem to have contacted anyone in Houston,” he temporized, hoping to god it was true.

  “And you’ve talked to the rest of her family?” Mrs. Kent’s immaculately shaped eyebrow arched imperiously.

  He licked his lips. “No, ma’am. Not yet. Can you suggest anyone I could contact?”

  She seemed to weigh her answer for a moment before she shrugged. “I’ll think about it. Why don’t you call me back in a couple of days, and I’ll let you know if anything has occurred to me.”

  Craig managed a thin smile. Clearly, this was the best he could get for now. “Thank you, Mrs. Kent. I’ll do that.”

  Deirdre wrapped an apron around her waist, studying the patrons of the Faro apprehensively.

  “Now, you’ll need one of these little pads, too, only I don’t have any extras. See if Tom can get you one. You need to write the orders down so Clem can see ’em. And you’ll need a tray.”

  Bobby Sue Barksdale looked like she’d been born with a pad in her hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She wore running shoes, along with her navy knit slacks and button-down white shirt. Her graying blonde hair was permed into a tight frizz beneath a hairnet. Deirdre was fairly certain that Bobby Sue could write more orders in a minute than she herself could jot down in ten.

  She felt like closing her eyes and doing some deep-breathing exercises, except that that would undoubtedly convince every customer in the place that she was a first-class nutcase. She could do this. She had a master’s from the U of Texas, for Pete’s sake. Like Ames said, it wasn’t rocket science.

  As if she’d summoned him, he appeared at her side, with a pencil and a small pad of paper. “Here. You take the tables on the side of the room toward the kitchen. Let Bobby Sue handle the ones toward the front window. More people sit over there. We’ll start you out slow today. Write down the orders and take them into the kitchen. There’s a rack there where you pin them so Clem can see what to plate up.”

  The room was divided down the middle by a lane that led to the outdoor beer garden entrance. Deirdre glanced at the four tables on the kitchen side. Two middle-aged women sat at one table, while a young man sat at another nursing a beer.

  Ames nodded in the man’s direction. “Don’t know if he’ll order food or not, but you can check on him.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Go get ’em.”

  “But I haven’t had time to look at the menu yet.” She managed to keep her voice from squeaking in panic, but only just.

  He shrugged as he headed back toward the bar. “Don’t worry about it. All they order is burgers and enchiladas anyway.”

  Right. She took a deep breath and headed for the table with the two women. Both of them had water glasses and silverware. She realized suddenly she had no idea where to get those things herself. “Good afternoon. Can I take your order?” She forced her voice into a friendly tone. Just us hospitality workers here, ma’am.

  The woman nearest gave her a shrewd look. She wore her bright red hair in an elaborately curled and teased style that might have been a wig, but apparently wasn’t. “You’re new. What’s your name?”

  Deirdre swallowed. “Deirdre. Deirdre Brandenburg.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “Brandenburg. Hmm. Any relation to Docia Toleffson’s mama?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s my aunt.”

  The woman shook her head, her mouth flattening. “More Toleffsons. I swear, they’re taking over the town.”

  Deirdre thought about pointing out she wasn’t really a Toleffson, just a relative by marriage, but she let it go. She hated chatty waitresses herself. “Would y’all like to order now?”

  The other woman gave her a sharp look from behind her cat’s-eye glasses, then glanced back at the menu again. “No chicken salad?”

  Deirdre suddenly wished, with a sinking heart, that she’d taken the time to check out the menu no matter what Ames had said. “I understand the burgers are very good, ma’am. And the enchiladas.”

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t want a
burger. Enchiladas give me gas.”

  Deirdre peered over her shoulder at the menu. “There’s a club sandwich. And grilled cheese.”

  “Oh, all right,” the woman said peevishly. “The club sandwich and iced tea.”

  Deirdre wrote the order as quickly as she could without it becoming totally illegible. “And you ma’am?” She turned to the woman with the sculptured hair.

  “Rhonda,” she said. “Rhonda Ruckelshaus. And I’ll have the Faro burger. With fries.”

  Deirdre dutifully wrote the order on her pad. “And iced tea for you, too?”

  “Coke. Diet.”

  Rhonda Ruckelshaus gave her a look that dared her to say anything. Deirdre tucked her pencil behind her ear. “I’ll get those orders in right away.”

  She started toward the kitchen door, then paused at the table where the beer drinker sat. Might as well check on her way. “Did you want some food today, sir?”

  The man glanced up at her, a little woozily, his mouth falling slightly open.

  She upped the brightness of her smile. “Sir? May I take your order?”

  The man blinked as if he was trying to focus. “’Scuse me?”

  “Food. Did you want any food?” She was fairly certain that he’d had more than the single beer on his table, but maybe he’d had them elsewhere.

  “Food. Yeah, okay.” He blinked again, rapidly.

  “What food do you want?” she said slowly. Maybe he needed time to kick his brain into gear.

  “I don’t…what’s good? What should I have?” The man leaned forward slightly, peering up into her face.

  “I’m new here myself. I understand the enchiladas are good.”

  “Enchiladas. Yeah. Sounds good. Bring me some enchiladas.” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

  “Right. And something more to drink? Maybe some iced tea?” Coffee would probably be better, but she wasn’t sure how far she could push him.

  The man nodded. “’Nuther beer.”

  Deirdre started for the kitchen again. Behind her, she could hear a muttering of female voices. Apparently Rhonda Ruckleshaus and her friend were in conference.