Wedding Bell Blues

by Meg Benjamin

  If she started eating at home every night, her mother could just roll her down the street to the shop in the morning.

  Her mother picked up a jug of milk—whole, of course—and reached for Janie’s glass. “That’s okay, Mom.” She grabbed her glass back and headed for the refrigerator. “I’ll have tea.” She lifted her pitcher of unsweetened from the refrigerator door.

  Her mother sniffed. “Janie, you need your calcium.”

  “I know.” Janie forced her lips into a bland smile. “I have my yogurt at breakfast and I eat a lot of cheese.”

  She sank into her chair at the table, bowing her head briefly as her mother muttered grace, then spread her napkin across her knees.

  “How’s the wedding coming?” her mother asked.

  “Oh fine—everything’s working out.” Except the best man, of course. Janie chomped on a bit of tuna, ignoring the tension in her jaw.

  “Are you still doing all that extra work for Docia’s mother?” Her mom’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “It’s not that much work, Mom, really. I enjoy it. Reba says I’m her ‘Konigsburg liaison’.”

  In fact Janie wasn’t sure whose liaison she was—Reba’s or Docia’s. If Docia had to work directly with her mother, the wedding would probably become an alley fight. Janie functioned as a go-between to keep the two from scalping each other, plus finding cake toppers and matchbooks—duties that would drive Docia to distraction.

  “I still think you should get paid for all the things you’re doing.” Her mother’s jaw grew square. “Wedding consultants make good money, Janie.”

  Janie sighed. “I’m not a wedding consultant, Mom. I’m just helping out. And I wouldn’t think of letting them pay me for this. Docia’s my best friend.” And her boss. And the first person who had ever thought Janie had the potential to be something more than a small town Texas girl who waited on tables at the Hofbrau Haus.

  As far as she was concerned, Docia deserved the wedding of the century. And she’d get it, if Janie had anything to say about it.

  Her mother plopped another spoonful of creamed corn onto her plate. “I don’t know why they didn’t just hire someone. Lord knows the Kents could afford it!”

  “Reba has all kinds of experience planning events for her foundation. She wanted to do Docia’s wedding herself.”

  “Is Otto coming to the wedding?” Her mother kept her gaze locked on her forkful of tuna casserole, carefully avoiding Janie’s glance.

  “I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it.” Janie speared a pea.

  “Well.” Her mother shrugged. “It would be nice for you to have someone to dance with at the reception, wouldn’t it? He has been invited, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s been invited.” Docia had asked Janie specifically if she wanted Otto to come, and Janie couldn’t think of any reason why not. Because she did want him there, didn’t she? She did need someone to dance with. So what if Otto wasn’t exactly Mr. Perfect. Janie sighed. “I’ll ask him if he’s coming. I don’t know what his plans are.”

  “Are you two going out tonight?” Her mother was watching her more closely now. “I thought you had a date this evening.”

  “He said he might come over. If his practice doesn’t run late.” Janie’s stomach began to curl into a ball. Talking about Otto at dinner didn’t help her digestion much.

  In the living room, the phone began to ring. “Oh,” her mother chirped, “maybe that’s Otto.” She turned and headed toward the sound.

  Janie pushed herself up and began carrying plates to the sink. Given the time, it probably was Otto. She just wished she felt happier about that possibility.

  After his run-in with Janie Dupree, Pete headed back to his temporary home in the apartment above the bookstore, fuming. Who was she to tell him what his responsibilities were anyway? What made her the authority on all things wedding-related? Since when did the maid of honor tell the best man what to do?

  He unlocked the street-level door and climbed the stairs to the apartment. It was more comfortable than his condo back in Iowa in a lot of ways. The high tin ceilings and limestone walls were picturesque as hell, and the air conditioning worked fine, a major factor, considering the August heat in Texas.

  It was just sort of…empty.

  To be fair, his condo in Des Moines wasn’t much more lively. And on the whole Pete liked being solitary. But sometimes, usually right after he’d spent time with Cal and Docia, being on his own felt a little more bleak than usual.

  He pulled his cell out of his pocket, flipping it open before he could stop himself, and checked the messages. Nothing particularly vital. Nothing he couldn’t put off.

  Pete sighed. Of course, he could put it off, but he wouldn’t. He hit the number for Joe Bergstrom, the County Attorney. Bergstrom would still be there. The latest Mrs. Bergstrom had taken off over a year ago.

  Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of a discussion of a particularly clueless assistant’s chances against one of the more aggressive defense attorneys in town, Pete remembered he was supposed to meet Cal and Docia at the restaurant down the street. He cut the conversation short, promising to call back the next day, and headed back down the stairs to Brenner’s.

  He was halfway there before he thought about what he was wearing—jeans, boots, and a faded T-shirt that said “Lawyers Do It With Subpoenas”. Probably not the kind of outfit people usually wore to an upscale tapas bar.

  He could see Cal and Docia sitting at a table near the front as he pushed open the elegant glass door to the restaurant. Lee Contreras, the owner he’d met a couple of days before, raised an eyebrow at the T-shirt, but he led the way to the table without making any comments.

  Cal grinned, of course. “Nice of you to drop by, bro. Of course you missed the tapas tasting.”

  Pete slumped into his chair. “I don’t suppose they make burgers here?”

  “You suppose wrong,” Docia snapped. “They make a great burger.” She waved a hand at a teenaged girl wearing a tuxedo shirt and black bow tie along with her black jeans. “Bring the gentleman the special burger, Donna. Can we get the order in before the kitchen closes?”

  The waitress nodded. “Sure, Docia. Anything to drink, sir?”

  Pete considered having another beer then decided against it. Docia already looked fairly pissed and his getting slightly shit-faced wouldn’t help. “Iced tea, please.”

  “Coming right up.” The girl grinned and flounced off toward the kitchen.

  Silence stretched across the table, then Pete shrugged. “Sorry to be late. No excuse, ma’am.”

  Docia exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re not that late, and you didn’t even promise you were coming. I’m just on edge about this whole wedding thing. I’ll be a good sister-in-law, honest.”

  She gave him a smile that started a pain somewhere around Pete’s diaphragm. God, she was gorgeous. Why didn’t he have that kind of luck? “Hey, right now you’re already the best sister-in-law I’ve got.”

  Docia’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “I thought Lars was married.”

  Cal’s grin turned wry. “He is. To Sherice. Pete’s trying to make a point here.”

  Pete picked up a spare piece of bread lying in the bread basket, dipping it in a puddle of olive oil left on Cal’s plate. “I’m going to be a better best man, trust me. I just need to get the hang of it.”

  “A ‘better best man’?” Cal raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like an old Who song.”

  “Hey, consider me your hired gun. Who do you want me to kill first?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Docia grimaced. “Several candidates leap to mind, but most of them are related to me.”

  The waitress set a plate with an immense burger in front of Pete. It overflowed with mushrooms and cheese and bacon—a heart attack waiting to happen. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I forgot to ask how you wanted it. Lee figured medium rare because that’s the best way.”

  “Sounds good.” Pete nodded and
took a bite. Salty cheese, crisp smoked bacon and perfectly sautéed mushrooms were like a taste explosion in his mouth. “Holy shit, I will never underestimate this place again, I swear.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Docia pushed herself back from the table. “I still need to talk to Ken about the wine. Can you two stay out of trouble for a few minutes?”

  “We’ll try.” Cal was grinning again. Pete wanted to kick him.

  The grin stayed in place as Cal watched Docia walk across the room to the bar where Ken, the sommelier and co-owner of the restaurant, was opening a bottle of wine.

  When he turned back to Pete, his grin abruptly disappeared. “Okay, so are you ready to tell me about it? Why exactly did you end up in the hospital last week? How serious is it?”

  Pete pinched the bridge of his nose, telling himself he didn’t feel a headache coming on. “You’ve been talking to Dad, haven’t you?”

  “Lars. And don’t change the subject. What’s going on?”

  “It was nothing.” Pete crunched a perfect French fry between his front teeth. “I just blacked out for a couple of minutes at the office. The doctor gave me some pills. I’m okay.”

  “Lars said you fainted.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened. “I did not faint. I’ve never fainted in my life. Lars is prone to exaggerate.”

  “Lars is a freakin’ accountant.”

  “I’m telling you the whole thing was no big deal. The doctor gave me some blood pressure meds. And some stuff for acid reflux. That’s it.” The doctor had also offered him his choice of anti-anxiety drugs, which he had politely declined. Anxiety was part of the territory.

  Cal shook his head. “You used to be a better liar than this. Even I know you’re not giving me the whole story here.”

  Pete looked down at his burger, then back up to his younger brother. “It’s a high stress job, Calthorpe. Par for the course. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your plate with The Wedding.”

  Cal still frowned, but Docia was headed back across the room toward them. He shook his head. “We’ll talk about this more later.”

  “There’s nothing more to talk about. I’ve got the meds—problem solved.”

  “You’re my brother, Pete. That gives me the right to bug you. But for now, I’ll settle for a promise.”

  “And that would be…”

  “You’re on vacation this week. No phones. No laptop. No business. Just Texas.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened slightly. He’d already checked his e-mail twice that afternoon. Plus the call to Bergstrom that had made him late. Cal was asking him to cut off his lifeline. Going cold turkey would not be fun.

  Cal narrowed his eyes. “Promise me. Okay?”

  Pete sighed. “Okay. Not that I think this is any of your business, you understand.”

  Cal gave him a slightly smug smile, then he shrugged. “Think of it this way, starting tomorrow, we’re both going to have more than enough to keep us occupied anyway.”

  Pete paused, holding another fry poised in front of his mouth. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Docia glanced back and forth between them as she sat again. “Well, your mother’s plane gets in to San Antonio at two.”

  Pete leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes in anguish. “Doomed, Calthorpe. We’re both doomed.”

  “That we are.” Cal grinned again.

  Chapter Two

  Pete woke the next day certain that he was late for work. Judging from the sunlight pouring in his window, he’d somehow missed the alarm. His heart raced for a few moments until he remembered—he didn’t have to go to work because he wasn’t in Des Moines. He was in Texas being Cal’s hired gun.

  He flipped open his cell and checked for messages. Nothing yet. For a few moments he considered calling in to the office, just to be sure. No, dammit, just let it go for a week. After all, he’d promised Cal. Sort of.

  His case load would be handled. The assistants were capable of doing the work, even if none of them had conviction rates in the same ballpark as his when he’d been an assistant himself. He needed some time off—that was the general consensus of everybody in the office, including Bergstrom.

  Right. Tell that to Maureen Amundson, who had lost hearing in one ear and risked losing an eye for a couple of weeks before the doctors had been able to repair the damage to her cornea. Bo Amundson had been nothing if not thorough.

  Pete was going to make sure Bo Amundson spent a significant portion of the rest of his life in the slammer. He’d promised Maureen. He stared at the cell phone again. Maybe he should just call the clerk to make sure that the trial date hadn’t been changed.

  Enough, already. Pete sighed in disgust. He was supposed to be relaxing in Texas, letting his stress levels drop out of the stratosphere, being his brother’s best man. He might even take the time today to figure out what a best man was supposed to do. Must be a bestman.com somewhere.

  On the other hand, he was sure his mother could tell him what a best man was supposed to do. In detail. And she undoubtedly would as soon as she saw him.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a banana, then climbed out onto the fire escape to eat. Docia’s backyard spread out below him, a solid expanse of grass and live oaks reaching to the stone wall around the edge. Pete leaned back against the window sill, letting one foot dangle over the side of the fire escape. He had to admit, Konigsburg had its points.

  The neighbor kids played touch football in their own back yard across the alley. After a few minutes Pete heard the littlest complaining about fairness in a high-pitched, grade-school voice. Another kid, clearly the big brother, grabbed the boy’s shoulder, and Pete’s gut clenched. Then the smaller boy was running across the yard as his big brother stepped back to pass him a bright green football.

  Pete relaxed against the window sill again, listening to the sounds of cars moving along Main Street and the kids screeching in victory.

  After a few minutes, he saw a woman walk down the sidewalk beside the yards, turning to wave to the children as they ran by. Pete caught a quick glimpse of her face as she turned back again—Janie Dupree.

  As if she were suddenly aware of him, she looked up to the fire escape, shading her eyes with her hand. “Good morning,” she called.

  Pete nodded. “Hi.” On an impulse, he raised his cup. “Want some coffee?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve got to open the shop.” She smiled uncertainly, her sunny face puckering slightly.

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Pete pushed up from the fire escape and ducked through the window.

  He heard Janie say something that sounded like “Thanks anyway,” but he ignored it. How hard could opening a bookstore be? And almost by definition, he had nothing better to do. Might as well make himself useful again. It certainly beat sitting around not checking his e-mail.

  Janie had unlocked the front door by the time he’d climbed down the inside stairs and walked into the shop through the storeroom. He peered around the shop space. Six-foot-high bookcases stretched toward the pressed tin ceiling overhead. “What do you need done?” he asked.

  “You can move that display case.” Janie nodded toward a row of shelves where a large cardboard display loaded with paperbacks nearly blocked the aisle. “Put it over there against the wall.”

  He hoisted the surprisingly heavy cardboard display and staggered toward the side. “Look, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot last night.” He pushed the display against the wall, then turned to look back at her, dusting his hands on his knees. “I guess I was out of line.”

  Janie regarded him with one raised eyebrow. “You guess?” Her lips were pursed again. She had a perfect cupid’s bow mouth, a sharply angled upper lip over a full, almost pouting lower one. Nice.

  He shrugged. “Okay, I was totally out of line. I’m sorry.”

  The corners of her mouth trembled, as if she was fighting a smile. Oh well, maybe he didn’t deserve one. Her short, dark hair was
slightly mussed from the breeze outside, falling over her eyebrows, almost like feathers. Her eyes, the same dark color as her hair, tipped up at the ends.

  “Dupree.” He narrowed his eyes. “From Louisiana?”

  Janie nodded. “My daddy was a Cajun from Baton Rouge. Mama’s from here, though, so I’m only half coonass.”

  Pete blinked at her, and she grinned, her full lower lip spreading deliciously.

  “It’s okay for me to say ‘coonass’, but nobody else. One of those things, you know? And by the way, my mom would die if she knew I said that to you.” She turned back to the cash register, placing bills in the tray.

  He nodded, only half listening. Why hadn’t he noticed those eyes until now, to say nothing of those lips? Usually he was more observant than that. Was that what overwork did to you?

  “My dad always called himself a coonass, though.” Her smile dimmed slightly. “He was proud of it.”

  Pete nodded and tried to think of something halfway intelligent to say about coonasses. Fortunately for them both, his cell phone chirped before he came up with anything. He flipped it open, expecting to see the office number, only to see Cal’s number instead.

  “Hey, Pete!” Cal’s voice sounded absurdly cheerful. Pete was willing to bet he was grinning again. “Come on over to the clinic. I need my hired gun.”

  Pete grunted his assent and folded the phone into his pocket. “What’s the best route to Cal’s clinic from here? Drive up Main?”

  Janie shook her head. “You can walk it. Go up Spicewood and cut over on Berman. The clinic’s on West Street.”

  “Okay.” He wondered if he should say anything else, maybe something about Louisiana or her dad or Cajuns. Except he didn’t have anything coherent to say about any of those things. “Well, see you later,” he mumbled.

  Janie had already turned away to greet a customer as he headed out the door.

  Oh yeah, that little encounter had gone really well. Clearly, he was a regular chick magnet.