Erik Toleffson hated the Dew Drop Inn in downtown Konigsburg, Texas, with a loathing that was deep and abiding. It wasn’t just because he didn’t drink—he could tolerate most bars without any problem. But the Dew Drop wasn’t most bars. It was so dark it reminded him of a cave—he half-expected to see bats hanging from the rafters. And bats might have been an improvement over some of the bar’s customers, particularly considering that Erik, one of Konigsburg’s limited supply of cops, had had professional interactions with several of them. There was Otto Friedrich, the high school football coach, whom he’d decked a couple of years ago for attempting to assault Erik’s future sister-in-law. And Billy Jo Slidell, who’d had a couple of DUIs in the last month that ended with Erik tossing him into what passed for a drunk tank in the Konigsburg jail. And Brendan Fowler, who’d had to bail out Mrs. Fowler, Marlene, after she’d thrown a punch at Ethel Overmeyer. Erik wasn’t sure what the origin of the fight had been, but Ethel outweighed Marlene by about fifty pounds and was just getting ready to throw her own punch when he intervened, so he figured Marlene was lucky to have gotten off with a fine. Given his choice, he’d have hung out at the Coffee Corral or even Brenner’s Restaurant down the street, although he couldn’t afford to eat much more than a couple of dinner rolls there. But his brothers liked the Dew Drop, and Erik wasn’t ready to complain about it now that they’d started including him in their five o’clock get-togethers. It hadn’t been all that long ago they’d have been running in the other direction if they saw him coming, given his standard practice of beating the crap out of them until they’d been old enough to fight him off singly and in a group. Not that he blamed them for that. In their place, he would have done the same thing. He’d even be willing to let them beat him to a bloody pulp now if they’d like to take him on, assuming it might help to even the score from their childhood. Erik watched as his brother Pete tried to flag down a barmaid from their booth in the corner. All four brothers were about the same size, with the same brown hair and eyes, but Pete was maybe an inch or two shorter than the others. Which meant he was around six-three. Lars and Cal were scrunched into the other side of the booth, trying to find room for their feet in the limited space. It was best to be the last one to arrive at these get-togethers. Being late meant you got the outside seat, which meant being able to extend your legs out into the floor space instead of trying to reduce yourself to booth-size. With other people the customers might have objected, but nobody made much of a fuss about the Toleffsons, and not just because they were bigger than most of the men in the bar. With the exception of Erik, all the Toleffsons were popular people in Konigsburg. Nice guys, upstanding citizens, a veterinarian, an accountant and an assistant county attorney. All of them well-liked, with the exception of him. But then he’d often been the exception in cases like that. “Nice” and “upstanding” weren’t words that anybody had ever used to describe him. Pete scowled toward the bar, where the owner, Ingstrom, was ignoring him. Both barmaids were at the other end of the room, giggling with a couple of cowboy wannabes whose Stetsons looked brand new. Time was when the barmaids would have been hanging around the Toleffson booth, but now three out of the four brothers were married, and Erik figured nobody thought of him as worth flirting with. The only reason the four of them could get together at all was that the Toleffson wives had a girls-only dinner on Wednesday. Knowing his sisters-in-law, Erik assumed they were probably trading war stories or plotting battle strategy. Not that any of his brothers stood a chance against their wives, either singly or in concert, strategy or no strategy. “What the hell does it take to get served around here anymore,” Pete growled, “divine intervention?” “Forget it.” Lars pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll go to the bar myself.” “I’ll help.” Cal glanced at Erik. “Dr. Pepper okay? Ingstrom switched distributors.” “Sure. Anything.” Pete glanced his way as the other two headed toward Ingstrom. “What do you hear about the chief’s job?” Erik sighed. If he’d had any glimmer of a good mood, it promptly vaporized. “City council meeting tomorrow afternoon. They’re supposed to announce their decision then.” “Any hope it won’t be Ham Linklatter?” Erik shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But Mayor Pittman wants Linklatter and the council’s not famous for standing up to him.” “Linklatter’s an idiot. I’ve seen cheese with a higher IQ.” “Ham’s a little…unfocused. He’s got seniority, though. And he’s the only full-time cop in town.” Pete grimaced. “He was hired by a psychopath and promoted by a screwup. That doesn’t sound like much of a recommendation.” Erik sighed again. Konigsburg’s former police chief, Claude Olema, had been fired a couple of months ago for gross incompetence after a high-risk prisoner had escaped from the jail. Erik hadn’t been impressed with Olema’s skills, but at least the chief had been reasonably honest. The chief before Olema, Brody, had tried to kill Cal’s wife, Docia, but that had been before Erik’s time. Good thing, too, considering what Erik would have felt like doing to Brody himself if he’d known him then. “The town hasn’t been all that lucky in terms of police chiefs. I’ll grant you that.” “What have you been doing for a chief since Olema left?” “Sheriff Friesenhahn’s sent over a couple of his deputies to keep an eye on things. Pittman wanted to make Ham acting chief, but the council wouldn’t back him on it.” Pete grinned. “You mean Horace wouldn’t. Thank god we’ve got one hard-ass who isn’t afraid of the mayor.” Horace Rankin was Cal’s partner in the veterinary clinic. He was also president of the city council and currently Erik’s only hope. If anybody could come up with an alternative to Ham Linklatter, it would be Horace. “Did you apply for the job?” “Sure.” Erik’s mouth twisted slightly. “We all did—me and Nando and Curtis Peavey. Won’t mean anything, though. Pittman’s already chosen the next chief.” Pete leaned back against the booth. “What will you do if they promote Linklatter to chief? Could you work for him?” Erik shrugged again. “I’ll figure something out.” Actually, he’d already figured out there was no way he’d work for Ham Linklatter, although he wasn’t ready to discuss it with the family yet. He’d worked for incompetents before—he’d gotten along with Olema, even though he didn’t hold his skills in much regard. But he’d never yet worked for a moron, and he wasn’t eager to try. He liked Konigsburg, Texas, and he didn’t really want to stick around to watch what happened when Ham started screwing up. Which made it doubly hard—he’d have to leave the town he’d grown to like and his family just when it seemed they might actually be willing to forgive him. That forgiveness hadn’t come easily, and he still wondered sometimes if he deserved it. Cal slid into the booth opposite, pushing a glass of soda across the table to Erik and a bottle of Lonestar to Pete. “Have you seen Wonder? I need to tell him about dinner on Friday.” He raised an eyebrow at Erik. “You’re coming, right?” “For an hour or so. I’m on duty at eight. I’ll bring the soda.” Pete gestured across the room. “Wonder’s over there at the booth with Allie and Morgan.” Erik glanced at a booth at the other end of the row. Cal’s friend Steve Kleinschmidt, aka Wonder Dentist, sat opposite his fiancée Allie Maldonado, a buxom brunette baker who made the best scones on the planet. On Allie’s other side, a woman cradled her head in her arms on the tabletop. Erik sighed. Probably another drunk, not that he was going to do anything about it as long as she stayed quiet. With only a few available jail cells, the law in Konigsburg had to be discriminating about who got swept up. On the other hand, she’d probably be a more pleasant cell occupant than somebody like Terrell Biedermeier, currently knocking back boilermakers at the bar and long overdue for a trip to the drunk tank. The woman raised her head, and Erik felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Her eyes were huge, liquid brown. Like melted chocolate. Like coffee beans. Like Bambi. Erik swiveled back to the table and grabbed his Dr. Pepper. Like Bambi? Jesus, Toleffson, get a grip. Morgan Barrett just needed some sleep. That was all. She tried to remember how long she’d slept last night. Four hours? Maybe. She hadn’t expected the truck with the grapes from Lubbock to show up at three in the morning, that’s for sure. The good news was that the truck was ahead of schedule, which meant they could start the crush a few days early, according to Ciro. The bad news was, well, it was freakin’ three in the morning and she had to stay down there until all the grapes were unloaded. She’d spent the rest of the day helping Ciro and Esteban run the destemmer and the crusher, draining the juice and pulp off into the holding tank. At least it was a cabernet franc so they didn’t have to filter off the skins, as they did with the viognier. Over the course of the past year, she’d discovered that white wine was a total nightmare. Next week they’d have to start picking the sauvignon blanc grapes in their own vineyard, even though it was early, because the heat had made the grapes ripen before her father and Ciro had originally figured they would. And Dad was pissed because he wouldn’t be there to oversee the crush. And Ciro was pissed because he hated using volunteer pickers. And Morgan promised herself she’d find something to be pissed about too, as soon as she got a spare millisecond. Actually, she could always be pissed about the way her existence had been gobbled up by Cedar Creek Winery. It had all seemed so simple when she’d agreed to take over for Dad after his accident. She’d go to the winery, learn what she needed to learn about wine production and put together a marketing plan on the side. And when she was through with all that, she’d start making plans to get the winery the recognition it deserved. Simple. Right. And Hurricane Rita was a bad rainstorm. She probably shouldn’t be wasting time in the Dew Drop instead of reviewing the barrel room records, but she wanted to at least pretend she had a social life. If she could just hold everything together until next weekend, maybe Dad… Morgan felt her head droop. Just five minutes. She’d put her head down on the table for five minutes and then she’d be good to go. Power-napping. The mark of a successful businesswoman. And she was a successful…business…woman… “Morgan.” Someone shook her shoulder, gently. “Morgan, honey.” “Mom?” Morgan murmured. And then felt like a moron. She was seated in the Dew Drop Inn in downtown Konigsburg. Her mother had better taste. “Morgan?” Allie Maldonado gave her a slightly concerned look, eyebrows raised. “Okay?” “Yeah,” Morgan groaned, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Just five minutes of sleep. That’s all she needed, honestly. A man across the room scowled at her. She blinked. What had she done now? Was putting your head down on a table to grab five minutes of shut-eye some kind of honky-tonk faux pas? Had she violated the health code, assuming the Dew Drop had a health code to violate? The man turned away quickly. She had an impression of dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders, a face that looked like he’d lived through a lot, not all of it pleasant. “Who’s that?” Morgan turned to Allie. Allie always knew everything. Except that Allie was slightly distracted these days. Not that Morgan blamed her. Trying to arrange a wedding to Wonder Dentist would try anybody’s patience. Allie looked up from Wonder briefly and checked the booth at the far end of the room. “Toleffsons. All four of them. Did you have a particular one in mind?” “Oh. I couldn’t see that far.” Morgan leaned back against the booth, trying to get another look at the men across the room without being too obvious about it. “Which one is the one on the end?” “Erik.” Allie took a swallow of wine. “The cop. You might not have seen him as much as the others. He’s always working. They all look alike, though, more or less.” Morgan narrowed her eyes, surreptitiously studying the back of Erik Toleffson’s head. “Maybe. He doesn’t look much like Cal, though. He needs to smile.” “No, he doesn’t.” Wonder set down his bottle of beer. “When Erik smiles it means he’s getting ready to tear somebody a new one. Scariest sucker I’ve ever known.” Allie grinned and put her hand over his on the table. “You’re such a poetic SOB. Tell them to join us. I need to give Cal a message for Docia.” Wonder grimaced, pushing himself to his feet. “Okay, but if the Toleffsons are joining us, we’re getting a table. I’m not letting those elephants scrunch me up against the wall again.” Wonder Dentist was one of the least formidable-looking men Erik had ever met. He stood maybe five-eight, with a slightly concave chest, horn-rims and thinning hair. Combined with his habitually smart-assed personality, he was not someone Erik would consider a great catch. Yet he’d somehow managed to snare one of the best cooks in town for his bride-to-be. Just another example of how the universe didn’t always play fair. Cal and Lars pulled a couple of tables together, while he helped Pete corral chairs, ignoring Ingstrom’s scowl as they rearranged his floor space. “Have a seat, Erik. There’s room over here beside us.” Allie Maldonado put a hand on the shoulder of the woman next to her, Ms. Bambi-Eyes. A set-up? Allie Maldonado actually thought he was worthy of a setup? Erik almost felt like shaking his head to clear it. Nobody wanted to hook up with him. “This is Morgan Barrett. I don’t know if you’ve met. Her dad’s a partner in the Cedar Creek Winery outside town.” Morgan Barrett raised those remarkable eyes once again. Erik’s jaw tightened. Aside from the eyes she looked a little like she’d been dragged through a knothole. Rumpled clothes, mussed hair. Very sexy mussed hair. If she wasn’t a drunk, she was one of the tiredest individuals he’d ever seen. “Pleased to meet you.” She yawned in his face. Well, okay then, not a drunk. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “We got a shipment of grapes last night. I’m usually more alert than this. I need to go home and sleep until the next load comes in, preferably in another week.” Allie nodded. “Harvest season. I remember. You going to have a new wine for the Hill Country Wine and Food Festival?” “Yes.” Morgan paused, then shook her head. “No. Maybe.” “Well, that seems to take care of the possibilities.” Cal grinned. Morgan sighed. “Esteban’s got one ready to go, but ATF hasn’t approved the label yet. We’ve been waiting on it for weeks now, but with Homeland Security it takes forever.” “Homeland Security?” Erik set his Dr. Pepper down on the table and pulled up his chair. “Wine is now considered a lethal weapon?” “You haven’t tasted the wine from Castleberry’s, have you?” Morgan shook her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be dissing the truly lousy wine being produced by our competitors. ATF, which is now part of Homeland Security, has to approve the text on wine labels and wine labels are not high on their list of priorities.” “So what are you going to call it?” Allie asked. “Is it red or white?” “Red. It’s Esteban Avrogado’s first blend. He asked me for some advice, and I came up with a new name so we can market it.” Erik couldn’t tell for sure in the gloom of the Dew Drop, but it almost looked like she was blushing. “It’s a Bordeaux blend—cabernet, merlot and cabernet franc. Only we can’t call it Bordeaux because of the EU rules since it’s not from Bordeaux.” “So you’re calling it…” Allie gave her an encouraging smile. “Bored Ducks.” Morgan looked around the table expectantly. Six faces stared blankly back. “Well, because it’s… I mean, people don’t always know how to pronounce…” Morgan’s lips thinned to a taut line. For a moment, she looked close to tears. Erik had a sudden, unaccountable urge to get that look off her face. “That’s funny,” he said, pushing his lips into something that was in the neighborhood of a grin. “Bordeaux, Bored Ducks. Funny.” Wonder narrowed his eyes. “Funny?” Allie gave him an elbow to the ribs. Wonder winced and settled back in his chair. “Bored ducks.” Cal grinned. “Sorry. Took me a minute. Now I see it.” Lars nodded. “We Toleffsons may not be swift, but we usually get there eventually. I think it’s funny too.” Allie reached for her glass. “Novelty wine labels are a good marketing tool. It’ll get the browsers’ attention.” “It will indeed,” Wonder intoned. “All across the state, the aisles of the wine sections will be clogged with shoppers muttering ‘What the hell?’” He winced again. For a small woman, Allie Maldonado appeared to wield a mighty elbow. “I like it. And I’ll bet the wine tastes terrific. All the Cedar Creek wines are good, Morgan.” Morgan grimaced. “I just hope it doesn’t take people so long to figure out the name that they forget to buy the wine.” “Steve will buy a case.” Allie turned narrowed eyes on Wonder. “Won’t you, sweetie?” “Sure,” Wonder croaked, rubbing his side. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Morgan yawned again. “I need to go back home and get some sleep before the next crisis.” “Morgan, you shouldn’t drive.” Cal’s face was serious. “You’re too tired. Stay over with us.” She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m not driving. Ciro is having dinner with Nando. He said he’d give me a ride back if I hike over to the station.” Erik blinked at her. The police station? Where he’d just left? What the hell was going on there now? The last thing the Konigsburg PD needed was another crisis. “I can give you a ride to the station. I need to check on a few things before I go home.” Not exactly true, but close enough. If people were dining at the station, Erik figured he should know about it. Nando Avrogado was another of the part-time officers, and the only Konigsburg cop Erik would depend on to be able to find the keys to the cruiser in less than ten minutes. If anything happened that got Nando thrown off the force, Erik would be on the first thing heading out of town. “Oh.” Morgan Barrett gave him a slightly dazed look, as if she were trying to remember just who he was. Then she nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lars Toleffson had oatmeal in his hair. He found it by accident while he was sitting drinking a beer with his brothers at the Dew Drop Inn in downtown Konigsburg, Texas. Since that was around five in the afternoon, he’d probably been wearing the oatmeal all day. He only hoped other people hadn’t noticed. Daisy, his two-year-old daughter, was learning to feed herself. She was really enthusiastic about breakfast, and sometimes her enthusiasm slopped over. So to speak. The only way Lars could have a beer with his brothers was through the generosity of his sisters-in-law, who’d taken Daisy with them to the park to see the city workers put up some decorations. Lars wasn’t sure what holiday was being decorated for—it was early November, but he had a feeling the decorations were probably for Christmas. Christmas was a big deal in Konigsburg, given the shopping frenzy the tourists usually went into once the season was officially open. Lars sighed, rubbing his eyes. He adored his daughter. He’d moved to Texas to make a better life for her than she would have had in Iowa where his ex-wife lived within meddling distance, even though it meant giving up the automatic babysitting services provided by his folks. But sometimes he wished he could take a day off from being a full-time single parent. Of course, every time he wished that, he ended up feeling like a total shit. “Hey, bro.” His brother Pete dropped into a chair opposite him. “No dozing off at the table. At least not until you’ve listened to us talk for a few minutes. I mean, give us a chance to bore you to sleep first.” Lars shook his head. “Sorry. Late night last night. Daisy didn’t feel like sleeping until midnight.” He’d felt like sleeping around eight-thirty himself, but that was par for the course these days. His brother Cal pulled out a chair next to Pete. The three of them took up all the available space and some that wasn’t really available, like the area around the table where they tried to stretch their legs out. Their mother had given birth to four giants, all of them standing over six feet four. No wonder Mom had her grumpy moments. “Hey, y’all, where’s the beer? Don’t we have a standing order by now?” Cal asked. Pete shrugged. “Looks like she’s working her way down the tables.” “She?” Cal raised an eyebrow. “The waitress.” Cal leaned forward, squinting into the darkness. The Dew Drop wasn’t well known for the candle power of its lighting. “What waitress? Ingstrom fired the waitress he had last week. Or she walked out—I’m not sure which.” “He’s hired another one. He’s trying to upgrade the place.” Pete raised a hand, signaling. “Wonder says Ingstrom may even wash the windows one of these days.” Cal widened his eyes in amazement. “You mean so we could actually see what this place looks like? Wouldn’t that destroy his business?” “Whatcha want?” Lars blinked. The woman standing beside the table wore a leather vest zipped over breasts the size of melons. Big melons. Her bare arms were covered in so many tattoos they looked blue. A roll of white flesh bulged between the bottom of her vest and the top of her jeans. The nametag on her left breast read Hi! My Name Is Ruby. “Ya want anything or not?” Ruby sounded like she was getting pissed. Lars figured that would not be a good thing. “Lone Star.” “Dos Equis,” Cal muttered. “Corona.” Pete was staring down at the table, trying very hard not to look at Ruby’s chest, which was only inches from his nose. Ruby turned and stalked away. Pete watched her retreat into the darkness. “You think she’s actually going to bring us those beers? Did we order right? Were we supposed to say ‘May I’ or something?” “I think I’m not going after her to find out.” Cal shook his head. “Where the hell does Ingstrom find them?” “Central casting. It doesn’t matter anyway. She won’t stick it out more than a couple of days. None of them ever does. Being a barmaid at the Dew Drop is not a major career move.” “Here she comes again,” Lars cautioned. Ruby reappeared from the gloom and plopped three bottles in front of them. “Six bucks,” she snapped. Pete shook his head. “We’ll run a tab.” “Fuck that,” Ruby snarled. “Six bucks.” All three brothers dug out their wallets and plunked their dollar bills in front of her. Ruby stalked off again. Cal took a deep breath. “That is one terrifying female.” “Just wait a couple of days.” Pete took a deep swallow of Corona. “The next one will be worse.” Lars took a pull on his Lone Star. Ruby was par for the course these days. At least for his course. Maybe his brothers’ lives were going more smoothly. “Any luck on the new babysitter front?” Cal raised an eyebrow. Lars shook his head. “Most of the home-care people are full up at this point. There’s that Wee Care place out near Highway 16, but they charge an arm and a leg, plus I didn’t like the look of it much.” Pete frowned. “Dirty?” Lars wasn’t sure if Pete’s jurisdiction as an assistant county attorney stretched to daycare center compliance, but he didn’t particularly want to find out. “Not exactly. I just had a feeling Daisy would dismantle the place in under twenty minutes, given the large number of kids and limited number of caregivers.” “And Daisy’s scientific curiosity about the Way Things Work.” Cal grinned. “Horace offered one of the large animal pens to hold her so we could keep her at the clinic, but I figured it’d never work. Plus Bethany said she’d skin both of us if we even thought about it.” “If I didn’t do it first. This is my daughter you’re talking about. Your only niece, remember?” Cal grinned. “Aw, come on, Lars. Knowing Dais, she’d regard it as a challenge to her mechanical abilities. She’d have that cage apart in ninety minutes, tops.” “I’d give her an hour,” Pete mused, “but it would probably be more like forty-five minutes. Did you see what she did to my old Rubik’s Cube?” Lars tried scowling at Cal, but it didn’t work. His younger brother had been the nicest guy in Lander, Iowa, for twenty years and was now the nicest guy in Konigsburg, Texas, as well as its most popular veterinarian. Pete took a swig of Corona. “When does Mrs. Melendez leave?” “End of next week.” Lars sighed again. “If I can’t get anybody by then, I’ll have to go with Wee Care until I can.” Mrs. Melendez had been Daisy’s babysitter ever since they’d made the move to Konigsburg permanently, a week after his divorce from Sherice had become final. Now she was leaving for McAllen. Lars only hoped they hadn’t driven her out of town. “You still running the ad in the Tribune-Zeitung?” “Until the end of the month. I’ve only had a few calls, though, and none of them were people I wanted looking after Daisy.” Cal grinned again. “If only you didn’t have this unreasonable prejudice against multiple body piercings.” “Right. You never know—maybe Daisy would like tooling around the countryside in the sidecar of a Harley.” Pete took another pull on his Corona. “You two are hilarious.” Lars sighed. Sometimes it seemed like he did nothing but sigh these days. Pete’s forehead furrowed. “Janie would do it in a shot. So would Docia. But Daisy wouldn’t be happy stuck in the bookstore all day, and they both need to be there. We’re moving into the big tourist season from Thanksgiving through the end of December.” Lars nodded. “I know. I appreciate them taking her when they do. They’ve been great.” Cal leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Look, bro, we all love Daisy. We all want to help. Just ask us.” Lars felt like sighing again, but he didn’t. His brothers were two of the main reasons he’d moved Daisy down here, his ex-wife and her presence in their former home in Iowa being the other main reason. “Thanks. If I think of anything you could do, I’ll let you know.” “Dadee!” someone crowed. Lars didn’t have to ask who that someone was. Only Daisy’s voice had that odd combination of Iowa and Texas, with a trace of Texican thrown in, courtesy of Mrs. Melendez. He glanced toward the bar. Ingstrom was narrowing his eyes in the general direction of his No minors allowed on the premises sign. Both Cal and Pete occasionally brought their dogs to the Dew Drop, but Lars figured Daisy would be one step over the line. “Dadee!” Lars turned toward the doorway. His sisters-in-law stood just inside, like a gorgeous female version of Mutt and Jeff—six-foot redheaded Docia and five-foot-two brunette Janie. Daisy twisted in Docia’s arms, black curls dancing wildly around her bright pink cheeks, and wearing a smile that made his heart crack in two every time he saw it. He pushed himself to his feet, setting his half-finished beer on the table, and strode toward the door. “Hang on, sweetheart. Daddy’s on his way.” Jessamyn Carroll gave the living room at the Lone Oak Bed and Breakfast a quick once-over before she placed Jack in his portable playpen. At least the people who’d just checked out hadn’t been pigs. Sometimes Jess wondered what the hell the guests had been up to that made the place such a mess. Sometimes she could see only too well what they’d been up to and really didn’t like thinking about it. Jack cooed happily, reaching for his favorite plastic blocks. Based on past experience, Jess figured it would take him at least ten minutes to throw them all out of the playpen. By then she could probably have the dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher. She grabbed a trash bag, shaking it open as she tossed in a couple of half-empty bags of chips. Too bad the guests never seemed to be into healthy stuff. She swore if they ever left some flatbread or granola bars, she’d take them home for dinner. Behind her she heard a block hit the floor as Jack crowed. Right. Five more to go. The dishes were piled in the sink—not too many for once. She scraped some calcified cheese into the garbage disposal and ran water to soak the silverware. The coffeepot still had grounds in it. Too bad she hadn’t had time to start a compost heap yet. Two more blocks flew over the side of the playpen. Jack was getting ambitious, doing more than one at a time. “Slow down, mister,” Jess called over her shoulder. Jack crowed back. She grabbed the box of dishwasher detergent and filled the dispenser. Everything was loaded now except the silverware. Another plop sounded behind her. Please, Jack, please just let me finish this. Jess rubbed the remains of the cheese and something orange and sticky off the knives, tossing them into the dishwasher as she went. One more plop. One more crow. She pushed the dishwasher door closed, flipping the catch and turning the knob. The sound of water rushing into the washer mingled with Jack’s discontented squawks. “Okay,” she muttered, “okay. If you didn’t throw them out, you’d still have them, though.” He squawked louder, and she knelt beside the playpen, picking up the blocks. “Good arm, kid, you tossed those a good two feet this time.” He gave her a beatific baby grin, revealing three tiny, pearl-like teeth. “Ah, that’s Mama’s boy,” she murmured, burying her nose in his neck as she leaned in to hug him. Sweet powder, sour milk—essence of baby. Her heart contracted. Jack squealed in delight, grabbing handfuls of her hair. “Ouch.” She pulled his hands away gently, then reached into the toy bag. “How about some time with Mr. Wiggles?” Jack threw his arms around the terry-cloth rabbit, then overbalanced in the other direction, landing flat on his back. For a moment he lay wide-eyed, staring up at her. “No, it’s okay,” she cautioned. “You’re fine. You’re just startled. Don’t shriek, okay?” But his chest was already expanding, his face flushed, as he let loose the first wail. Jess reached down and gathered him into her arms, rubbing a hand across his back. “Hey, kid, you need to learn to roll with those punches. How are you ever going to be a captain of industry if you cry whenever you land on your ass?” He wailed a few more times as she bounced him on her shoulder, then subsided into hiccups. “Attaboy,” she whispered. “Just let it go.” She felt him relax in her arms, halfway to sleep. “C’mon, Jack,” she crooned. “Just let Mama finish up here, and we’ll head back home, okay?” A few moments later, she laid him down in the playpen again, dropping a flannel blanket over his tummy as he slept. Thirty minutes. Maybe. But no running the vacuum sweeper until he woke up. Jess headed for the bedroom to strip off the sheets. She could do the bathrooms fast if nobody had done anything really gross. Fifteen minutes later, sheets and towels loaded into the washer and clean ones draped over her arm, she headed back into the living room to check on Jack. He still slept, one fist tucked against his cheek. She stood in the doorway, staring at him. Jack. Her Jack. As pigheaded as she was. As ready to yell for his own way. Maybe as ready to stand up for himself in a few years. But not yet. Not now. Now he needed her to do the standing up, and the protecting. Which meant finding yet another way to put food on the table. Managing the Lone Oak Bed and Breakfast at least gave them a place to stay, but she couldn’t bring Jack up on a diet of croissants and orange juice, even if they came with the job. And he was already growing out of the sets of onesies she’d brought with her. Even at Costco prices, a new baby wardrobe would stretch her budget. Tomorrow she’d take another look at the Tribune-Zeitung. Maybe they’d have something other than waiting tables or data entry, preferably something she could do from home and under the radar, like her work on the gaming sites. “Goddamn it, Barry,” she whispered, “why couldn’t you have held on for just a few more years?” Lydia Moreland picked up her cell phone on the second ring. The phone did ring, just like a regular phone. She had, in fact, demanded that it ring like a regular phone. She despised phones that tinkled out tinny versions of classical music. “Yes,” she snapped. “Mrs. Moreland, it’s Charles Hampton.” Hampton always sounded like he was speaking in a hall with an echo, probably a holdover from addressing all those courtrooms. “Yes, what is it?” She straightened a sheet of paper on her otherwise-immaculate desk. “I just wanted to give you a progress report on our efforts to locate your…daughter-in-law.” The pause was small, but enough to bring a wintry smile to Lydia’s lips. “Barrett’s widow. The marriage was legal, Charles. We did have it checked, remember?” “Of course.” Hampton cleared his throat before continuing. “Yes, well, we’ve confirmed that she left the state, probably six weeks ago.” “Probably?” She raised an eyebrow. If he were standing in front of her, she’d have narrowed her eyes at him. As it was, she made do with tone of voice. “The exact date is a little hazy, but yes. The place where she was staying has been vacant for around that length of time.” Lydia leaned back in her chair, rolling her Montblanc ballpoint between her fingers. “And where is she now?” “We think Texas. She mentioned Texas to friends. Before…that is, while she was still working.” Lydia closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Raising one’s voice was not only unladylike, it also got one nowhere with the Charles Hamptons of the world. And it showed weakness. She settled for letting her tone slide into acid. “Texas is a big place, I understand. Do you have a more exact location than that?” “Not yet. We’re working on some leads, however.” “Why is this so difficult, Charles? I assume you’re using private investigators. Surely, locating missing persons is fairly routine.” “Not if they don’t want to be located. Your daughter-in-law has stopped using her credit cards. She hasn’t called anyone in Belle View since she left, nor has she sent letters. The cell phone number we have for her is no longer active, and we haven’t located a new one. She left no forwarding address with the landlord, and she paid all her bills before leaving. In cash.” Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose. “I assume she closed out the bank accounts?” “Yes. Both her checking and savings. And she demanded the entire amount in cash. She refused a cashier’s check.” “There can’t have been much.” She picked up her pen again. “The house wasn’t hers. And her severance package was supposedly quite small.” In fact, Lydia had made sure that it was quite small. “Yes, well.” Hampton cleared his throat again. “There was the bequest from Barrett.” She stared down at the pen between her fingers for a moment, fighting the quick rush of anger. Never show emotion with an underling. One of her father’s guiding principles. “I understood that had been blocked.” “Not all of it.” He sounded uncomfortable. “Your son left her his personal fortune in addition to his share of the corporation. We couldn’t sequester all of his money.” “Barrett’s personal fortune.” The words had a bitter taste. Her lips twisted. “Not a great deal of that, was there?” “That lawyer of his managed to find some for her.” Lydia couldn’t resist. “You’re saying that Barrett’s storefront lawyer was better at his job than you are?” She fancied she heard a quick intake of breath on the other end of the line. “We did what we could, Mrs. Moreland. We did manage to protect the majority of the money.” She sighed. Amusing though it was to bait Hampton, it wasn’t accomplishing her purpose. “The woman did some kind of work with computers, as I recall. She’ll have to find a job to support herself and the child. Approach her that way.” “We’ve thought of that,” he explained. “We have people watching the chat rooms where she was a member, and we’ve posted job listings at the online employment sites. So far she hasn’t shown.” “There must be something more you can do.” This time Hampton sounded more annoyed than defensive. “We’re doing all we can, Mrs. Moreland. However, your daughter-in-law hasn’t done anything illegal, and she doesn’t want to be found. That makes it difficult.” That makes it difficult if you believe she has any rights in the matter. Lydia rolled her hand into a fist, keeping her voice level. “Very well, Charles. You’ll keep me posted.” “Of course, Mrs. Moreland.” Hampton disconnected. She could imagine his relieved expression. She sat staring at the cell phone in her hand. Barrett’s bitch of a wife hadn’t done anything illegal because the law simply didn’t recognize the facts of this situation. She’d taken a Moreland grandchild, the only grandson, Barrett’s heir, and run away. That might not be illegal, but it was enough to make her a criminal in Lydia’s eyes. Charles Hampton obviously was not the best person to find Barrett’s slut. In fact, he wouldn’t find her, not using his current methods. He’d give Lydia some claptrap about the woman’s rights and the child’s rights and nothing at all about the real rights, the Moreland rights. Her rights. Obviously, she needed to use someone else. Someone who’d know what to do after the woman had been located. Someone who’d make sure that she didn’t keep a Moreland child from being raised as a Moreland. Lydia needed someone who’d make sure things worked the way they were supposed to. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out her black Moreland Enterprises directory. Roy Westerman was still listed under the security division. Her son Preston had expressed doubts about Roy’s methods in the past, but Lydia had managed to keep him on the payroll. It was always useful to have someone with the right contacts. Roy Westerman might not be able to do what she wanted himself, but he’d know someone else who could. Her hand tightened on the phone as she punched in Roy’s number, then waited for the connection to go through. Westerman’s “Hello” was suitably brusque. “Hello, Roy,” she purred, “it’s Lydia Moreland. I’m looking for a contractor. One with some particular skills. Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch.”

Blissful people made Pete Toleffson want to puke. Normally, he spent his days getting bad guys convicted and saving good people from being victimized. He considered that world to be the real world and “bliss world” to be something like a parallel universe for the clueless. Blissful people lived in la-la land. Blissful people needed to be rapped upside the head. Which was unfortunate because his brother Cal was currently the most blissful person in Konigsburg, Texas. Well, maybe the second most, after his fiancée, Docia Kent. Pete studied his brother as he sat smiling beside him in the booth at the Dew Drop Inn. Cal was so blissful he made Pete’s teeth hurt. At least Docia hadn’t come in yet. The two of them together could induce sugar shock. Pete felt like telling them to get a room, but they already had one, or rather they had a house together on the edge of town. Pete was staying in Docia’s old apartment above her bookstore in downtown Konigsburg. Of course, his residence in Docia’s apartment was strictly temporary. He was only here for the wedding. After that he’d head back home to Des Moines and the real world again. Konigsburg was closer to something out of Disney. He kept expecting to see cartoon bluebirds twittering around over Docia’s head, and maybe a couple of bunnies hopping along at her feet. A far cry from the Polk County Attorney’s office. Pete took a swig of beer and ignored the urge to check his cell phone messages that he felt every time he thought about being an assistant Polk County Attorney. Guts up, Toleffson. They’ll get along without you somehow. A buzz arose from the corner of the room behind him, accompanied by the dull thonk of a dart hitting the wall. Pete turned and squinted through the gloom. If he really looked hard he could just make out the target. God only knew how somebody could actually see enough to hit anything in the dim light of the Dew Drop. For the life of him, Pete couldn’t figure out why Cal was so fond of the place. The Dew Drop was a joint, a dive, a honky tonk. Hell, he’d helped to close down better places than this when he got court orders for the Des Moines vice cops. He turned back for another swallow of beer. Across the table, Cal’s friend Wonder Dentist (and what the hell kind of nickname was that?) was squinting at the far wall too. “Bullseye. Ellison’s been practicing, I see.” Cal grinned at Wonder. Cal grinned at everybody. Pete wondered briefly if he ever stopped grinning these days. Maybe at night, in bed. But then, considering he shared that bed with Docia, maybe not. Pete surveyed the Dew Drop denizens, what he could see of them. Even though the late afternoon sun had still been shining when he’d entered the bar, only a few dim beams penetrated the smeared windows at the front. The chandeliers overhead weren’t much help since half of the bulbs looked to be burned out. A dive. A dump. Depressing as hell. Pete clenched his hands on the table in front of him. He did not need to check his messages. Cal raised his chin. “There she is.” Docia Kent stood framed in the doorway, red hair curling around her shoulders in tendrils, her denim shirt knotted beneath her breasts. Pete sighed. Cal had all the luck. If he’d seen a woman like Docia Kent sitting in a dump like the Dew Drop, he’d have thrown her over his shoulder and headed for the hills, which, apparently, was more or less what Cal had done. Docia started toward their table, trailed by a couple of other women Pete could barely see. Hard to notice other women when Docia was around. When they got closer, Pete recognized the first woman as Wonder’s girlfriend, Allie Maldonado. He’d been introduced to the other woman, and now he ransacked his memory for her name. Jane something. Okay, Janie Dupree, the assistant manager of the bookstore. Docia’s maid of honor. Pete sighed again. He was going to have to listen to wedding talk. He’d listened to wedding talk for the past two days, ever since he’d arrived in Konigsburg. Not that he begrudged Cal or Docia their wedding, but did they have to discuss it so much? So happily? Docia slid into the booth beside Cal while Allie slid in beside Wonder. That left Janie Dupree perching on the edge of the seat beside Wonder and Allie, given that Pete, Cal and Docia were taking up the other side. Putting three very tall people together side by side was probably not a good idea. If they’d been on a boat they’d have capsized by now. Pete frowned. He was shoved up against the wall to make room for Cal and Docia. Did couples naturally expand to fill any extra space? Them and their stupid happiness? “I got the cake topper,” Allie cooed. “It’s perfect.” Docia’s eyes narrowed. “The one Janie found? Or Mama’s?” Allie chuckled. “Janie’s, of course. That china bride and groom your mama wanted would have thrown the cake proportions all to hell.” Allie owned the bakery that would produce the cake for The Wedding. Somehow whenever anybody mentioned The Wedding, Pete always thought in capital letters. “A cake topper?” Cal frowned. “What’s a cake topper?” Wonder pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Think about it, Calthorpe. It’ll come to you.” Janie Dupree smiled. “It’s the thing that goes on top of the wedding cake. Flowers or hearts or bells or—” “Twenty-inch porcelain figurines of the bride and groom.” Docia sighed. “Lladro. Limited edition.” Cal blanched. Janie leaned forward, patting his hand. “It’s okay. That was Reba’s idea, but I found something a lot smaller. Docia likes it.” Cal blew out a quick breath. “Good to know.” Janie Dupree had a nice smile, Pete reflected. He hadn’t noticed before. Of course, he hadn’t really paid much attention to her at all before. Which was probably a mistake since he was the best man and she was the maid of honor. He was probably supposed to be working with her on something. Planning stuff. Whatever the hell a best man was supposed to do. He clenched his hands on the table again. No cell. The office could get along without him. He probably should be directing all his attention to The Wedding anyway. Behind him he heard another muted thonk followed by a chorus of groans. “So you got the topper.” Janie turned to Allie. “What about the matchbooks?” “Those too.” Allie sipped the glass of wine Wonder had ordered for her. “They even managed to spell ‘Docia’ correctly.” Docia grinned. “‘Cal’ too?” “I think so.” Allie’s eyes danced. “‘C-a-l-e’ right?” “That’s my boy.” Docia patted his hand, smiling. Pete felt slightly nauseated. Janie Dupree blew out a quick breath. “Great! That’s two more things off the list.” “You have a list?” Pete stared at her. “Of course!” Janie’s brow furrowed. “I can’t keep it all in my head. Don’t you have a list?” “Not for this!” Pete grimaced. He had a list for the office. Which he’d left back in Des Moines. “But…” The furrows in Janie’s brow grew deeper. “What about the stuff you’re responsible for? How do you keep track?” Her bright brown eyes studied him, her expression grave. Pete was suddenly—uncomfortably—aware that everyone in the booth had turned his way. He shrugged. “What’s there to keep track of? If Cal wants me to do anything, he can yell. I’m here to serve.” Janie’s lower jaw dropped a fraction. There was a moment of silence at the table, then Allie guffawed. “Fantastic. Have any of you males thought to check out what exactly happens at a wedding? Or were you going to wait until the day before?” Cal looked affronted. “Hey! I’ve been keeping up. Docia fills me in on what’s going on. I figure if I need to do anything, somebody will let me know.” “Sounds reasonable to me.” Wonder took another swig from his bottle of Spaten. Janie, Docia and Allie exchanged glances. “Testosterone gives them wedding immunity,” Allie muttered. Wonder nodded. “Good thing too. Do you really want a bunch of men trying to decide what kind of music to have at the reception? Hell, you’d probably end up with either ZZ Top or Metallica.” “Personally, I’d favor Ray Wylie Hubbard, but that’s just me.” Cal turned to Docia. “I’ll do anything you need me to do. Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be the wedding to end all weddings.” “Would that it could,” Wonder muttered. Allie narrowed her eyes at him. Cal paid him no attention, keeping his gaze on Docia. “Dinner at Brenner’s tonight? I know you had something you needed to talk to Lee about.” “Right.” Docia leaned across him to Pete. “You want to join us? Brenner’s is that restaurant we took you to the other day—Lee’s the owner and chef, remember?” “Right.” Pete managed a faintly sour grin. Brenner’s had the best food he’d tasted in at least five years. If he went there, he might not worry about the office anymore. On the other hand, he was so used to worrying about the office he wasn’t sure he wanted to try out another mood just then. “You go on. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” Cal grinned happily. Pete gritted his teeth. Docia turned to the other side of the booth. “You want to come, Janie? Lee’s got some new tapas to try out for the reception.” Janie shook her head. “Not tonight. Mom’s waiting dinner for me.” “I’ll come,” Allie said, decisively. “I need to talk to Lee anyway. We have to firm up the cake logistics. You want to come, Steve?” Beside her Wonder gulped down the last of his Spaten. “Taste testing with Lee? Any time.” Janie stood to let them slide out of the booth as Cal and Docia joined them. Cal turned back to Pete. “Come on down when you finish here.” For a moment, Pete thought he saw a flash of concern in his brother’s eyes. His jaw tightened. Cal was four years younger—his little brother, no matter how tall and broad he’d turned out to be. Concern from him wasn’t acceptable. “Yeah, okay,” he growled. “Shouldn’t take long.” Cal’s brow furrowed, then he shrugged. “Okay, then, see you later.” Docia was already headed for the door, Allie at her elbow. Pete watched Cal catch up to her so that he could open the door before she got to it. She turned slightly to look back at him, her lips curving up in a faint smile as their gazes met. Well, goddamn. He hated being jealous of his little brother. Across the table, Janie Dupree cleared her throat. Pete started. He hadn’t noticed she was still there. Janie gave him a smile that didn’t entirely reach her eyes and wasn’t nearly as charming as Docia’s. “I thought maybe the two of us should touch base, just to make sure we’re taking care of all the things that need to be done before the wedding.” Pete picked up his bottle of Bud, feeling a slight prickle around his conscience. “What ‘things’ would those be?” He took a long pull, letting lukewarm beer slide down his throat. Janie’s smile tightened to a thin line. Her eyes narrowed further. “You mean you weren’t kidding? You really haven’t got a clue about what you’re supposed to do?” “I know what I’m supposed to do,” Pete snapped. “I’m supposed to stand next to my baby brother, carry the ring for him and stay out of the way. Like I said, if he needs anything else, he’ll let me know.” Janie looked down at the table top, tapping her fingers in a tight rhythm. “Carry the ring? Do you even know what their plans are about a ring bearer? Why do I bother to ask—obviously you don’t. At one point they were going to use Cal’s dog.” The beer bottle almost slipped through Pete’s fingers, but he managed to catch it before it hit the table top. “His dog? That rodent?” Janie’s eyes blazed. “Pep is not a rodent. He’s a sweetheart. He may be a Chihuahua, but he’s got the heart of a tiger.” Pete raised his hand, leaning back slightly. “Okay, okay. He’s a champ. But you’re telling me they’re going to have the dog carry the ring instead of me?” “They talked about it.” Janie shrugged. “I think they changed their minds. The point is, you need to find that stuff out. It’s your job.” Pete’s shoulders tightened. His job. Actually, his job was handling a case load that would have flattened the average county attorney. His job was putting low-life assholes where they couldn’t do any more damage and making sure they stayed there. His job—which he currently wasn’t doing because The Wedding had demanded all his time. “My job,” he said through gritted teeth, “is to do anything Cal asks me to do and otherwise stay out of the way, like I said.” “You’re not going to help at all?” Janie’s hands were spread on the table in front of her. Her eyes bored into him like laser beams—he figured he should have been a pile of ashes by then. He shrugged. “Hey, if you think something needs to be done, go to it. Doesn’t look like you need any help from me. You’re doing a hell of a job here, tiny.” He watched Janie Dupree’s hands turn to fists. She almost looked like she might slug him. For a moment, Pete wondered if that last crack had gone too far. She wasn’t all that short. Maybe five feet or so. Instead of slugging him, she pushed herself up from the booth and stood looking down at him, her lips a grim line. Then she turned and stalked toward the door. Oh well, just another client he’d disappointed. These days that was par for the course.

Cal Toleffson saw the love of his life for the first time at 5:47 p.m. in the Dew Drop Inn, downtown Konigsburg, Texas. He wasn’t exactly dressed for the event. He’d spent the forty-five minutes preceding Happy Hour tending to a sick goat. “Tending to” was the polite way of describing it. The goat was large, sturdy and attractive from a goat’s point of view. From a human’s point of view, even a vet like Cal, it smelled like, well, a goat. And so did he, after about ten minutes in the goat’s company. He’d cleaned up, sort of. Washed his hands and face, dropped the jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing into his clothes hamper (his housekeeper would probably be asking for a raise by the end of the month), and put on his last clean denim shirt. His desire for a Dos Equis outweighed his need for a shower. And the Konigsburg male population wasn’t too fastidious anyway. He doubted somebody like Terrell Biedermeier would even notice a little eau d’goat, given Terrell’s personal ripeness. Terrell, a lump on a barstool, didn’t notice. But Steve Kleinschmidt, also known as “Wonder Dentist” for reasons Cal wasn’t clear on, moved a few inches down the bar after Cal took his seat on the stool beside him. “Trying to make a point there, Idaho?” Cal grinned. “Nah, just thirsty. And it’s Iowa.” “Idaho, Iowa, same thing.” Wonder had spent most of his life in Texas, and he wasn’t interested in moving. “You do realize what you smell like, right, Toleffson?” “Might be goat, might be sweat. What’s your opinion, Wonder?” Cal rubbed a hand through his beard, scratching. Dried beard sweat was a bitch. Wonder snorted. “If I had to guess, I’d say bullshit. But then I’m a dentist, not a vet.” Hank Ingstrom, the bartender and owner of the Dew Drop, pushed a bottle of Spaten in Wonder’s general direction and made a half-hearted sweep at the bar with a grubby rag. “Dos Equis, Ingstrom.” Cal leaned against the bar, ignoring the slightly sticky surface under his elbow, and scraped his boot sole against the brass rail. Ingstrom frowned as he headed back down the bar, tucking his rag in his back pocket. “That’d better not be goat crap.” “See?” Cal grinned at Wonder, nodding in Ingstrom’s direction. “Ingstrom knows his animals.” “Not surprising. Ingstrom is an animal.” Wonder sucked down a quick swallow of beer, wiping the foam from his upper lip with his index finger. Cal glanced down the length of the bar. The usual series of gray, lumpish shapes—Konigsburg males, all knocking back brews. He sighed. He’d never figured out why the customers who lined up along the Dew Drop bar were always male, while those at the tables were always female. Made fraternizing that much more difficult. Not that he’d had much time to fraternize lately, to say nothing of the necessary money. But fraternizing was a definite future goal, what with his currently bleak social life. He needed to start making some moves if he didn’t want to end up just another barstool lump. On the other hand, given the general gloom in the Dew Drop, it might be difficult to figure out the gender of somebody at the other end of the room, let alone make any moves. Beside him, Wonder sat back on his stool. “So you spent the afternoon with your hand up a goat’s ass?” Cal grimaced. “Pretty much.” “Ah, the glamorous life of a Hill Country vet.” Wonder took another pull from his Spaten. “They have goats in Idaho?” “Probably. Being from Iowa, I wouldn’t know.” Cal rubbed a hand across the back of his itching neck, then scratched his chin again. He really should have taken a shower. Wonder leaned his elbows on the bar, squinting into the dim depths of the Dew Drop. “No tourists in here today, just locals. With my luck any tourists would all be over fifty anyway.” “You mean tourists actually come in here?” Cal glanced around the cluster of tables in the middle of the floor. “I’ve never seen one in the Dew Drop.” “Boy, there is no place in Konigsburg tourists don’t come into. You’ll understand that once you’ve lived here a while.” Wonder sighed, letting his chin sink toward the bar. “The trick is to find some that aren’t on Social Security yet.” Cal figured Wonder was around thirty-five, give or take. His reddish brown hair was thinning on top, and he wore hornrims. His bright green knit shirt bunched around a slight swell of love handles. Jessica Alba was not in his future. Ingstrom reappeared with Cal’s Dos Equis. “You need a haircut,” he grumbled. “Look like a goddamn hippie.” Cal turned and squinted into the mirror behind the bar. His hair was over his collar again—his mother would have told him to get a haircut too. But then, his mother was back home in Lander, Iowa. Maybe some of the local barbers had poverty-stricken vet rates. “I’m going for rugged. Isn’t that part of the whole cowboy mystique?” “Maybe.” Wonder grinned. “’Course with you there’s a thin line between rugged and grizzly. You might want to do a little pruning.” “Getting back to women…” Cal turned to survey the room again, checking out prospects. “See anybody interesting?” Wonder shook his head. “Nobody but locals. Most of the women in here own gift shops.” He shuddered, his slightly concave shoulders pulling at his knit shirt. “Heed my warning, boy. Never date a woman who makes a living selling angel figurines.” “Nice to know.” Cal went back to checking out the women at the tables, what he could see of them. The Dew Drop had windows in the front, but the light only reached a couple of feet inside, given that Ingstrom didn’t believe in wasting time on washing windows. The light fixtures had brass shades that effectively cut off at least two-thirds of their candlepower. Cal squinted. Some of the tables were definitely occupied by women. Or bikers. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Definitely people with long hair. “Who’s the brunette in the corner booth?” He turned back to Wonder. Wonder peered into the darkness. “Morgan Barrett. Her father owns Cedar Creek winery.” He picked up his Spaten. “Nice lady. You want me to introduce you?” Cal squinted through the gloom again. Appealing face. Bright smile. Good figure, what he could see of it in the darkness. He considered Wonder’s offer, then sighed. No zing. Zing. Jesus, Toleffson, you are an idiot. “No, thanks,” he mumbled. Wonder frowned. “Jesus, Toleffson, you are an idiot. That’s the third time you’ve turned down one of my patented introductions. Are you gay, by any chance? Because I could change my focus here if it would help. I understand Phil Malloy just broke up with Dilly Burke.” “Nope.” Cal took a long pull on his Dos Equis, letting some cool brew slide down his throat. “Thanks for the thought. Why this push to get me matched up with somebody anyway?” Wonder shrugged. “Enlightened self-interest. I figure if you’re off the market, the town’s female population will once again lower its expectations.” “The entire female population?” Cal grinned, rubbing his finger through the condensation on his bottle. “Careful, Wonder, you’ll give me some inflated expectations of my own.” Wonder pinched the bridge of his nose. “One question, Idaho. How many cookies have arrived at Rankin’s Animal Hospital over the past couple of weeks?” “Cookies?” Cal paused to think. “Well, somebody brought in some peanut butter cookies for the staff on Tuesday. And some brownies a couple of days later.” He shrugged. “People get all sentimental about their pets. They bring in thank-you gifts. It happens at all animal hospitals.” Wonder rolled his bottle between his fingers. “So patients give you cookies all the time?” “Well, not just me. They bring them to everybody at the clinic. We put them out on the counter.” Come to think of it, one of the clinic assistants had made a couple of cracks lately about the number of cookies they’d had to get rid of. Wonder shook his head. “Lordy, Idaho, I don’t know whether that statement is an example of innocence or advanced idiocy.” Cal sighed, turning back to look around the room again, and stopped cold. Standing at the other end of the bar was Botticelli’s Venus. * * * Docia Kent had had one mother of a day. First the mailman hadn’t brought the shipment that had supposedly been overnighted from Houston. Then it turned out the new CD rack didn’t fit into the space at the back of the bookstore. And as if that wasn’t enough, Margaret Hastings kept making those boneheaded complaints about the freakin’ wine and cheese party for the Liddy Brenner Festival. Docia swore that if Margaret, owner of a store specializing in angel replicas, gave her grief about one more thing, she’d start selling angel repellant. Beside her, her friend and assistant Janie Dupree was midway through her usual argument with Ingstrom. “No Texas wine, Ingstrom?” “By the bottle. You want a glass, it’s house wine.” Janie turned quickly in Docia’s direction. “Want to share a bottle? Morgan’s winery just released a new one.” Docia shook her head. “Margarita, Ingstrom. Silver tequila, on the rocks.” Janie sighed. “All right, a glass of the house chardonnay. But one day you’ll understand why people go to Brenner’s.” Brenner’s was the wine bar and restaurant where Janie and Docia usually went once they’d closed the shop. But Brenner’s didn’t serve margaritas, and after the day she’d just had, Docia really wanted a margarita. Now. She massaged the back of her neck as if that could stave off the headache stirring at the base of her skull. The Dew Drop smelled of dust and stale beer, with just a smidgen of bodily fluids. It did nothing for her general attitude. Not that Docia was ready for the Ritz just then. Maybe she should have changed her clothes before coming to the Dew Drop, grim though the place was. Maybe she should have taken a bubble bath. Maybe she should have gone to Brenner’s with Janie and tried flirting with the yuppies from Houston. On the other hand, she hadn’t had all that much success finding anybody interesting at Brenner’s or anywhere else in town over the past few months. She ran through a quick list of her last few dates—the accountant from Arlington, the real estate broker from Fredericksburg, the orthodontist from Marble Falls. Losers, one and all. Basically, her luck with men sucked. And, of course, her biggest mistake of all, Donnie Branscombe. How could she forget Donnie? Not that she hadn’t tried. Docia took a deep breath and blew it out. At times, she thought her judgment with men was about as bad as her judgment with CD racks. She glanced into the mirror behind the bar. The most gorgeous man in Texas was staring at her from the other end of the room. * * * Venus. Her red hair curled around her shoulders, a few tendrils wisping across her cheeks. She had to be at least six feet tall, given the way she towered over the woman next to her. Six gorgeous feet of woman. Her denim shirt was knotted beneath her breasts, showing a nice stretch of alabaster skin above the waistband of her jeans. No visible tattoos. Always good to know. Cal found himself looking at the knot again, and then higher. Oh sweet Jesus! Perfect. Pecos cantaloupe size. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, trying to distract himself from the series of lust-crazed visions flooding his brain. Eyes. What color were her eyes? Hard to say in the dim light. He’d have to get closer. Yeah. Closer was definitely called for. “What’s up now?” Wonder peered beyond his shoulder. “Having revelations, are we?” “You might say that.” Cal tamped down the last of those glorious pictures his mind had conjured up. “Who is she?” “Who?” Wonder leaned further forward, squinting toward the other end of the bar, then sat back and shook his head. “Oh, bad idea, Idaho. Definitely not a good woman to start your Konigsburg career with.” “Why not?” “Out of your class, bucko, definitely out of your class.” Wonder sipped his Spaten again. “Much too tough for a beginner.” “And again I ask, why? Who is she?” Cal refused to look back at the man trying to dampen his enthusiasm. Not when the other end of the bar had so much to see. “Docia Kent.” Wonder nodded in Venus’s direction. “Owner and sole proprietor of Kent’s Hill Country Books.” “Stuck-up bitch,” Terrell mumbled. Cal contemplated “accidentally” upturning Biedermeier’s barstool and dumping him beside the bar, but miscellaneous bits of Biedermeier would only further mess up Ingstrom’s floor. He frowned. “So why is she out of my class? How do you even know my class anyway, Wonder?” Wonder hunched over the bar, staring into the mirror. “Docia Kent has lived in Konigsburg for two years now. Never dated a local, far as I know. And I know far, believe me. Many have tried. None have been chosen. She’s definitely not interested in Konigsburg males. She’s not what you’d call a local herself.” “And this is bad?” Cal shrugged. “I’m not a local either—not yet, anyway.” “There’s some question about how much Ms. Kent wants to be a local, Idaho, given that she hasn’t shown much interest in Konigsburg’s finest to date.” Wonder tipped up the last of his Spaten, raising an eyebrow at Cal. Cal squinted back down the bar. “Always a first time.” “Indeed there is.” Wonder nodded, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Oh this is going to brighten up the summer no end. I’m opening the book on this one today. What do you say, Terrell? I’ll give you five to one Ms. Kent won’t give Idaho the time of day.” “Stuck-up bitch won’t give nobody the time of day,” Biedermeier mumbled. * * * At the other end of the bar, Docia tried for a better look at the most gorgeous man in Texas without attracting too much attention. She leaned forward slightly, tipping back her head, and checked the mirror again. Lordy, he was big! At least six-three, probably more, given the way he towered over the people around him. Brown hair just long enough to curl over his collar. Short beard and moustache. Shoulders that looked too big for his denim shirt. She’d bet anything he had on boots too. Boots. Over a year since she’d had boots underneath her bed. Docia took a deep breath, balling her hands into fists. Get a grip. Getting horny over a perfect stranger was pathetic. Besides, they never turned out to be as good as they looked, did they? Particularly not if they were interested in her. Probably just some jerk from Dallas with a cowboy complex. “Janie,” she murmured, “who’s the guy at the end of the bar?” Beside her, Janie’s body shifted. “No, don’t look!” Docia hissed. “Use the mirror.” Aw, hell, now she’d been magically transported to high school. Janie peered beyond her into the mirror. “You mean Doc Kleinschmidt?” “No—” Docia nodded toward Gorgeous, “—the one next to him. Kris Kristofferson, circa 1976.” Janie grinned. “You mean when he was in A Star is Born? Personally, I like the way he looked in Songwriter better. You know, when he had that little white streak in his beard…” Docia gritted her teeth. “Janie, just tell me who the guy is, okay?” Janie leaned forward again. In the mirror, Docia could see Gorgeous talking to Kleinschmidt. For a moment she could swear he looked her way. Quickly, she picked up her margarita, dropping her gaze. “Well?” “Holy crap, he’s a big one, isn’t he?” Janie straightened again and sipped her wine. “I’ve never seen him before.” “So he’s a tourist?” A jerk from Dallas just as she’d thought. Another Mr. Wrong. Not worth the trouble. Docia fought down a faint tang of disappointment. Better this way. “No, I think I know who he is.” Janie’s brow furrowed in thought. “He’s probably Doc Rankin’s new partner. The new vet.” A vet. Well, hauling large animals around would certainly explain the body. “You’re interested, aren’t you?” Janie peeked back down the bar. “Wanna go down there and introduce ourselves?” “In front of Kleinschmidt?” Docia shook her head. “Don’t think so.” “What’s wrong with Wonder Dentist?” Docia grimaced. “He reminds me of my macroeconomics professor. The one who wrote ‘pathetic’ across the top of my term paper.” Just another Konigsburger who found her not quite up to the town’s standards. She chanced another glance at the end of the bar. Even if he was a local, Dr. Gorgeous could still be a jerk. Would she know what to do with him if he wasn’t? Did she even remember? And, of course, there was no guarantee he’d be interested in her. “So what do you want to do?” Janie’s brow furrowed. “I could try luring Wonder away, but then I’d feel funny the next time I needed my teeth cleaned.” “Don’t do anything.” Docia massaged her neck again. “I’m not interested in introducing myself to a complete stranger.” Why today? Why couldn’t she have been wearing that gauze shirt she bought yesterday at the Lucky Lady? Why couldn’t she have washed her hair last night instead of waiting until tonight? Why couldn’t they have sat at a table instead of bellying up to the end of the bar like a pair of biker chicks? She was dirty. She’d been moving boxes all afternoon. She smelled. This was not the day to meet Mr. Right. Assuming Mr. Right existed anywhere except an alternate universe, which, given her luck, wasn’t likely. Hell, damn, stink!