Wedding Bell Blues (2 page)

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.

Janie kicked a piece of gravel out of her path, then worried that it might have hit the parked car next to her. Damn it, she couldn’t even get mad effectively.

Too bad the parked car wasn’t Peter Toleffson. She could have happily bounced gravel off his butt.

Docia was Janie’s best friend, and Janie didn’t envy her for much—she knew just how hard Docia had worked to get where she was. But she did envy Docia’s relationship with Cal Toleffson. Cal was the sweetest guy in the world. Was it too much to hope that there might be another Toleffson at home just like him?

Clearly, there wasn’t.

Pete Toleffson apparently didn’t understand how important The Wedding was. He wouldn’t be any help. She just hoped he wouldn’t be as big a pain in the ass as he was being currently.

Shaking her head, Janie turned up Bass Street, heading for her own front door. Lights burned in the windows, glowing soft against the gathering violet shadows. Twilight in Konigsburg. Always her favorite time of day. Janie paused to drink it in—the shadows, the doves calling their evening songs, the sound of children shouting a few blocks away.

A figure moved across the window, then turned to pull the curtain back and stare out. Mom. Checking to see if Janie was headed up the drive. Janie began walking again, more quickly now, telling herself at the same time she wasn’t that late.

Her mother opened the door as Janie climbed onto the front porch. “Just in time. I was afraid the tuna casserole would dry out, but I think I saved it.”

Janie stepped inside, then walked to the kitchen where her mother fussed around the table. Tuna noodle casserole, green peas poking through the buttery crumbs sprinkled across the top. Red Jell-O salad with bananas. A bowl of creamed corn.

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.”