Chapter Two
“I never met Uncle Brady, did I?” Belinda asked as she and Julie climbed the stairs to the apartment above the bar where Brady had lived.
“No, I don’t think you ever met him.” She only had a vague memory herself of a big bear of a man who showed up at Thanksgiving with a fruitcake, drank too much wine and was asked to leave. “He sent Mom a little check every once in a while—her part of the ‘profits’ from the bar. But he and Mom hardly ever talked. Mom sent him a Christmas card every year, but he never reciprocated.”
“Tony said he was a great guy.”
“Brady probably gave Tony free beer.” But Tony had painted an image of Brady that Julie couldn’t get out of her mind. A soft touch. Generous and kind. Sure didn’t sound like the mooch her mother had described.
“How much do you think we’ll get for all that stuff downstairs?” Belinda asked.
“I’ll have to do some research, but I bet those vintage signs will fetch a good price.”
“What about those green glass lampshades? Trey has some of those, doesn’t he?”
Julie gave an unladylike snort. “Trey’s are reproductions. Ours are the real thing. In fact, maybe I’ll keep those. They’ll look pretty in the tearoom, don’t you think?”
Belinda shrugged. “Will you keep the jukebox?”
“No, that I’m going to sell. It’s an old Wurlitzer, and the vinyl records alone are worth a fortune.”
Rather than sounding excited about the prospect, Belinda gave a sad little huff.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just a bit tragic thinking about tearing the place up.”
“Belinda, you must be joking. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, but that guy Tony was right. If you scrubbed it up, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not running a bar.” Even if she had the experience or knowledge, she preferred the idea of improving the neighborhood. Brady’s had been an eyesore, no doubt drawing unsavory characters. Belinda’s was going to be beautiful. Maybe the firefighters were unhappy about her planned changes, but she bet most of the residents around here would be delighted.
“I know, I know,” Belinda said. “I’m just saying it’s a little sad, that’s all.”
Julie tried several keys from the big key ring the lawyer had given her mother, finally locating the right one. She’d been avoiding the place where her uncle had died, but she knew she had to check it out. She was planning to live here while she oversaw the renovations—and maybe afterward, too. It would save her a long commute to work, plus she would have her privacy back. Living in her parents’ tiny house, where they were all on top of each other and getting on each other’s nerves, wasn’t going to work for much longer.
This apartment would do until she could afford something better. Someday, she’d like to have her own house. It didn’t have to be anything as grand as Trey’s Highland Park house, where she would be living now if she hadn’t canceled the wedding. But she wanted a front porch. And flower boxes in the windows. And a real backyard, maybe with a deck where she could sit outside on a Sunday morning and read the paper, a golden retriever by her side.
Still, a one-bedroom apartment rent-free wasn’t bad. She held her breath and pushed open the door.
Brady’s living space was surprisingly neat, clean and spartan, given the excessive grime and clutter of the bar. Julie had always heard Brady described as a man who couldn’t be trusted. Lazy, slovenly, a freeloader—those were words her mother commonly used to describe Brady. Yet that image didn’t match his digs.
Julie poked around to see if there might be any valuables, but aside from a couple of old paintings and some vintage Fiesta dishes, nothing jumped out as a real treasure.
The bedroom was empty except for a dresser. Someone had removed the bed in which Brady had expired, which was a huge relief. No way would Julie have been able to sleep there.
She returned to the living room and sank onto a worn sofa. It was pretty soft—she could sleep on this. And Belinda would be happy to get her own room back at their parents’ house. The sisters had been sharing a room and a bed, just like old times, for the past couple of weeks.
“So what do you think?” Belinda asked. “Can you live here?”
“Sure. I’ve lived in worse places.” Her first apartment—when she’d gotten her first real job as a stock girl at Bailey-Davidson’s—had been one ratty room in the attic of an old East Dallas house. She’d done her cooking on a hot plate.
Brady’s living quarters were a palace compared to that but something of a comedown from her last place—a classy Park Cities town house she’d rented from the Davidsons. Still, she had a little money to live on, the proceeds from returning all the wedding presents—the ones her friends and family had refused to take back. And Trey’s parents had given her a handsome “severance check” in return for her silence about his little secret, which she’d been happy to accept—not that she ever would have gone blabbing about the illegitimate child he’d conceived with his mistress even as he’d been planning a lavish wedding to Julie. Gossip like that would only make her look dumb. Her stash was enough to keep her going until the tearoom opened.
“The view is certainly nice,” Belinda said dreamily.
Julie glanced out the window to see what her sister was talking about. All she could see was the fire station, a hundred-year-old brick monstrosity in need of a good sandblasting.
Then she looked closer and realized the blinds to the second-floor window were open; inside a man was pulling off his T-shirt. “Belinda!”
“What? I can look, can’t I?”
Julie joined her sister at the window. The man picked up a barbell and started doing some curls. It was none other than her firefighting Adonis. “He’s doing that on purpose.”
“Oh, like he knew we’d be up here, staring out the window? Get a grip, Jules. You’re paranoid.”
Maybe she was. But her reaction to Tony Veracruz had unnerved her.
She’d once felt that way about Trey. He’d flirted with her shamelessly, focused all his attention on her, swept her off her feet. She’d fallen in love, hard, with a man she thought she knew. Handsome, smart, ambitious, funny, generous…
Unfaithful.
Feeling all gooey inside over a man, getting caught up in flirtation and charm—none of those offered any guarantee of that man’s deep-down character. Julie would do well to remember that and to focus on building a secure future for herself without relying on anyone else.
Tony looked out the window, saw them staring and flashed that cocky smile.
Julie abruptly closed the blinds.
“Hey!” Belinda objected.
“He’s too old for you.”
“But not for you. Earlier, he was checking out your butt.”
“Really?” Despite herself, Julie felt a little thrill. “He probably checks out every girl’s butt.”
“He didn’t look at mine. Besides, he’s going to be your neighbor. You have to be friendly.”
“No, I don’t.” Tony Veracruz was trouble with a capital T, and she certainly didn’t need any more of that.
“SO ARE YOU GOING TO tell us what happened?” Priscilla asked. As busy as their shift had been earlier, activity had died down