Owen said he had two more rounds clear, Owen had two more rounds.
Beckett glanced down toward Turn The Page as they crossed the street, half listening to his brothers discuss water heaters. He should probably give it one more day, he considered. Stay clear, give her time to go through the binder, keep it all easy, friendly.
As if The Moment hadn’t happened.
But it had. It damn well had.
“Have you got a problem with that setup?” Ryder demanded.
“What? No.”
“Then stop looking pissed off.” Ryder secured the dog beside the front porch of the restaurant. “I’ll bring you dinner,” he said, then pulled open the door.
They stepped into Vesta at the early-dinner hour. Families and small packs of teenagers crowded in the booths, a few couples scattered at two-tops twirling pasta or studying the menu while two regulars sat on stools at the counter for an after-work beer.
Along with his brothers, Beckett exchanged hails and waves.
“Order me a Heineken,” Owen said, then peeled off toward the closed kitchen.
“Let’s sit in the back,” Ryder suggested. “If we sit out here, we’ll end up talking to everybody.”
“Fine.” Beckett hooked a waitress, ordered the beer, then walked down the hallway to the back dining room. A couple of high school boys competed on the video games with the requisite insults.
“The tile’s shipped,” Ryder said when Beckett joined him at a table. “Or most of it. A couple of the patterns are still on back order. We’re scheduling the delivery in two weeks. Owen contacted them about the install. They can start the end of the next week if the job they’re on stays on schedule. Early the following if not.”
“That’s good for us.”
“I want to schedule the install of the rest of the flooring right behind it. This heat’s bound to break. We can put the crew back on the pickets, get the exterior painting started.”
Owen slipped in beside them right as the beer arrived.
“You all ready to order?” the waitress asked.
“Warrior’s pizza,” Ryder declared.
“I’m not eating that much meat.” Owen shook his head, sipped his beer.
“Wimp.”
“You go for the super-artery-clogger,” Beckett suggested, then looked at Owen. “Split a large pepperoni and jalapeno?”
“Deal. And some crab balls.”
“Gotcha. How are things going at the inn?”
“We’re moving along,” Owen told her.
She pointed her pencil at him. “Are you going to take that tarp down soon?”
“Sooner or later.”
“It’s a big tease.” She rolled her eyes and went off to put their order in.
“You know that tarp’s building a lot of expectation we may not meet.”
Ryder shrugged at Beckett. “It’s also keeping debris off the street, and the crew out of the worst of the heat. Tell him about the Urban Princess.”
“Hope Beaumont,” Owen began. “She’s smart, savvy. She asked all the right questions, including a lot I hadn’t thought of, or we haven’t gotten around to dealing with. She’s got a sexy voice, one of those dark velvet jobs. Nice.”
“Sexy voice. She’s hired.” Ryder sat back with his beer.
“You’re just jacked because we may have to go outside for the job.”
“It’d be nice to keep it all local,” Beckett mused. “But we need somebody who fits the bill. Besides, if she takes the job and moves here, she’ll be local in ten or twenty years.”
“We’ll know more after Saturday. We’re meeting with her Saturday morning,” Owen continued. “Taking her through the place. I looked her up online.” He took files out of his briefcase, passed one to each brother. “Some D.C. society stuff—her out and about with the guy who dumped her. A solid article in the Washingtonian about the hotel, with some stuff about her, some quotes. Ry’s dubbed her Urban Princess because she’s from Philadelphia originally and won a couple of beauty pageant deals back there.”
Beckett started to open the file, take a look, when the sound of running feet boomed down the hall. Clare’s three boys burst in like convicts on the lam. Breathless, wild-eyed, they chattered about the Mega-Touch before Harry spotted the brothers.
“Hi! Hi! We all got a dollar.”
“How about a loan?”
Liam cracked up at Beckett’s question. “We get to have pizza and play games.”
Murphy walked up to the table, studied the three men. “You can play if you’ve got a dollar. Or I can ask my mom to give you one.”
Because the kid slayed him, Beckett hoisted Murphy onto his lap. “I bet Owen’s got a dollar. Why don’t we . . .” He stumbled to a halt when Clare came in.
She looked a little flushed, a little frazzled.
“Sorry. They’re slippery as