Parker smiled again. “Boys are so lame.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “He’s your brother,” she muttered and strode back toward the house.
“Yes, he is.” And she wondered how long it would take her best friend to crack. “More than twenty-four,” Parker decided, “less than forty-eight.”
The BlackBerry in her pocket rang. She glanced at the display as she strolled across the lawn. “Good morning, Sybil. What can I do for you?”
CHAPTER SIX
THERE WAS ALWAYS A WAY TO GATHER INFORMATION. TO PARKER’S mind, information wasn’t just power; it led the way to efficiency—and in her world, efficiency ruled them all. To get anything done well, and yes, efficiently, you first lined up the details and facts.
And whenever possible, multitasked.
The first order of business roughly twenty-four hours into the hostage situation was to tap Del for a ride. It was a simple matter to arrange, particularly since she’d opted to use his mechanic for the regular maintenance check on her car. Malcolm Kavanaugh might have been rough around the edges with a hefty dose of cocky, but he excelled at his work—and that mattered most. It didn’t hurt that he was a friend of Del’s.
With a weekend packed with events, starting with a rehearsal that evening, she could honestly tell Del she needed the lift, as none of her partners could spare the time.
It didn’t matter that she could have called half a dozen other people—or a cab for that matter, she thought as she freshened her lipstick. The favor would make Del feel like big brother—a role he enjoyed—and would give her the opportunity to pump him for information since Laurel had clammed up.
She checked the contents of her bag, then the schedule on her BlackBerry.
Talk to Del. Pick up car. Meet clients for lunch, pick up dry cleaning, go to market, return by four thirty to prep for rehearsal. The sub lists for the meeting, the items to be picked up at the cleaners and the market ranged under each entry.
She did a quick turn in the mirror. The clients were major, and as they’d booked lunch at their country club, presenting the correct appearance mattered.
The summer dress in soft yellow struck a nice balance, she thought, between casual and professional. Understated jewelry, but the client’s hawkeyed mother would recognize the real deal, which would carry some weight. She’d left her hair down and loose for a change—girl lunch, friendly. Nothing flashy, nothing too eye-catching. The wedding planner never, never outshone the bride. Satisfied, she added a tissue-thin white sweater to combat the air-conditioning if the clients chose to eat inside the club.
A full ten minutes before her brother’s scheduled arrival time, she walked downstairs. The house she loved seemed so quiet, so big in the middle of the morning with no clients scheduled, no events demanding her time and attention. Emma’s flowers perfumed the air in massive arrangements or pretty little displays, and some of Mac’s photos mixed with the art on the walls.
Still, she’d changed little here, moving only the most personal items to her private quarters or into Laurel’s. But it remained very much a home, and a happy place, one that had witnessed hundreds of celebrations. And arguments, she thought as she adjusted the placement of a bowl. Laughter, tears, drama, and foolishness.
She couldn’t remember ever being lonely in this house, or wishing to be somewhere else.
She checked her watch, gauged her time, and decided to drop in on Laurel.
At the counter, Laurel kneaded a round of fondant. Nearby, six baked tiers sat waiting on their racks. Since she’d chosen a morning talk show instead of music, Parker understood Laurel was willing to be distracted.
“I’m heading out,” Parker announced. “Need anything?”
Laurel glanced over. “Great color on you.”
“Thanks. It makes me feel sunny.”
“And look the same. I could use about five pounds of strawberries,” she added. “Really fresh. I don’t want all of them completely red and ripe. Mix it up. It’ll save me from running out this afternoon.”
“No problem.” Parker took out her BlackBerry to key it into her list. “I’m going to the market anyway, after the lunch meeting. Jessica Seaman and her mother.”
“Right.” Laurel stopped kneading to cross the fingers of both hands.
“MOB wants to discuss menu and music. That one’s for tomorrow night?” she asked as Laurel dusted her work surface with cornstarch.
“Yeah. Six layers, fondant with a pleated skirt and gum paste orchids to match the bride’s signature flower.” She rolled out the first sheet of fondant. “Wait, I thought your car was in the shop.”
“It is, and it’s ready. Del’s going to drop me off at the mechanic’s.”
“Oh.” Frowning, either over Del or the air bubbles she spotted, Laurel pricked the tiny bubbles with a straight pin.
“Any message—for him or your shoes?”
“Funny.” Working quickly, Laurel lifted the fondant with both hands and laid it over the first tier. “You could tell him to stop being so asinine and give them back.”
“Okay.”
“No, don’t say anything.” She shrugged then smoothed the top and sides, pushing out more air bubbles as she worked. “I don’t need the shoes. I’ve already forgotten them.”
“Sure.”
Laurel picked up a pizza cutter, shook it at Parker. “I know your games, Brown. You’re trying to get me worked up so I’ll call him about it. It won’t work.”
“Okay.” Parker smiled easily while Laurel ran the cutter around the base of the cake to cut away the excess fondant. “He’ll be here in a minute. I’ll come back with strawberries.”
“Different sizes, different shades,” Laurel called out.
“Got it.” She strolled back to the front of the house, pleased to know she’d done just what she’d set out to do. Laurel would work the rest of the day with Del and the shoes on her mind.
She stepped outside, slipped on her sunglasses, and walked down the path just as Del pulled up.
“Right on time,” he said.
“You, too.”
“We’re Browns. We’re obsessed with punctuality.”
“I consider it a virtue, and a skill. Thanks for doing this, Del.”
“Easy enough. I’m going to swing by and meet with a client, then hook up with Jack for lunch. Worked out.”
“Multitasking. The key to all. New shoes?” she asked.
“No.” He glanced over at her as he made the turn out of the drive. “Why?”
“Oh, I heard you recently acquired some fabulous new shoes.”
“Right.” The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “They’re not the right size. Plus walking around in heels makes my toes cramp.”
She poked him in the arm with her finger. “Taking Laurel’s shoes. When are you going to stop being twelve?”
“Never.” He laid a hand over his heart as if to swear it. “Is she pissed or amused?”
“Both, and neither. I’d say she’s confused.”
“Then mission accomplished.”
“That’s so typical. Why do you want to confuse her?”
“She started it.”
She tipped down her sunglasses to peer at him over the tops. “I think you just regressed to the age of eight. Started what?”
He shot her another look. “I may be eight, but I know you and your pack. You know what she started, and now you’re trying to wheedle out my side of it.”
“I don’t have to wheedle, and you don’t have to tell me. Sorry,” she added when her phone rang. “Shawna, hi! I just left Laurel in the kitchen where she was finishing your cake. It’s going to be gorgeous. All right. Uh-huh. No, no, don’t worry. I’ll call my travel agent and ... That was resourceful. Do you have his new flight number? Yes.”
As she spoke she took out a pad and pen, and repeated the information as she noted it down. “I’ll check shortly, just to make sure it’s on schedule, and I’ll arrange for a car to pick him up and bring him to rehearsal. No, it won’t be a problem. You just leave it to me, and we’ll see you tonight. Relax, everything’s under control. Go, get your nails done and don’t worry about a thing.Yes, me, too. Bye.