Laurel made a sound caught between a laugh and a curse as Parker read over her shoulder.

“He took your shoes?”

“Apparently. What am I supposed to do about this?” Laurel waved the note. “I’m drifting. I decided I wanted to drift, and now he’s playing games. I just bought those shoes.”

“How did he get your shoes?”

“It was nothing like that. I took them off, and then he was there, and I left them after ... Nothing. It was sort of tit for tat.”

Parker nodded. “Your tit or his tat?”

“Neither of those, gutter-brain. I apologized for going off on him, but that’s not enough for Del and he started cross-examining me. One thing led to another in the refrigerator. It’s hard to explain.”

“Obviously.”

“He’s just being a smart-ass. He can keep the damn shoes.”

“Really?” Eyes placid, Parker smiled. “Because that would say to me—and probably him—that you’re afraid to deal with it. Him. Any of it.”

“I’m not afraid—and don’t play that card with me.” Laurel yanked off the towel to rub it furiously over her hair. “I just don’t want to stir anything up.”

“Because it’s hard to drift when things are stirred up.”

“Yes. Anyway, I have other shoes. I have better shoes. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of drawing me into his silly game.

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?”