Love Letters from Ladybug Farm (27 page)

Lindsay opened her mouth to say something, but Cici stopped her with a small shake of her head.

Lori said philosophically “Kids. They see everything in black and white.” Then she turned to Paul, with only the faintest trace of anxiety. “But it’s just temporary right? I mean, you’re working on things?”

Paul returned a small smile, sipped his tea, and told Bridget, “Much better.”

Then he said, with forced enthusiasm, “What I’m working on now is getting you ladies through the wedding from hell. No, no .. he insisted when they started to protest, ”I got you into this, and I’ll get you out. I knew you were in trouble,” he confided, ”when I heard they’d fired their fourth wedding planner. I mean, excuse me, but Angela Gabriel is only the premier event coordinator in the tri-state area. You have to book her years in advance, and these people obviously pulled a hundred strings to even get on the list. Then to fire her? Clearly, they’re out of control. So I,” he declared magnanimously, ”am taking over.”

They all spoke at once. “Oh, Paul, really, you don’t have to—”

“You’re the best friend ever! But really—”

“We’ll take it!” Lori declared loudly, both hands raised over the din. And when the other three looked at her, shocked, she returned a stern gaze. “We are in no position to turn down professional help,” she informed them.

After a moment, Lindsay chuckled, and even Cici smiled. “Can’t argue with that,” she admitted.

Bridget gave Paul a one-armed hug. “Thank you,” she said. “And may God bless you and yours,” she added fervently, “forever.”

There was a strange, rhythmic clip-clopping sound, and they turned to see Noah leading the goat around the corner of the porch. The goat was chewing a piece of cardboard, and Noah had a strange look on his face.

“Noah!” Cici cried. “What are you doing? Get that goat off the porch!”

And Lindsay added, “How did she get out of her pen?”

Noah said with an uncomfortable shrug, “Sometimes she chews through the latch. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She needs a house. Uh...” He looked from one to the other of them. “Did somebody leave a box on the back stoop?”

It took them a moment to understand the significance of the dark gooey substance that was smeared around the goat’s whiskers and chest hair and the gold-edged cardboard she was slowly masticating as they watched. Bridget rose slowly, her hand over her heart.

“No,” she gasped, swallowing hard. “Not the chocolates. Please say it’s not the chocolates.”

Lindsay’s expression was grim. “UPS must have delivered them this morning while we were busy in the back of the house. The driver always leaves packages on the back stoop.”

Bridget’s voice sounded a little choked, even as her hand traveled to her throat. “That goat,” she managed, “did not just eat a hundred individually boxed monogrammed chocolates.”

“No,” Noah assured her. “Not all of them.”

Bridget sank back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Cici looked at Paul and managed a small smile. “Welcome home,” she said.

“And,” he murmured, dusting off his hands as he rose, “not a moment too soon.”

“Good heavens,” Cici murmured. “I think
I
just might marry him.”

“If you don’t, I will,” said Lindsay, reading over her shoulder.

“Scoot, both of you.” Paul waved them away from the desk with a sheet of paper he had just taken from the printer tray. “We need a bigger office.”

“You need to call Derrick,” Cici said.

He placed the printout in the fax machine and tapped out a number, then took Cici’s place in the desk chair as the machine began to grind. “And you,” he ordered, “need to find me the telephone number of the biggest funeral home in the county.”

Lindsay repeated, alarmed, “Funeral home?”

“Where else are we going to get a hundred chairs on such short notice? Not to mention tents.”

Cici laughed out loud as the telephone began to ring. “You are a genius!”

Paul glanced at his watch, picked up the telephone, and declared, “Catherine, darling! You got the copy of the rehearsal dinner menu! Yes, it’s true, it’s me ... don’t be absurd, it’s my pleasure, my pleasure entirely.”

Lindsay flung her arms around his neck. “I love you!”

Paul held up his finger for silence, smiling. “No, I don’t think twenty individual filets would be more appropriate for the rehearsal dinner. I think we are fortunate to have one of the most gifted chefs in Virginia catering this event, and since the groom’s parents are hosting the rehearsal dinner, and since they are paying for roast turkey with fingerling potatoes, that is exactly what we should have.”

Lindsay, holding both thumbs up in the air, did a little dance. Cici sat on the floor with the wafer-sized telephone book and looked under “funeral homes.”

“Now,” Paul was saying, “about the monogrammed chocolates ... I know, I know, but a little passé, don’t you think? I had something a bit more unique in mind. After all, you’ve always been such a trendsetter.” He rolled his eyes to Lindsay. “I know you don’t want ordinary party favors at Traci’s wedding ... Well, as it happens, I did have an idea. Cookies. Yes! Shaped like ladybugs! Yes, exactly—just like Ladybug Farm. No, I don’t think it’s too late to put in an order ...”

He covered the phone with his hand and whispered, “Can Bridget make a hundred ladybug cookies by the wedding?”

Lindsay and Cici chorused, “Yes!”

“No, not a problem,” Paul was saying to Catherine, “we’ll just swap out the chocolates for the cookies, and if there’s any difference in price we’ll bill you.”

Cici and Lindsay clapped their hands over their mouths to smother shrieks of delighted laughter.

“Yes, sweetie, kisses to you, too, and the blushing bride. Umm-hmm. Bye.”

“You are worth twice what we’re paying you!” Lindsay declared, kissing him again.

“Easily” he agreed, absently scrolling down the e-mail screen on the computer. “Lori is in Supply, right? Tell her to order a hundred—no, better make it a hundred and fifty—three-by-five cellophane bags for the cookies, and have them overnighted. Who is this darling young man? And is she insane for not answering him?”

Cici scribbled a number on a Post-it note and stood. “Call Derrick,” she advised sternly, and handed the note to him. “But first, call the funeral home. And”—she reached around him to click the computer mouse and exit the program—“stop reading other people’s e-mails. You’ve got enough problems of your own.”

The phone rang again and he lifted the receiver with two fingers. “Ladybug Farm,” he said cheerily. “Fine foods, gifts, and mega-events.”

Cici said, “I guess we’d better tell Bridget about the cookies.”

“I’ll tell Bridget,” Lindsay said. “You get Lori on the cellophane bags.”

“Oh, Jezebel,” Paul sang out, and held the telephone out to Cici as she started to leave, his eyes twinkling. “One of your victims is calling.”

Cici took the phone from him, puzzled, but confusion turned to dismay as she heard Richard’s voice. “Who was that?” he demanded.

“Oh, hi, Richard.” There was no disguising the lack of enthusiasm in her voice as she turned away from Lindsay who was trying hard to look disinterested, and Paul, who pretended to be browsing the Internet. “That was Paul. He’s helping us with the wedding, remember I told you about that? And I really can’t keep this line tied up ...”

“I know we agreed to keep our distance for a while,” he said, his voice low and tender, “but I wanted to check on Lori. And I missed you.”

“Lori’s fine. Lori’s great. I’ll tell her you’re on the phone.”

“And I have some news.”

“Really Richard. Awfully busy, here.”

“My broker found a piece of property that sounds like just what I’ve been looking for. I was thinking I’d come look at it next weekend. Maybe we could get together.”

“Richard,” Cici warned urgently, “don’t you dare say a word to Lori about this.”

“I won’t. I told you, this is just in the speculation stage.”

“Because she’s dealing with a lot right now. We all are.”

Paul murmured, tapping his watch, “Tick tock.”

“I’ll get Lori on the phone,” Cici said hurriedly. “Thanks for calling, Richard. Hold on.”

Lindsay stepped outside the office and called around the corner, “Lori! Your dad’s on the phone!”

Cici waited until she heard a click and Lori’s cheerful “Hi, Daddy!” and then she returned the phone to its cradle, feeling a little awkward in the silence that followed.

“Don’t feel bad,” Paul said sympathetically. “It’s not like we haven’t all done something we’re ashamed of.”

“Thanks a lot,” Cici muttered. “And I certainly hope you’re not thinking of giving me relationship advice.”

“Relationship?” Paul’s brows shot skyward. “This is worse than I thought.”

Lindsay looked concerned. “Honey, you never said ... how did you leave things with Richard?”

“That’s the problem,” Cici admitted unhappily. “I’m starting to think that how I left them, and how he left them are two different things.”

Paul tapped a few keys on the computer. “Never mind about the cellophane bags. I just sent Lori an e-mail.”

“She’s in the next room!”

“And”—another click—“told Bridget about the cookies. The next sound you hear will be ...”

But they waited, and listened, and didn’t hear anything from Bridget at all.

Lindsay poked her head into the kitchen. Every available surface was filled with clear glass jars, apricot and green ribbons, champagne glasses, tiny white silk roses, and rolls of cellophane. There were three cake layers cooling on the center island, four racks of scones cooling on the shelves that once had held recipe books, and something was scorching on the stove.

Lindsay said, “Can you make one hundred ladybug cook ies before the wedding?”

Bridget replied, without looking up from her typing, “Sure.”

Cici was behind her. “Where is Ida Mae?”

“I sent her to the barn to bring more jars.”

“Because whatever is on the stove is burning.”

“Oh, cripes!” Bridget started up from the table. “It’s the lemon filling for the wedding cake!”

“I’ve got it.” Lindsay hurried to remove the smoking pot. “You’re making the cake now?”

“I’ve never made a wedding cake before. I have to practice.” Bridget glanced distractedly at the steaming pot Lindsay transferred to the sink, then back to the keyboard.

“What is all this stuff?” Cici asked, indicating the champagne glasses, ribbons, and flowers.

“Paul brought it, for the rehearsal dinner. Each place setting will get a champagne glass decorated with flowers and ribbons and an apricot floating candle. That way we don’t even need a centerpiece.”

“Perfect. Do you want us to put flowers and ribbons on champagne glasses, or slice strawberries?”

“Strawberries,” ordered Bridget, typing. “I’m IMing with Derrick.”

“Tell him to get his sorry ass out here this minute,” said Lindsay “and make up with Paul.”

“Tell him I could strangle him for not telling us he was in trouble,” Cici added. “And I’ll never forgive him if he breaks Paul’s heart. Or mine.”