Savor the Moment
Page 25
“Hi. Heading out?”
Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was like having a community of parents. She worked up a smile for Carter. “Yeah. I just have a thing. I’m coming right back.”
“Okay. I’m going to beg a casserole from Mrs. G. We’ll be defrosting later, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, but I grabbed a salad before. Enjoy.”
“We will.You look nice.”
“So what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry Distracted. Gotta go.” She jumped in the car before she ran into anyone else.
As she sped away, it occurred to her she should’ve gone to Del’s during the day, when he’d be gone. She knew where the spare key was hidden, and had his alarm code. Except he probably changed it regularly, as that was the safe thing to do. Still, she could’ve risked it, and gotten inside, found her shoes. Left him a note, she thought. Now that would’ve been clever.
Too late now But he might not be home, she considered. He had an active social life—friends, clients, dates. Seven thirty on a pretty summer evening? Yes, he probably had a hot date—drinks, dinner, debauchery. She could get in, find the shoes, leave him a funny note.
Dear shoenapper: We escaped and have informed the FBI. A tactical team is on the way. The Pradas.
He’d laugh, she decided. He didn’t like to lose—who did?—but he’d laugh. And that would be the end of that.
As long as she didn’t set off the alarm and end up calling him to be her attorney of record. Think positive, she advised herself and warmed up to the new plan as she drove.
And imagined it falling like a bad soufflé when she spotted his car in the drive.
Oh well, back to Plan A.
He had a great house, one she’d admired since he’d had it built. Probably too big for one man, but she understood the need for space. She knew Jack had designed it with very specific requirements from Del. Not too traditional, but not too modern, lots of light, lots of room. And the sprawl of river stone, the pitch of the triple roofs had a kind of casual elegance that suited the owner.
And she was stalling, she admitted.
She got out of the car, walked straight to the front door, and rang the bell.
She shifted from one foot to the other, tapped her hand on her knee. Nerves, she realized. For God’s sake she was nervous about seeing a man she’d known her entire life. One she’d fought with and played with. They’d even been married a couple of times—when Parker had nagged, bribed, or blackmailed him into playing Groom in their Wedding Day games as kids. Now she had the jitters.
That made her a wuss, she decided. She hated being a wuss.
She punched the bell again, harder.
“Sorry, you were so quick, and I was just ...” Del, shirt open over a chest where a few drops of water glimmered, hair dark with damp, stopped, cocked his head. “And you’re not the delivery guy from the China Palace.”
“No, and I came for ...You can’t get delivery out here from the China Palace.”
“You can if you defended the owners’ son on possession and got him into a program instead of a cell.” He smiled, hooked a thumb in the pocket of the jeans he’d zipped but had yet to button. “Hi, Laurel. Come on in.”
“I’m not here to visit. I’m here for my shoes.Just get them, and I’ll be gone before your shrimp fried rice gets here.”
“I went for the sweet-and-sour pork.”
“Good choice. My shoes.”
“Come on in. We’ll discuss terms.”
“Del, this is just absurd.”
“I like some absurd now and again.” To settle the matter, he grabbed her hand, pulled her inside. “So, want a beer? I picked up some Tsingtao for the Chinese.”
“No, I don’t want a Chinese beer. I want my shoes.”
“Sorry, they’re in an undisclosed location until the ransom terms are determined and met. Did you know they let out this thin, high-pitched scream when you twist those skinny heels?” He fisted his hands, twisted to demonstrate. “It’s a little eerie.”
“I know you think you’re being funny, and okay, you’re not entirely wrong. But I’ve put in a really long day. I just want my shoes.”
“You deserve a Tsingtao after a really long day.And look, here’s dinner.Why don’t you go out back on the deck? It’s nice out. Oh, grab a couple of beers out of the fridge on your way Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”
She could argue, Laurel thought. She could even make a scene. But neither would get her the shoes until Del was good and ready Keeping her cool, that was the ticket, she decided and, grinding her teeth only a little, started toward the kitchen. She heard Del and the delivery guy talking baseball as she walked away. Apparently somebody somewhere had pitched a no-hitter the night before.
She turned into his spacious kitchen, washed now in the softening evening light. She knew he used the space for more than beer and take-out Chinese. He had a couple of specialties down cold—fancy little meals designed for seducing women—and had a hand with omelettes for the morning after.
So she’d been told.
She opened the fridge and took out a beer, and since it was there, took out one for herself. Knowing the setup here nearly as well as in her own kitchen, she opened the freezer, got out a couple of chilled pilsners. And noted a handy selection of Mrs G’s casseroles and soups in labeled containers.
The woman fed the world.
She was pouring the second beer when Del came in with take-out bags.
“See, I’m having a beer. I consider that terms met. When I finish the beer, I get my shoes.”
His look transmitted mild pity. “I don’t think you understand the situation clearly. I’ve got something you want, so I set the terms.” He stacked a couple of plates, napkins, then took two sets of chopsticks from a drawer.
“I said I didn’t want dinner.”
“Pot stickers.” He shook one of the bags. “You know you have a weakness.”
He was right about that, plus anxiety combined with the scent of food stirred up her appetite. “Fine. A beer and a pot sticker.” She carried the beers out to the deck and to the table overlooking the lawn and gardens.
The water in his pool sparkled. On the edge of its skirt stood a charming gazebo that housed a massive grill. He was known for manning it territorially when he threw a summer party where people played cutthroat boccie on the lawn and splashed in the pool.
Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was like having a community of parents. She worked up a smile for Carter. “Yeah. I just have a thing. I’m coming right back.”
“Okay. I’m going to beg a casserole from Mrs. G. We’ll be defrosting later, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, but I grabbed a salad before. Enjoy.”
“We will.You look nice.”
“So what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry Distracted. Gotta go.” She jumped in the car before she ran into anyone else.
As she sped away, it occurred to her she should’ve gone to Del’s during the day, when he’d be gone. She knew where the spare key was hidden, and had his alarm code. Except he probably changed it regularly, as that was the safe thing to do. Still, she could’ve risked it, and gotten inside, found her shoes. Left him a note, she thought. Now that would’ve been clever.
Too late now But he might not be home, she considered. He had an active social life—friends, clients, dates. Seven thirty on a pretty summer evening? Yes, he probably had a hot date—drinks, dinner, debauchery. She could get in, find the shoes, leave him a funny note.
Dear shoenapper: We escaped and have informed the FBI. A tactical team is on the way. The Pradas.
He’d laugh, she decided. He didn’t like to lose—who did?—but he’d laugh. And that would be the end of that.
As long as she didn’t set off the alarm and end up calling him to be her attorney of record. Think positive, she advised herself and warmed up to the new plan as she drove.
And imagined it falling like a bad soufflé when she spotted his car in the drive.
Oh well, back to Plan A.
He had a great house, one she’d admired since he’d had it built. Probably too big for one man, but she understood the need for space. She knew Jack had designed it with very specific requirements from Del. Not too traditional, but not too modern, lots of light, lots of room. And the sprawl of river stone, the pitch of the triple roofs had a kind of casual elegance that suited the owner.
And she was stalling, she admitted.
She got out of the car, walked straight to the front door, and rang the bell.
She shifted from one foot to the other, tapped her hand on her knee. Nerves, she realized. For God’s sake she was nervous about seeing a man she’d known her entire life. One she’d fought with and played with. They’d even been married a couple of times—when Parker had nagged, bribed, or blackmailed him into playing Groom in their Wedding Day games as kids. Now she had the jitters.
That made her a wuss, she decided. She hated being a wuss.
She punched the bell again, harder.
“Sorry, you were so quick, and I was just ...” Del, shirt open over a chest where a few drops of water glimmered, hair dark with damp, stopped, cocked his head. “And you’re not the delivery guy from the China Palace.”
“No, and I came for ...You can’t get delivery out here from the China Palace.”
“You can if you defended the owners’ son on possession and got him into a program instead of a cell.” He smiled, hooked a thumb in the pocket of the jeans he’d zipped but had yet to button. “Hi, Laurel. Come on in.”
“I’m not here to visit. I’m here for my shoes.Just get them, and I’ll be gone before your shrimp fried rice gets here.”
“I went for the sweet-and-sour pork.”
“Good choice. My shoes.”
“Come on in. We’ll discuss terms.”
“Del, this is just absurd.”
“I like some absurd now and again.” To settle the matter, he grabbed her hand, pulled her inside. “So, want a beer? I picked up some Tsingtao for the Chinese.”
“No, I don’t want a Chinese beer. I want my shoes.”
“Sorry, they’re in an undisclosed location until the ransom terms are determined and met. Did you know they let out this thin, high-pitched scream when you twist those skinny heels?” He fisted his hands, twisted to demonstrate. “It’s a little eerie.”
“I know you think you’re being funny, and okay, you’re not entirely wrong. But I’ve put in a really long day. I just want my shoes.”
“You deserve a Tsingtao after a really long day.And look, here’s dinner.Why don’t you go out back on the deck? It’s nice out. Oh, grab a couple of beers out of the fridge on your way Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”
She could argue, Laurel thought. She could even make a scene. But neither would get her the shoes until Del was good and ready Keeping her cool, that was the ticket, she decided and, grinding her teeth only a little, started toward the kitchen. She heard Del and the delivery guy talking baseball as she walked away. Apparently somebody somewhere had pitched a no-hitter the night before.
She turned into his spacious kitchen, washed now in the softening evening light. She knew he used the space for more than beer and take-out Chinese. He had a couple of specialties down cold—fancy little meals designed for seducing women—and had a hand with omelettes for the morning after.
So she’d been told.
She opened the fridge and took out a beer, and since it was there, took out one for herself. Knowing the setup here nearly as well as in her own kitchen, she opened the freezer, got out a couple of chilled pilsners. And noted a handy selection of Mrs G’s casseroles and soups in labeled containers.
The woman fed the world.
She was pouring the second beer when Del came in with take-out bags.
“See, I’m having a beer. I consider that terms met. When I finish the beer, I get my shoes.”
His look transmitted mild pity. “I don’t think you understand the situation clearly. I’ve got something you want, so I set the terms.” He stacked a couple of plates, napkins, then took two sets of chopsticks from a drawer.
“I said I didn’t want dinner.”
“Pot stickers.” He shook one of the bags. “You know you have a weakness.”
He was right about that, plus anxiety combined with the scent of food stirred up her appetite. “Fine. A beer and a pot sticker.” She carried the beers out to the deck and to the table overlooking the lawn and gardens.
The water in his pool sparkled. On the edge of its skirt stood a charming gazebo that housed a massive grill. He was known for manning it territorially when he threw a summer party where people played cutthroat boccie on the lawn and splashed in the pool.
