Flash and Bones - Kathy Reichs [68]
Victoria “Tory” Brennan was now fourteen. Upon the sudden death of Coleen, Tory had relocated from Massachusetts and was now living with Kit in Charleston.
Harry had a granddaughter. I had a grandniece.
Harry was furious about all the lost years. And despondent over the fact that Kit, wanting to give Tory time to adjust, wouldn’t yet allow his mother to visit.
I was dialing Harry’s number when the front bell chimed. Thinking it was Galimore, I put down the handset and went to the door.
It wasn’t my worst nightmare.
But it was close.
PETE AND SUMMER WERE STANDING CLOSE BUT NOT TOUCHING. Both looked tense, like people waiting in line. Summer held a Nieman Marcus bag by its string handle.
Pasting on a faux smile, I opened the door. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Summer looked like the question stumped her.
“You sure you want to do this?” Pete sounded uncomfortable.
“Sure.” Oh, no. “Come on in.”
Pete was wearing flip-flops, khaki shorts, and a Carmel Country Club golf shirt. Summer had on wedge sandals, a silk tank, and designer camouflage pants that would have unnerved Patton.
Summer swanned straight to the dining room and parked the bag on the table. Pete and I followed.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked. Cyanide and Kool-Aid?
“Merlot would be nice if—”
“We won’t be here that long.” Pete shot me an apologetic grin. “I know you have more important things on your mind.”
“See, Petey. That’s your problem. Our wedding is important. What could be more important?”
Finding a cure for AIDS?
Summer began lifting items from the bag and organizing them into clusters. Napkins. Swatches of fabric. Silver picture frames. A glass container that looked like a giant lab flask.
“Now. The tablecloths will be ecru. The centerpieces will be made up of roses and lilies arranged in these vases.” A cherry-red nail ticked the flask. “These are the napkin possibilities.”
She fanned out the stack. The choices included pink, brown, silver, green, black, and a shade that I took to be ecru.
“And these are the options for the fabric that will drape each chair back.”
She arranged the swatches side by side below the lucky napkin finalists. Over her back, Pete’s eyes met mine.
I crooked a brow. Seriously?
He mouthed, “I owe you.”
Oh, yeah.
Summer straightened. “So. What do you think?”
You don’t have the sense God gave a corn muffin.
“Wow,” I said. “You’ve done a lot of work.”
“Indeed I have.” Summer beamed a smile that could have sold a million tubes of Crest.
How to maneuver the minefield?
Psychology. No chance muffin brain would catch on.
“How would you describe the floral arrangements?” I asked.
“Kind of pink and yellow. But very understated.”
“So you want simple.”
“But elegant. It has to make a statement.”
“Clearly green is out.”
“Clearly.”
As Summer snatched up the first reject, I raised my brows to Pete.
“Very funny,” he mouthed.
“Do you like a monochromatic look?”
Summer regarded me blankly.
“Things being the same color.”
“I like more punch. Ah. I see what y’all mean.”
The ecru napkin disappeared into the bag.
“Stark contrast?”
“Not so much.”
“Then black is probably wrong.”
“Totally.”
Black. Gone.
“An earthy look?”
“Not for summer.” She giggled. “Not me. The season.”
“Then forget brown.”
Gone.
That left silver and pink.
“Are you leaning toward one of the patterns?” I asked.
“I love this one.” She stroked a swatch with ghastly pink swirls on a cream background.
I remembered the outfit she’d worn on her last visit.
Bingo.
I laid the pink napkin artfully across the swirly swatch of fabric.
“Yes!” Summer clapped in glee. “Yes! Yes! I agree! See, Petey? You just have to use good taste.”
Petey held his applause.
“Now.” Summer arranged the four silver frames in a row. “Every place setting will have one of these. So the guests know where to sit. Then they keep it as their gift. Clever, right?”
“Um.