Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [80]
With all warmest regards,
Sergio Antonio Marcello
“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