Just One Taste...(27)

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice sounding far away.

"Do you have me on the speaker phone again?"

"I'm fine. How are you? And, yes, you're on the speaker phone."

Where did that girl get her smart-ass mouth? From him, no doubt. That  attorney arrogance. He just didn't like when it was used against him.  "Pick up the phone, Vanessa."

"No can do, Pops. I'm kneading dough for sweet rolls."

Pops? He sighed. Arrogance was one thing, insubordination another.

"Do you speak to all your customers this way?"

"You're not a customer."

"I am now. I'm coming by there to talk about a party I need you to cater for me."

She was silent for several moments. "Sure. Just come to the workroom."

Driving over was a better way to handle this, especially given the dire  circumstances. His reputation, his livelihood, his identity could be  compromised by what he'd done. He was doing what was right to protect  his client. This was the mantra he'd cling to.

Once inside the bakery, he slid past the counter of glistening sweets,  then pushed through the swinging door to the back room. He'd been here a  few times. As much as he hadn't approved of her opening the bakery,  he'd felt he needed to make sure the facility was at least safe and that  she hadn't been ripped off on the rent. Then he'd needed to test the  merchandise. Which had led to more visits. And a rapidly expanding  waistline.

His daughter was talented. Smart and business-savvy, but also sensitive  and creative. He longed to share his thoughts with both Elise and  Vanessa, but he'd gotten caught up in a case, and …

What case had that been anyway?

He found his daughter with her hands in a large bowl of dough.  "Something smells good," he said when she glanced up at him with a  cautious look on her face.

"I have a batch cooling on the counter over there if you want one," she said, nodding.

"Your mother will have dinner waiting."

"Of course."

Silence. Not that they'd ever been easy communicators, but the tension between them seemed to worsen every year.

"You said something about a party?" she asked.

"Yes." Relieved to be able to move on to the reason for his visit, he  said, "I'm planning for about twenty to thirty people at our house on  Friday. It's a professional gathering, men only, so don't make any pink  drinks or other silliness."

"Men only? Don't you know any female lawyers?"

"Of course I do. We have four at the firm. I want this to be just the  men, though. Whiskey and cigars. A few hors d'oeuvres. Everything  elegant and simple."

Vanessa's head lurched up. "Cigars in the house? Does Mother know?"

"We're celebrating a junior associate's promotion," he said as if he  hadn't heard her protest. At least as soon as he figured out which  associate to promote. There was a bigger agenda for this party after  all. Anthony's not-so-mysterious confidant. Mr. Miami.

Or was it a man who'd be more likely to say mon ami?

"I need a cost estimate right away," he added.

"I already have a party to cater Friday night. That's only two days from now, you know."

"Cancel. I'm family. This is more important."

She sighed, pulled the dough from the bowl and plopped it onto the flour-strewn table. "I can't cancel. I won't cancel."

"Don't you have an assistant? Can you not do more than one party a night?"

"I have a partner, and I'll check with her, then I'll get back to you."                       
       
           



       

"I'll wait."

After pounding her fist into the dough, she wiped her hands on a towel, then walked out of the room.

Joseph concentrated on the successful outcome of the party and not the  fact that his oldest daughter was trying to fit him into her schedule.  He longed for the days when he could just ground her.

But he couldn't ignore the feeling blooming in his chest. The connection  with his child, his eldest child. So many of his hopes and expectations  had been laid at her door. How had his pressure shaped her? Had he  pushed her to leave? To rebel?

At the moment, he didn't really care what had driven her away. He wanted  to gather his daughter closer, to find a way to keep her from running  in the other direction. How ironic that a potential professional  disaster would cause him to leap toward a personal need.

When Vanessa returned a few minutes later, she stopped just inside the  room and crossed her arms over her chest. "I can do it. I'll e-mail you a  suggested menu with prices in the morning."

She didn't look or sound enthusiastic. His fault. He should have been  more supportive. He'd deferred to his wife's wishes, comfortable with  the idea that she knew their girls the best.

"I appreciate you moving so quickly on this," he said.

"You're welcome."

"I also have a favor to ask."

"This last-minute party is a favor."

"You might remember I'm your father, young lady."

"You might remember I'm a grown woman."

He said nothing.

Then, quietly she said, "I'm sorry. It's been a difficult day. What do you need?"

He started to apologize for his own abrupt tone, but held back.  Admitting a mistake wasn't something he did often. "What do you know  about a new attorney in town named Lucas Broussard?"

His daughter coughed. Several times.

"Are you all right, Vanessa?"

"I'm-" She coughed again. "I'm fine. Who were you asking about?"

"Lucas Broussard. He's just moved here from New Orleans."

"I-Hmm. I think I may have met him at the fund-raiser at the club."

"Yes, he was there. I need you to ask your friends about him."

Her eyes widened. "My friends?"

"He's close to your age, and I need to know what he's like."

"Why?"

"I'm inviting him to the party, just to welcome him to town. He's part of our legal community now."

"I see." She paused. "Well, I'll find out what I can."

"Excellent." Feeling cheered by Vanessa's cooperation, he added, "Thank you for taking on the party at the last minute."

"You're welcome. Did your other caterer cancel again?"

"No. I just needed an elegant touch, and I thought of you."

"Thanks, Daddy," she said, her voice low.

It was the nicest moment they'd shared in a while, and the urge to pull  her into his arms and hug her tightly washed over him. Instead, he  smiled and brushed his lips across her cheek. "I'll talk to you  tomorrow."

"Sure."

When he was in his car and on his way home, he reflected on what he hadn't told Anthony or Vanessa.

The night of the fund-raiser he'd been closely watching that  ambulance-chasing leech Broussard. He'd overheard the French phrase mon  ami, which the scoundrel no doubt thought charming and which the drunken  Anthony had no doubt mistakenly translated to Miami. He'd also watched  Broussard leave the ballroom just moments before his clerk had taken the  same path.

At the time, Joseph had thought nothing of the coincidence. But now, in  light of Anthony's dream, the proximity of the two men shone with a  whole new light.

Broussard knew something. He was undoubtedly too crafty to mistake  Anthony's dream for the simple ramblings of an impaired man. So … what did  he plan to do?

There was only one way to find out.



HIS MIND ON HIS DATE that evening with Vanessa, Lucas absently picked up his ringing desk phone.

"Mr. Broussard," his secretary said, "Ms. Broussard is on the phone."

That was fast. "Thanks, Kelly."                       
       
           



       

When he heard the click of the connection, he asked, "You've got news?"

"It wasn't exactly a complicated task," his cousin Jade said.

"For you, I guess not. I got nowhere."

"Did you threaten anybody with a Beretta 9 mm?"

"No."

"There you go."

His cousin, whom he'd only discovered existed after he'd moved to New  Orleans to attend Tulane, was an unusual woman in the unusual profession  of security expert. She was smart and dangerous, quiet and confident.  She had a fierce dedication to those she cared about. Since the group  was small, Lucas felt honored to be part of it.

Jade was the one who'd helped him hide part of his past, while letting  other parts trickle out. His sort-of-real/sort-of-fictional dark past  had garnered a mystique that had served his business well. Which, until  recently, was all he'd ever cared about.

Smiling, he leaned back in his chair. "So, what've you got?"

"Three big things. One, Anthony is Anthony Chapman, Douglas's clerk, not  an associate at the firm. Two, the widow Switzer and Joseph Douglas,  Esquire, are close friends. They dated years ago. There were even rumors  of marriage."