“Not that kind of business.” Frieda shook her head with such vehemence her glasses slid sideways on her nose. “A massage parlor on Main Street? It’ll give the town a bad name.”
Ever ready to defend the underdog, Millie fixed a reproving glance on Frieda. “You sound like she’s opening a brothel. She’s a massage therapist, for heaven’s sake. You have to be licensed to do that.” A thread of doubt crept in. She really had no experience from which to speak, only a vague impression. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t care one bit about her license.” Cheryl folded her arms across her chest with a jerk. “If I catch Pete within a hundred yards of the place, he’ll be sleeping on the couch for a year.”
While the others voiced agreement, Millie remained silent. An uneasy tug-of-war took place in her mind. Being a business owner herself—which she would be, if they ever managed to get the house in decent enough shape for guests—she felt an affinity for anyone with enough vision and fortitude to launch a business. Especially a lone woman well beyond the vitality and energy of youth. On the other hand, how would she feel if Albert announced one Saturday morning that instead of going down to Cardwell’s to hang out with the guys, he thought he’d head over to Tuesday Love’s place for a massage?
I know exactly how I’d feel.
Good thing their house had six bedrooms, because Albert would need one.
Chapter Three
I’ll have the tilapia,” Susan told the server.
They’d been seated at an out-of-the way table in the rear corner of Malone’s, an upscale restaurant in Lexington. Quiet music played from hidden speakers, and soft lighting cast the dining room in a warm glow. If she and Justin were here alone, she would have enjoyed the atmosphere immensely. Their date sidetracked, they’d been forced to abandon their plans for an evening alone.
Seated to her right, Daddy scrutinized the menu like it was a loan application. There had been nothing else she could do except invite him to come along. She couldn’t very well leave him sitting alone in a hotel, could she? At the mention of burgers at the roadside diner where they’d planned to go, he’d insisted on selecting a restaurant in Lexington, one with a “decent menu.”
The server scribbled Susan’s order and then turned to Justin.
“The sirloin, medium-rare, a loaded baked potato, and add on the salad bar please.” He handed over the menu with one of the grins that Susan found so endearing.
The woman smiled back—women always smiled at Justin, a fact that caused Susan no amount of private agony—and then cast an inquisitive look across the table.
Disapproval flowed in nearly palpable waves over the top of Daddy’s menu toward Justin, who stirred his raspberry lemonade with a straw and pretended not to notice. The unspoken judgment on Justin’s dinner selection grated on Susan’s nerves. What did it matter to him that Justin had a hearty appetite? The man worked hard at a physically demanding job all day long. If he wanted a large meal in the evening, he deserved it. Heaven knew he didn’t suffer from the extra calories. A warm glow settled in her stomach, and she resolutely refused to glance at the muscular arms and trim waist that hovered in her thoughts far more than she cared to admit.
In an act of solidarity in the face of Daddy’s unspoken censure, Susan looked up at the server. “A salad sounds good. Could you add that to my dinner as well?”
Daddy’s jaw and menu snapped shut at the same moment. “Baked chicken,” he managed to grind out. “Rice. Steamed broccoli.” He glanced toward Justin’s glass, lips a tight line. “And I’ll stick with water.”
The moment the server moved out of earshot, he leaned forward. “Susan, those salad bars are a petri dish for bacteria. You know that.” His expression hardened as his gaze flickered toward Justin. “Or you used to.”
“Some probably are, sir,” Justin agreed. “But I bussed tables at this restaurant one summer when I was working construction. They’re careful, and their kitchen is cleaner than most families’. The food inspectors always give this place a perfect score.” He met Daddy’s glare with a pleasant smile, and then rose and rested a hand on the back of Susan’s chair. “You hungry?”
“Starved.”
Without looking toward her father, Susan allowed Justin to help her stand up. They wound their way through the restaurant’s dining room toward an immense salad bar, where she picked up a chilled plate and eyed the display. She rarely ate buffet-style food, having heard Daddy’s warnings about the unhealthy practices of restaurant staffs her whole life. But everything here looked fresh; the lettuce was crisp, the cherry tomatoes were ripe-red, and the salad dressings were kept chilled in deep wells of ice.
“I’m sorry our date got sidetracked,” she said while arranging a bed of lettuce on her plate. “I was looking forward to the ride and a burger.”
He shrugged. “This place is great. Just different.”
The cucumber looked as if it had been sliced only moments before. She placed a few on her plate. “When Daddy showed up at the clinic today, I couldn’t believe it. And especially with his announcement.”
“Really?” His shoulders heaved with a silent laugh. “I expected it.”
“You did?”
“Well, him showing up today, anyway.” He halted in the act of sprinkling olives on his salad and turned to look her square in the eye. “He’s been here every Saturday night for a month.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know. He’s trying to sabotage our… ” The word romance stuck on the tip of her tongue. Their romance was still too new to talk about in those terms. “Our relationship.”
“I know.” Justin reached beneath the glass canopy protecting the food and scooped a spoonful of shredded cheese. “You’re his child, and he’s protective of you. I’d probably be exactly the same if my only daughter started dating a flunky who rides a motorcycle and pounds nails for a living.”
With her free hand, Susan grabbed his arm. “You’re not a flunky. You’re a successful business owner who works harder than anyone else I know. There’s nothing wrong with pounding nails.” A flush warmed her cheeks. “And I like your motorcycle. A lot.”
That hypnotic grin appeared. “I love it when you defend me.” His eyes sought hers, and his whisper became a private caress. “You have nothing to worry about, Suz. The only person who can drive me away is you.”
Suz. No one had ever given her a nickname before.
The path back to the table might have been lined with clouds, so light were her feet.
Daddy stared with unconcealed disdain at the mound of food on Justin’s plate. “If I ate all that, I wouldn’t be hungry for three days.”
Smiling, Justin unrolled his silverware and laid the napkin across his lap. “I burn a lot of energy in my job, sir.”
“Hm.”
Susan speared a lettuce leaf, aware of her father’s critical stare at her modest salad. She ought to be hungry, since she’d been unable to eat her half sandwich after their discussion this afternoon. But the tension around the table worked on her appetite, and she had to force herself to take a bite.
Justin had no problem, and ate with a carefree attitude she envied.
“So,” he said between bites, “Susan told me you’re planning to move to Goose Creek.”
Daddy didn’t answer at first, his distaste at discussing his plans with Justin apparent in his scowl. Eventually he gave a curt nod.
“I’ll bet your bank won’t be happy to see you go.” Justin took a roll from the basket in the center of the table. “You’re a big man down there, aren’t you?”
“I’m an officer,” he conceded. “I’m confident I can convince the board that the Lexington branch will be a good base for an executive to work from. If not, I’ll find a similar position nearby.”
“There isn’t a bank in Goose Creek,” Susan told him.
He shrugged. “The drive here this evening was only forty minutes. I understand a lot of people who live in Goose Creek commute to Lexington.”
Just
in nodded. “That’s true. But I’m surprised you’d want to live in such a small town. It’ll probably be easier to find a place to live here in Lexington.”
Daddy’s spine stiffened. “The decision is made. I’m moving to Goose Creek where I can”—he glanced at Susan—“help Susan with the animal clinic. After all, I have a vested interest in making the business successful.”
The comment fooled no one. Daddy might have been interested in keeping an eye on his investment, but mostly he wanted to keep an eye on his daughter. She slumped in her chair. If Daddy moved to town, she’d never have a free moment again.
How Justin managed to maintain his casual tone, she couldn’t imagine. “She seems pretty capable to me. She knows her stuff, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Of course she does,” Daddy snapped. “She’s my daughter.” His chest inflated, and his battle to maintain his composure showed plainly on his face. When he continued, it was in a calmer tone. “But it will be a while before the animal clinic shows a significant profit. And she can’t go on living in that garage apartment. I plan to buy a house somewhere in town that has enough room for both of us.”
Susan’s fork clattered to her plate. She turned a disbelieving stare on her father. “You want me to move in with you?”
“It’s a financially sound arrangement. The money you save on rent will enable you to get our business on solid ground faster.” He glanced at something over her shoulder. “Our dinner has arrived.”
While the server set plates of steaming food in front of them, Susan risked a look at Justin. For once, even his pleasant demeanor had slipped. He stared at his steak like it had once been a treasured pet.
Daddy, on the other hand, had become positively cheerful. “My chicken looks delicious,” he told the server. “Thank you for delivering it so promptly.”
Though her fish did look good, Susan couldn’t force herself to eat a single bite.
Millie hovered at the top of the basement stairs, waiting for the mold specialist to emerge. Her fingernails carved deep crescents in her palms, and she forced her hands to unclench. Violet, seated behind her at the kitchen table, munched on a lemonade cookie. Though Millie appreciated her friend’s support while the mold man performed his inspection, today Violet’s habit of slurping her tea set Millie’s teeth on edge.
“How long has he been down there?” She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Seems like hours.”
“Good things come to those who wait.” Violet waved a half-eaten cookie in the air and offered another quote. “No news is good news.”
Over the past ninety minutes, Millie had been treated to what seemed like hundreds of clichés. Her patience nearly gone, she drew in a breath before replying in a more-or-less conversational tone. “You said that one before.”
“Some are worth repeating.” Violet dunked the cookie in her teacup and then popped it in her mouth.
The cell phone resting on the kitchen counter began playing “Fixer-Upper,” a song she’d found amusing when her young granddaughter first recommended it. Apparently her sense of humor had become moldy, like everything else around here, for she found herself gritting her teeth.
The display identified the call as coming from the Goose Creek Animal Clinic. “It’s work,” she announced and snatched the phone up. “Hello, Alice. Is everything okay?”
Poor Alice had expected to spend at least two full days training with Millie. Her panicky expression when her trainer rushed out to meet the mold man after only two hours had pricked Millie’s conscience all afternoon.
“I hope so?” The hesitant voice ended in an upward tone that turned the answer into a question. “Mrs. Barnes paid cash and she only had two twenties? I didn’t have any change? So we owe her four dollars?”
Drat. She’d trained Alice on the credit card reader and told her to put the checks in the safe before she left for the afternoon. Almost no one paid with cash these days, but elderly Mrs. Barnes refused to use a card or even checks. Millie kept the petty cash in a locked cashbox, and she’d forgotten to tell Alice where she kept the key.
“Didn’t Susan know where the keys to the cashbox are?”
Alice’s voice lowered to an awed whisper. “I didn’t want to bother her.”
Though they’d only had a couple of hours together, one thing had become plain when Alice spoke of her previous job. Her boss had been a harsh woman with a razor-sharp tongue and a ready supply of more foul words than Violet had clichés. It would take time for poor Alice to lose her fear of making a mistake, even though Susan was one of the sweetest people Millie knew.
Millie poured assurance into her tone. “Don’t worry about it. Just put a sticky note in the cashbox and we’ll take care of it tomorrow. The key is in the desk drawer beneath the extra paper clips.” The sound of heavy boots clomping up the stairs rose from below. “Alice, I’ve got to go. Call back if you need anything else.”
She disconnected the call and hurried across the room to the basement doorway.
A serious-faced man with heavy features, Larry Nestor, who Millie couldn’t help thinking of as merely Mold Man, wore a frown that sent her heart plunging toward her feet. The news must be terrible for him to scowl like that.
Before the man could speak, the back door opened. In walked the last person Millie expected—or wanted—to see at this moment.
“Albert! What are you doing home so early?”
If there was bad news to be heard, she’d much rather hear it alone. Then she could take a few hours to decide the best way to present it to her pessimistic husband.
He tossed his keys onto the counter. “I skipped the staff meeting so I could hear the verdict.”
He crossed the kitchen in a couple of steps, arm extended toward Mold Man. The two exchanged names while tension stretched the knots in Millie’s stomach almost to the point of nausea.
Larry shook his head. “Wish I had better news. That leak’s been active for a while. The lathe’s moldy all the way down to the basement, and it’s growing on the studs as well.”
“Stuff’s thicker than fleas on a hound dog,” murmured Violet.
Millie shot her a poisonous glare. Her friend ducked her head and fell silent.
“I figured as much.” Albert shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do we do about it?”
Momentarily shocked out of her panic, Millie stared at her husband. No exclamation? No bemoaning the verdict? No “I told you so”? He was certainly handling the news better than she. Maybe that was a benefit of a perpetually pessimistic attitude. When disaster struck, it enabled one to take things in stride.
“We’re gonna hafta rip out the lathe. C’mere and I’ll show you.”
Mold Man and Albert left the kitchen, with Millie and Violet hurrying after. They followed him to the parlor, where a hole had been knocked in the plaster directly beneath the one in the bedroom above. Inside was a wall made of horizontal, narrow strips of wood that looked something like window blinds. At the familiar sight of mold covering the wood, a hot, sick churning began in the pit of Millie’s stomach.
“First you’re gonna have to bust out all this plaster.” Mold Man made a wide gesture indicating the entire wall from floor to ceiling. “Then all this lathe is gonna have to come out.”
The whole wall? A small groan escaped Millie’s tight throat.
Lips pursed, Albert’s head bobbed in a nod. “What about the wall studs?”
“I didn’t see anything to indicate structural damage, but we’ll know more once we get in there.”
Violet patted Millie’s arm. “That’s good news, anyway.”
No cliché, thank the Lord. Millie managed a weak smile.
“We’ll treat the wood to kill the mold, which’ll take a couple of days at the most, and then you can have the walls rebuilt.”
Only a few days?
“Well that’s not so bad,” Millie said.
“For this wall,” Albert replied in an ominous tone. He addressed
Larry. “Is there any way to tell if there’s more mold without ripping out every wall in the house?”
“Sure is. We’ve got infrared cameras to detect leaks behind walls and ceilings. We can do surface swabs in every room, and when we’ve cleaned this area we’ll take air samples to test for airborne mold spores.” Mold Man flashed a comforting smile toward Millie. “If there’s any more mold in this house, we’ll find it.”
Violet gave her arm another pat. “This house will be clean as a whistle before you know it.”
The outcome did sound more hopeful than she’d anticipated. Still, there was one question that had yet to be asked. Millie couldn’t bring herself to ask it, but of course, Albert did.
His glower deepened. “How much is all this going to cost?”
Larry shrugged. “No way to know until we get in there and see what we’re dealing with.”
“What about insurance?” Albert asked.
“Insurance?” Millie perked up. She’d completely forgotten about insurance. “Will our insurance cover this?”
Larry sucked in his cheeks. “Depends on your policy, I guess. Most don’t unless the mold is a result of an accident.”
“I’ll call and find out,” Millie said. “Maybe our policy is one that will.”
The look Albert gave her told her exactly what he thought of that idea. Her brief surge of hope burst, and the prickle of tears stung her eyes.
He must have seen how close she was to crying. Albert was not given to public displays of affection, but he placed an arm around her shoulders before asking in a resigned voice, “When can you get started?”
The show of kindness nearly sent her over the edge. Blinking hard, she followed Albert and Mold Man to the door, listening with half an ear as they arranged the schedule for work to begin. Their voices grew distant as they headed down the hallway.
Renovating the Richardsons Page 4