“That roof—” he began, but Millie cut him off.
“I’ve already contacted that handyman I told you about. Hinkle the Handyman. He’s coming Monday to give us an estimate. On everything, in fact.” She set a steaming mug on the table and slid the fake sugar bowl toward him. “He’s never worked with those decorative slate shingles, so he’ll give us a good price since the job will give him experience.”
He caught her gaze in a stern one of his own. “I’m not interested in restoring the roof to its original condition. Just putting on one that will keep the rain off our heads.”
An argument appeared on her features. She opened her mouth, but closed it a second later. Her head dipped forward in acknowledgement. Somewhat mollified, Al continued his perusal of the inspection document. He’d expected more of a fuss.
“I don’t know, Millie.” He closed the folder and took his time stirring sweetener into his coffee. “The cost of repairing all those things will add up quickly.”
“We don’t have to do everything at once, just a bedroom and the kitchen. Enough that we can live there comfortably for a while. We have years to get the rest done.”
Cocking his head, he gave her a cynical look. Did she really think he’d go for that? Once she started a project, she would hound him to the ends of the earth until it was finished. But since she returned his stare with wide eyes and covered his hand with her warm one, his reply went unspoken.
Heaving a sigh, he pushed the inspection report away. “Let’s see what your handyman says on Monday.”
His reward was the appearance of those kissable dimples that never failed to soften him.
They flashed out of existence. “Oh, I almost forgot. Louise called. We have another showing today at three-thirty.”
A scowl weighed heavy on his face. “I want to put up the feeders this afternoon.”
“Can’t it wait? Please?”
Another dramatic sigh. Goodness, he was starting to puff like a steam engine. “I suppose.”
“Good. Violet and I are going to run over to Lexington to look at wallpaper. Would you like to join us?”
“Not a chance. I drive that road ten times a week as it is. I have no desire to do it on the weekend.”
“Then you’ll need to find something to do for an hour or so. And take Rufus.”
At the mention of his name, the dog raised its head from yet another nap and turned a liquid brown gaze toward them. Deepening his scowl, Al sipped from his mug. More strangers tromping through his house, disrupting his Saturday while he was left babysitting the world’s smelliest mutt. The gloomy cloud that darkened his mood grew heavier, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being shoved closer and closer to the doom that would render him the poverty-stricken owner of an ancient real estate monstrosity.
Al left Rufus soaking up the sunshine outside Cardwell’s and entered the store a few minutes after four. He’d taken a detour to walk by the Updyke house on the off chance that he’d discover the roof had collapsed in the hours since the inspector left. No such luck.
Mid-afternoon at the soda fountain wasn’t a peak time, so the place was practically deserted. An out-of-towner, a woman dressed in jeans and boots, sat at one of the tables sipping coffee and glancing around with a half-smile on her face. The old-fashioned charm often hit visitors like that, though Creekers had gotten used to it. He slid onto an empty stool between Woody and Miles, who had perched on opposite ends of the counter.
“Got any pie?” he asked Lucy.
“You know it.”
She produced one from the icebox and sliced a generous wedge. Thick cherry juice oozed from beneath the browned top crust, and his mouth flooded at the sight.
“Heated, please, with ice cream.”
She gave him a look from over the top of her glasses. “Millie will skin me alive if you spoil your supper.”
“I can handle it,” he assured her.
Moments later she set a dish on the paper placemat in front of him, a generous scoop of vanilla already melting on the steamy dessert. “It’s sugar free,” she announced.
Enthusiasm dampened slightly, he regarded the dish. “The pie or ice cream?”
“Both. And it’s frozen yogurt.”
There were disadvantages to living in a small town, chief among them the fact that his wife had agents everywhere. He took a cautious bite, and his trepidation dimmed. Delicious. He could almost forget it was sugar free.
Woody twisted sideways on his stool. “So what side are you camping on, Al?”
Though he knew immediately what the man meant, he played dumb. “Side of what?”
A grunt sounded from the opposite end of the counter. “You know,” said Miles. “Are you with the Council or the rabble-rousers like Norman and Woody?”
The temperature in the room warmed in the fiery glare the two men exchanged.
“I’m neutral,” Al put in quickly, and sliced off a second bite.
“That’s a cop-out.” Woody snatched a half-empty glass off the counter. “You’re gonna have to take a side sooner or later.”
He made a show of chewing before he answered. “I don’t see why.”
“’Cause you do, that’s all,” Miles insisted. “You can’t stand around and let everybody else fight this war for you.”
War. The word hung ominously in the air. This water tower thing was getting out of hand. It was starting to feel like the conflict over Main Street’s traffic flow. Would Mayor Selbo end up like his predecessor, forced to sell his house and leave Goose Creek? Al hoped not. Jerry was a nice guy. With an effort, Al ignored the accusation and held his silence.
Bells jingled as he took another bite.
“Would you look at this place,” exclaimed a woman’s voice. “It’s an old-fashioned soda fountain. I wonder if they have chocolate malts.”
“We sure do.” Lucy aimed a smile behind his head. “Best you’ve ever tasted.”
“Give us two,” announced a man as the door slammed shut.
Al’s jaw froze mid-chew. He knew that voice.
“Well, would you lookie here! It’s the man himself. Sugar, this is my buddy Bert.” A heavy hand pounded Al’s back. “Just came from your place, old man. Nice digs.”
No. It can’t be.
Woody, Miles, and Lucy all turned toward him with various expressions of surprised amusement. Al snatched up his water glass and gulped the half-chewed pie down before it choked him. Fear slowed his movements as he twisted on the stool. Before him stood none other than Franklin Thacker. Here. In Cardwell’s. On a Saturday.
“Oh, very nice.” The woman gushed and smiled wide enough to reveal lipstick marks on a set of buck teeth. “We just love it.”
“You were in…” His throat closed around the words, and he took another swig of water. “…my house?”
“Did we stutter?” Franklin pounded his back a second time. “Or is your hearing going?”
The woman giggled and planted an elbow in Franklin’s ribs. “Don’t insult him, sweetie pie. After all, we might end up being neighbors.”
Ringing in Al’s ears drowned out the sound of his pounding pulse. Franklin Thacker, the most obnoxious man in the world, his neighbor?
“Now, Sugar Bear, don’t be giving anything away before we even make an offer. We don’t want to tip our hand.” A loud guffaw, punctuated by snorts, filled the previously peaceful sanctuary of Cardwell Drug Store.
The pie soured in Al’s stomach.
“I won’t accept it.” Al shoved the document away with more force than necessary. Papers fluttered across the kitchen table.
Louise’s professional mask evaporated. She gaped. “But it’s a full-price offer. Do you know how rare that is?”
Seated to his right, Millie sat ramrod straight in her chair, arms folded. Fire flashed in the stare she fixed on him.
“I don’t care,” Al told the realtor. “This is Franklin Thacker we’re talking about. You don’t understand.” He grasped about for an argument
that would communicate the depth of his feelings on the matter. “He calls me Bert,” he ended lamely.
“He’s friendly.” Millie snapped through gritted teeth.
“It’s a show.” Al turned to her with an imploring gaze. “He ingratiates himself at first so he can plague you with his obnoxious personality later.”
Louise snatched the pen out of her blonde bun and clicked it repeatedly while she regained an expression of cool professionalism. “You don’t have to live with him. You won’t even be living in the same neighborhood.”
“That’s right.” He turned on Millie. “Do you want to inflict Thacker on Violet, your best friend?”
She drew a breath through flaring nostrils and did not reply.
“Besides,” continued the realtor, “you’ll be making a very nice profit on your house at his expense. Won’t that be satisfying?”
Ah, a direct blow aimed at his vulnerable spot—his bank account. “The idea of him living here, in my house, grilling burgers on my deck, trimming my bushes…” He gave an expansive shudder. “No amount of money is worth that.”
“You promised.” Millie punched his forearm repeatedly with her finger. “You laid out a ridiculous set of conditions, and every one has been met. You never expected that, so now you’ve come up with a final lame attempt to renege on your promise. You gave your word, Albert.”
Al rubbed the stinging place where her fingernail had poked his skin. An unfair accusation. His motives—to maintain marital peace and harmony—were pure. He opened his mouth to say so.
Then he closed it again. Were his motives truly unselfish? He’d specified conditions he never thought would be met. His aim had been to appease his wife, true, but without any real intention to sacrifice his own plans. An uncomfortable feeling set him fidgeting in his chair. He’d manipulated a solution that would put him in a favorable light in Millie’s eyes, but without expecting to go through with his end of the bargain.
“There’s something else you may want to consider.” Louise broke into his uncomfortable thoughts. “My contract with you outlines specific conditions for the sale of this house. I’ve delivered an offer that meets those conditions. If you reject it, you’re obligated to compensate me at the rate we agreed on.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Business is business.”
His gaze volleyed between the two of them. From the beginning they’d joined sides against him.
And, he realized as his heart sank to the vicinity of his shoes, they’ve won.
A promise was a promise, after all. Especially a promise to his wife.
Utterly defeated, he bowed his head. “Where do I sign?”
Chapter Thirteen
Monday morning arrived with a sky full of sunshine and a future bright with promise. Millie hummed a hymn from yesterday’s service as she stowed her purse in the file cabinet and turned toward the computer, a bulging baggie of cookies in her hand.
Susan emerged from the back room and greeted her with her usual solemn, “Good morning.” Then she caught sight of the baggie, and her face brightened. “Did you make cookies?”
“Yes, but they’re not for us. They’re dog cookies.”
“Oh.”
At the sight of the girl’s disappointed expression, Millie vowed to arrive tomorrow with a tray of people treats. “How was your weekend?”
“Okay, I guess.” The slender shoulders shrugged. “I found an apartment. It’s on Walnut Street, so I can walk to work.”
Possible rentals flickered through Millie’s thoughts. “Betty and Ralph Hunsaker’s place?”
Susan nodded. “It’s just a couple of rooms above the garage, but that’s all I need. They seem like nice people.”
“They are,” Millie agreed. “They built that apartment for Betty’s mother, but then the poor dear broke a hip and couldn’t climb the stairs so she moved to Tennessee to live with her son.”
“That’s what they said. Daddy liked them.”
Millie maintained a pleasant expression. “Your father was in town?”
“Yes, he came up yesterday to help me find a suitable place to live.” Her lips twisted. “Not that there was much to see.”
“It’s a small town,” Millie agreed. “What a shame I didn’t get to meet him.”
She was about to ask what he thought of Goose Creek when the door opened. They both turned, expecting to see a pet owner, but a young man entered with no animal in sight. A pair of worn but clean jeans rode low on his hips, held in place by a leather belt with a Harley Davidson buckle encircling a trim waist. He fixed Millie with a clear blue gaze.
“Mrs. Richardson?” His deep voice held an engaging touch of gravel.
The handyman from Frankfort. Thirty minutes early. “Mr. Hinkle?”
“Call me Justin, ma’am.” He stepped inside, a pair of heavy work boots thudding on the floor, and approached with his hand extended. Millie shook it—hers disappeared in its surprisingly gentle but gigantic depths—and gestured toward Susan.
“This is Dr. Susan Jeffries.”
Susan’s eyes grew wide enough to overtake her face. Her lips parted slightly and froze. What was wrong with the girl? Millie glanced back at Justin to find him returning the stare, his expression openly admiring.
Goodness. If the sparks between these two get any warmer, I’ll have to call the fire department.
He recovered himself. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jeffries.”
The hand he extended hung between them for a long moment. Then Susan’s mouth closed and she gave herself a visible shake.
“You too.” The poor girl winced when her voice squeaked. She took his hand and then sucked in an audible breath. The handshake drew out, neither participant releasing the other’s grasp. Hiding a delighted smile, Millie busied herself with the task of unzipping the baggie and emptying the cookies into the doggie treat jar.
Susan finally withdrew her hand. “Do you have a dog?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your pet, I mean. Is it a dog?”
He looked around the room as if noticing where he was for the first time. Again, Millie hid a smile. Budding attraction was so much fun to watch.
“Oh. No. I mean, I don’t have a pet. I’d like to, but it’s…” He jerked his head. “What I mean is, do I need one?”
At Susan’s confused expression, Millie broke into the conversation. “Justin does construction work. He’s in town to give me an estimate on repairs to the house my husband and I are buying.”
“So you’re not here for me.” Susan looked completely crestfallen, and then seemed to realize what she’d said. She stiffened with a jerk. “I mean, you’re not here for a veterinary visit.”
A disarming smile crept over Justin’s features. “If I needed a vet, you’d be the first one I called.”
Roses erupted in Susan’s cheeks, the result charming. Disarmed, the girl retreated a step, obviously ready to make a dash for her office. “I’ve got some, uh, some paperwork. Back…there.” She pointed vaguely behind her, her gaze still glued to Justin. “So, I’ll just leave…” Another step. Then she halted and snapped her fingers, her gaze flying toward Millie. “I forgot to tell you. Doc called on Saturday. They’re extending their stay in Florida until the twenty-sixth. Would you mind handling the afternoons a bit longer?”
Full days at work really didn’t suit Millie. She missed her afternoons alone in the house before Albert got home from work. Especially now that she had to start packing away a lifetime’s worth of accumulated possessions. But she couldn’t leave the poor girl high and dry.
She pasted on a smile. “Certainly.”
“Thank you.” With another shy glance at the handyman, she fled.
Justin straightened and cleared his throat. “I stopped to pick up that list you mentioned on the phone.”
“Of course.” Millie retrieved the inspection document from her handbag. “My realtor is planning to meet you at the house at ten to let you in.”
He glanced at his watch. “That
’s fine. I’ll go on over and see the outside first. It’ll probably take me a couple of hours, and then I’ll head back to my office to put together some prices. Unless I find something I need to research, I’ll have my bid ready by late afternoon.”
“That’s fine. You have our number.”
He nodded, and continued to stand in front of her, his gaze returning to the clinic door through which Susan had disappeared.
“Have you visited Goose Creek before?” Millie asked.
The question seemed to remind him of her presence. He looked at her with a start. “Oh. No, ma’am. This is my first time.” Once again, he looked toward the back. “I hope it won’t be the last.”
She didn’t bother to hide her smile this time.
Violet called that afternoon.
“Something’s brewing. I was over in Frankfort getting my tags renewed and I saw Eulie at the Pic Pac.” Her emphasis flooded the words with import.
The meaning became instantly clear to Millie. Creekers either shopped at the Kroger in nearby Versailles or made the longer trek to Lexington. For Norman Pilkington’s wife to go all the way to Frankfort definitely looked suspicious.
But there could be a logical reason. “Maybe she had business in Frankfort too, and stopped to pick up a few things.”
“Nope. I spied her car in the parking lot so I went in.” A dramatic pause. “Her shopping cart was full.”
“Oh my.” Millie toyed with a paperclip, thoughts whirling. “Still, there’s no law that says—”
“I confronted her,” Violet announced. “Asked her point-blank why she was shopping there instead of the Kroger store. She turned red as a beet and stuttered like a nail gun.”
When on one of her cross-examination binges, Violet could be quite intimidating. Poor, shy Eulie wouldn’t stand a chance.
The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade Page 12