Dr. Horatio vs. the Six-Toed Cat (2 page)

The door behind Millie swung open and Miss Ernie swept through. Judging by her sour expression, her conversation didn't go as planned.

“Is everything okay?” Millie asked.

“He
said
he was too busy to talk.” The elderly lady aimed a scowl at the wall, beyond which lay exam room one. Then her features softened. “It's not his fault. Everyone is busy these days. I've been meaning to talk to him for several months now, but seems there's never any time.”

Millie nodded sympathetically. “Organizing Goose Creek's Fall Festival is quite a job.”

“It certainly is,” Miss Ernie agreed. Then her eyes twinkled. “But I've had a tremendous helper this year. Alison is a hard worker, and quite the organizer.”

Millie couldn't help preening at the compliment. Her twenty-two-year-old daughter, Alison, volunteered to help with the festival this summer since she had not yet found a job after graduating from college in May. Of course, her father complained loudly that she was spending far too much time doing free work instead of job hunting.

Miss Ernie opened the front door and a fresh fall breeze entered the animal clinic. “I hope you have a good evening, dear.”

A secretive smile hovered around the edges of those sharp eyes. Millie's mother-radar went on instant alert. Over breakfast this morning Alison had announced that she wanted to discuss a serious matter with her parents at supper. Had she confided the topic of that discussion to Miss Ernie?

Never one to beat around the bush, Millie took the direct approach. “Do you know what Alison wants to talk with us about?”

Again, that taciturn smile. “Just keep an open mind, darlin'. She's got a good head on her shoulders.”

With that unenlightening comment, Miss Ernie made her exit. Millie snatched up the phone and speed-dialed a number.

“Al Richardson,” said the familiar, beloved voice of her husband.

“Albert,” she hissed. “She told Miss Ernie.”

A loud sigh sounded through the receiver, one she recognized as Albert's attempt to exercise patience before speaking. After thirty-two years of marriage there were very few of Albert's moods that she couldn't gauge simply by hearing him breathe.

Remorse struck her. “You're busy. I'm sorry.”

A few moments ago she had been irritated when Miss Ernie marched past her desk to interrupt Doc's work, and here she'd done the same thing.

“I'm in the middle of a program, but it's okay.” Albert worked as a computer analyst for a corporation in Lexington, forty minutes from Goose Creek. “By
she
I assume you mean Alison. What did she tell Miss Ernie?”

“Whatever she's going to tell us tonight.”

The answer was delivered in an almost-patient tone. “And why is that important?”

Millie held the phone away from her ear to settle an incredulous stare on it. Honestly! For an intelligent man, Albert could be so obtuse at times. She returned the phone to her ear and explained.

“Because she told her
first.
” Millie's cheeks warmed. Speaking the words aloud sounded so…middle-schoolish.

But Albert did understand. “I know you want to be Alison's confidante. You're her mother. But she's always had a special relationship with Miss Ernie. And they've spent so much time together recently it's natural she'd talk about whatever's on her mind.”

“I know.” Now it was her turn to sigh. “But obviously tonight's announcement is about something important. She seemed so mysterious this morning.”

“Well, I hope she's found a job.” A grumble sounded in his voice. “She's been out of school for three months. About time that girl started paying her own way.”

Millie shook her head, smiling. He could grouse all he wanted, but the whole family knew Alison held a special place in her daddy's heart. The boys—men, she amended, because her married twenty-eight-year-old twins could no longer be called boys—didn't mind. From their first introduction to their tiny sister, they'd fallen in love with her too. She'd instantly become the darling of the family, and had never yielded the position.

In truth, Millie expected the announcement to be about a job. Either that, or perhaps Alison had decided to go to graduate school. She'd mentioned getting her master's degree a few times during her senior year, though Millie hadn't heard any comments about it over the summer.

The clinic door swung open. Doc leaned out to hold it open for Julia, who emerged carrying her basket of newborn kittens.

“Gotta run,” Millie said into the phone. “Love you.”

She ended the call and pulled the computer keyboard toward her to key in Julia's receipt.

The surface of Miss Ernie's dining room table could not be seen. Alison, holding a check for one hundred dollars, scanned a profusion of documents. Where were the approved food vendor applications? No doubt some sort of order existed, because when it came to the Goose Creek Fall Festival Miss Ernie was nothing if not organized. But the finer points of the elderly lady's filing system were evident only to her.

She directed a comment toward the kitchen. “I don't see them.”

The answer echoed from the other room in a voice infused with equal parts age and Kentucky twang. “Left center. Third pile from the edge.”

“Pile?” Regarding the mishmash of paper with a skeptical eye she muttered under her breath, “There are piles here?”

“Don't be smart, young lady!”

Alison cast a quick glance toward the doorway. Miss Ernie's hearing was as sharp as it had been more than a decade ago when she'd taught Alison's Sunday school class at Woodview Community Church.

Now that she looked closer, Alison detected a messy order amid the chaos. Third from the left? Ah. There it was. She snatched up a disheveled stack of documents and leafed through them until she found the application for Korie's Kettle Korn. Whipping a red Sharpie from its perch on her ear, she wrote
Paid by Check #1327
on the top of the document and shuffled the pile into a semblance of order before returning it to the table. A little straightening wouldn't hurt. She reached for the next stack—

“Don't touch a thing!” The command was issued with a note of authority that instantly reverted Alison to a guilty seven-year-old caught sticking gum under the church pew.

She jerked upright and whipped her hands behind her back. “Yes, ma'am.”

Thus chastised, she returned to the kitchen and placed the check in a metal cash box on the counter.

Miss Ernie sat behind another cluttered table like a queen reigning over her castle. Wielding her letter opener like a scepter, she applied it to an envelope and awarded Alison a smile. “I've been coordinating the festival since before you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye, darlin'. I know the location of every scrap of paper. Food vendors in the dining room. Demonstrations in the study. Arts and crafts in the living room. And children's activities right over there.”

She pointed with the letter opener toward the kitchen counter, which to Alison's eye looked even less organized than the mess on the dining table.

“If you say so.” She eyed the chaos with doubt.

“I do.” The old lady gave a decisive nod as she sliced into another envelope and pulled out another check. “Oh dear, he made the deadline. I was hoping he wouldn't.”

Alison took the check and noted the return address. “I love Nuts over Nuts! That man is here every year. The festival wouldn't be the same without his roasted pecans.”

“It's that balloon.” The pronouncement, issued through tightly thinned lips, dared her to disagree. “He always demands to have his booth in the exact center of everything, and then he inflates that ridiculous balloon creature. Whoever heard of an inflatable pecan? It hovers over the festival like a vulture.”

“Petey the Pecan?” The mental image of the silly character standing sentinel above a sea of white canopies along either side of Goose Creek's Main Street brought a smile to Alison's face. “He's an icon. A festival without him would be like the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade without Snoopy.”

“This festival is
not
defined by a giant nut in yellow shorts.” Miss Ernie's lips tightened further. “And besides, the man's prices are
outrageous and three years ago his pecans were stale. I had several complaints.” She sniffed, and then gave a conspiratorial smile. “My cinnamon roasted pecans are better than his any old day of the week. I have a secret ingredient.”

Alison shook her head and headed for the dining room, check in hand. When her beloved Granny passed away ten years ago, the blow had been almost more than a twelve-year-old could stand. Miss Ernie had known that Alison needed someone special, a relationship she didn't share with her brothers or parents or anyone else. Quietly and smoothly, she stepped into the gap.

A wave of sadness hit Alison, so strong her step faltered and she caught herself on the edge of the messy dining room table. How she would miss Miss Ernie when she left. What if the worst happened while she was gone? Though the elderly lady was as strong as anyone and sharper than most, logic dictated that she would not live forever. And Alison had no way of predicting when, or even if, she would return to Goose Creek.

With the Nuts over Nuts application properly marked
Paid
, she returned to the kitchen in a somber mood.

With one glance at her face, Miss Ernie's round blue eyes softened. “You're doing the right thing.”

Alison dropped the check in the cash box. “I know. That doesn't make it easier.” With a sigh, she slumped into a kitchen chair. “What if I hate it? I won't be able to just hop in the car and come home. I might not be home for a long time. Things might”—she cast a doleful look across the table at the dear woman—“change while I'm gone.”

“Of course things will change. Change is inevitable. That's where progress comes from.” Miss Ernie swept the mess of empty envelopes into a trash receptacle resting beside the table. Chair legs scraped across linoleum as she stood. She picked up the can and returned it to its customary place in the corner. “If a person tries to keep things the same, their future will pass right by them. And you, my girl, have a bright future.”

Alison couldn't suppress a grin and a jab. “This from the woman who has lived in the same town, the same house even, for over sixty years? Who doesn't own a telephone without a rotary dial?” She warmed to her topic. “Who still percolates coffee on the stove and refuses to use the microwave her son bought her more than a decade ago?”

The old woman folded her arms and pointed a still-pert nose upward. “Cooking with energy waves is unnatural, dear. And perking takes fewer beans, so it's more efficient. Besides, perked coffee tastes better than the colored water people pass off as coffee these days.”

A point that Alison could not dispute, since Miss Ernie's coffee really was better than anyone else's. She ought to know, having drunk gallons of it while helping with the festival over the past few months. She lifted her mug and drained the last of the fragrant liquid. Yes, definitely better.

“Besides,” the lady went on, patting Alison's hand, “if anyone should be upset by your announcement, it's me. I hoped to turn this over to you next year.” She waved a hand to indicate the clutter on the table.

“Oh, Miss Ernie, the town will never let you stop being the Festival Coordinator. You've done it for so long nobody else could begin to fill your shoes.”

“Well, they'd better call in Prince Charming and have him get busy.” She lifted her pants legs to display a sensible pair of high-top Nikes. “These glass slippers are retiring.”

Laughing, Alison left her chair and set her empty mug in the sink. “I hope you get to dance at the ball past midnight. You deserve it.”

“Darlin', I haven't seen midnight in five decades.” The twinkles in her eyes faded. “You really are doing the right thing, but I'll miss you. I'll miss our talks, and the way you tell me all your secrets.”

“And I'll miss the way you always bail me out of trouble.” Alison put her arms around the woman, feeling the sharp bones beneath slightly stooped shoulders. “There's always the telephone. And if you'd learn how to use e-mail we could talk every day.”