The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (10 page)

“—are from Venus. Yes, I know.” She smiled to take the sting out of her tone. If she couldn't get a handle on her temper before Albert got home from work, tonight would be a miserable repeat of last night. With a determined blast of breath, she changed the subject. “Did Norman Pilkington come by today?”

Violet nodded. “I gave him a piece of my mind, told him the
council is only doing its job and he needs to stop riling everyone up over this water tower thing. It looked like he had a bunch of names on that petition, though.”

“Oh? He had forty-three when he came by the clinic.”

“There were close to a hundred and fifty by the time he got here.”

Millie sat back in her chair. “I had no idea he could rally that much support.”

“I know. Haven't people
looked
at that water tower? If we let Little Norm paint it again, we could end up with fluorescent pink or pumpkin orange.”

Imagine, a flamingo-pink water tower hovering above Main Street! With a low whistle, Millie shook her head.

Violet held up a finger and gave her the grin that always preceded a quote of which she was especially fond. “Whistling women and crowing hens always come to some bad end.” The grin deepened. “That was one of my grandmother's favorites.”

Millie's moan was interrupted by the whirring of the garage door opener. Rufus leaped off his cushion in the corner and began his nightly bark-o-rama while he ran to take up a position in front of the side door.

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “What on earth is Albert doing home already? It's only four-twenty.”

A few seconds later the door opened and a bouquet of colorful blossoms entered, followed by her husband. He'd brought her flowers? A wave of tenderness washed through her.

When he caught sight of them at the table, he halted and fixed a surprised stare on Violet. “Oh. Hullo.”

With a glance toward Millie, she rose and bustled to the sink with her plate. “I'll come over in a bit and help you wash up.” She hurried from the room.

“Don't bother,” Millie called after her. “I'll call you later.”

They heard the front door close, and Albert bent to give Rufus the customary pat on the head, which ended his noisy greeting. The dog
trotted back to his cushion to resume his afternoon nap while an awkward silence settled in the kitchen.

Albert cleared his throat, and then thrust the flowers in her direction. “I got these on the way home. I wanted to get roses, but do you know how much roses cost?”

Ever the practical one, her Albert. Millie took the flowers, ignoring the red grocery store price sticker that announced they were discounted for quick sale. “These are beautiful.” She buried her nose in them. No scent at all, but the bright colors made up for that. “Thank you.”

He shuffled a shoe on the linoleum. “I'm sorry for last night.”

Millie rose and covered the distance between them to throw her arms around his neck. “I'm sorry too. I hate arguing with you.”

They stood for a moment, swaying with their embrace and releasing the leftover emotions from the night before. This was where she belonged, in her husband's arms holding a half-wilted bouquet of cheap flowers. In the grand scheme of things, did it matter which kitchen they stood in?

Well, yes, it did. A little. At least this kitchen did not have wheels.

Albert broke their embrace and, taking her by the hand, led her back to the table. “I want to discuss our retirement plans.”

“Must we?” Millie lowered herself into the chair he slid out for her. “I'd like to have a peaceful evening.”

“We will,” he said with a firm nod. He took the chair Violet had vacated. “I've thought about this all night and all day. You know our financial situation. We could afford to buy that house, but the renovation costs could wipe us out.”

An excited tickle fluttered in her stomach. Was he actually considering her idea? “We can save money by doing a lot of them ourselves.”

“Not plumbing and electrical work.” His expression became dour. “And especially not roofing.”

“We'd take bids, and go with the cheapest one.”

He nodded. “That's exactly what we'd have to do. And if your bed and breakfast idea doesn't take off, I'll have to delay my retirement.”

Millie could hardly believe her ears. Was that a
yes
she heard hovering in the midst of his dire predictions? Her pulse began a wild dance. “It will take off,” she assured him with a certainty she felt in her bones.

His expression solemn, he caught her gaze. “Before you get too excited, I have several conditions that must be met.”

Uh oh. Here it came. Of course there would be conditions. Probably unachievable ones.

He held up a finger. “I insist on a full inspection, and if we find anything we can't afford to fix, the deal's off.”

A reasonable request. She nodded. “Agreed.”

A second finger shot into the air. “If we make an offer, it will be contingent on selling this house.”

Again, not an unreasonable condition. She studied his face. Jaw set, chin jutted slightly forward in that stubborn pose she knew so well. He was about to drop a bomb. She gave a cautious nod to condition number two.

The third finger appeared. “And our offer will be five hundred thousand.”

Ice water doused her enthusiasm. Of course Albert would make a lowball offer. She should never have told him what Violet said about the Updyke brothers' bottom dollar. They were sure to be insulted.

But this was far more ground than she'd expected to gain so quickly in the negotiations. Swallowing her doubts, she gave a regal nod. “Agreed.”

At least she had the pleasure of watching his eyebrows shoot upward toward his thinning hairline.

Al returned his toothbrush to the holder and switched off the bathroom light. He paused in the bedroom doorway. What a homey sight his wife made, propped up on pillows and leafing through a magazine, a faint smile hovering around those kissable lips. Far better than the rigid and frigid treatment he'd received last night.

Of course, he had not exactly acted like Prince Charming himself.

When he slid into bed, she put the magazine on her nightstand and scooted close to him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. The faint, clean scent of the lilac soap she favored filled him with satisfaction, and he hugged her close.

“After we get the bed and breakfast established, we can still travel.” Her lips moved against his pajama shirt as she spoke. “I'm sure camping in a travel trailer is much better than a tent.”

“By the time we can afford to buy an RV, I'll be too old to drive it.” He squeezed her tightly to acknowledge her concession. “But thank you.”

“No, we'll get your RV,” she insisted. “You'll see. Everything will work out.”

He held his tongue. Actually, he was nearly positive that things
would
work out to his satisfaction. The odds of all three of his conditions being met were astronomical. Goose Creek was in decline—anyone could see that with a glance at all the empty buildings on Main Street. Who would want to move here? Mortgage rates were high, and the real estate market was sluggish. And besides, the Updykes would never accept his offer. Nobody was stupid enough to practically give away their family home.

Al turned off the light and settled himself comfortably beside his wife, prepared to dream of the RV he would buy when he retired.

Millie's Mini Vanilla Scone Recipe

Scones

3 cups all-purpose flour

⅔
cups sugar

5 tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt

2 sticks cold unsalted butter

1 large egg

2 tsp vanilla extract

¾ cup heavy cream (less 2 tsp)

Orange Vanilla Glaze

2 cups powdered sugar

Zest of 1 navel orange

3 Tbsp fresh orange juice

½ tsp vanilla

Approx
⅓
cup cream

Preheat the oven to 350°. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt, and sift. Cut in the butter until completely incorporated and crumbly. Beat the egg in a small bowl. Measure vanilla into a ¾ measuring cup, then add cream to fill the cup. Stir the vanilla cream into the egg. Combine this with the flour, stirring just until a crumbly dough forms. Don't overmix.

Turn dough onto a floured surface and press gently to form a long rectangle approximately 5 inches wide, 18 inches long, and 1½ inches thick. Slice into smaller rectangles approximately 2½ inches wide, and then cut each rectangle in half to form two small triangles. Place evenly on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake for 15 to 18 minutes. Remove them from the oven before they begin to brown. Cool for 15 minutes.

Whisk together the ingredients for the glaze until smooth. Dip one side of each scone into the glaze, and then cool until the glaze is set. Store in a sealed container.

Chapter Eight

C
ell phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder, Millie tossed the car keys into her purse and grabbed her knitting bag off the passenger seat without missing a beat in her conversation with the church secretary. “I appreciate that, Doris. We're supposed to meet with Louise tonight to draw up the paperwork. Please ask everyone to pray that Albert will be reasonable about the asking price on our house. And that it sells quickly. And that the Updyke brothers are desperate enough to take our offer.”

She paused in the act of opening the Volkswagen's door. Did that last request sound callous?

“Not that I want them to be desperate,” she amended. “Only that I want them to accept our offer.”

“I know what you mean.” Doris's voice sounded even more shrill than usual this morning. Apparently she'd been making liberal use of that new espresso maker she'd bragged about at church on Sunday. “Don't worry. We'll assail the gates of heaven on your behalf.”

Which was Doris's way of saying she would spread the word of the Richardsons' intent to buy the Updyke house and open Goose Creek's first bed and breakfast. Not only would an e-mail go out to the Woodview Community Church's prayer chain within five minutes, but no doubt the cellular airwaves above Goose Creek were already clogged with texts and phone calls discussing the irresistible news under the guise of a request for prayer. Church prayer chains were
an efficient and effective means of communication that every small town employed in some form or other. The ladies of Goose Creek had perfected their technique to the point that a really juicy tidbit could spread from one side of town to the other within twenty-three minutes.

“Thanks, Doris.” Millie opened her door as a car pulled into the animal clinic's parking lot. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. Not yet eight o'clock, and Susan was already here. Doc never showed up before eight forty-five. “I've got to run,” she told Doris. “I'll keep you posted.”

She disconnected the call and dropped the phone into her purse, and then exited the car to wait for Susan. The girl's face looked a little pale this morning above her starchy white lab coat. The poor thing probably hadn't slept a wink after the cold reception she'd received yesterday. Lizzie Forsythe, who had filled the role of afternoon receptionist since her husband opened the clinic, called last night to report that the rest of the day hadn't gone any better than the morning, with most everyone refusing to entrust their animals to any hands but Doc's.