The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (13 page)

The front door opened, and the first client of the day entered.

“Francine, you're a sight for sore eyes this fine morning.” Doc's booming voice filled the small reception area. He laid an arm across Susan's shoulders and pulled her forward. “Allow me to introduce Dr. Jeffries. Susan, meet Francine Ryan and one of our many six-toed patients, Smokey.”

The middle-aged woman clutched a gray cat close to her chest and eyed Susan with alarm. “I heard you were retiring,” she told Doc without removing a horrified stare from Susan, “but I hoped it was a rumor. I don't trust Smokey to—”

“Nonsense.” Doc cut her off and deftly removed the cat from her arms. “I hand-picked Dr. Jeffries myself. Smokey will love her.”

He shoved the feline at Susan and guided a protesting Mrs. Ryan toward the clinic door. Well, that was one way to get her accepted—by brute force. But what would happen tomorrow, when Doc Forsythe headed south to Florida? She had to do something to put herself in the good graces of the local pet owners. Otherwise, her business would fail before the first loan payment was due.

Holding the warm, purring body carefully, she trailed after Doc while compiling a mental list of compliments, most involving the creature's unusual sixth digit. At the clinic doorway, she turned to Millie.

“You know those postcards you mentioned last week?” Daddy hadn't thought a promotion of that sort necessary, but he was down in Paducah, hours and miles away. He didn't realize how desperate the situation was here in Goose Creek. “I can't do free, but what about fifty percent off the first checkup?”

Millie gave an approving nod. “I think that should attract some attention.”

“How quickly can we have some printed?”

A dimple appeared in each cheek. “Leave it to me. I know a guy.”

On Wednesday morning Millie whipped the Beetle into the parking lot to find Susan's car already there. Goodness, what a dedicated young woman. Gathering her knitting bag, purse, and a large envelope, she exited the Beetle, noting as she passed Susan's car that the windshield held an unbroken layer of foggy moisture. How long had the girl been there? She must have arrived in the wee hours of the morning for the dew to settle like that.

Juggling her bags to unlock the front door, Millie stepped inside. Light shone from the cracks around the clinic door, but the waiting room remained dark.

“Hello?” She directed her voice toward the back as she rounded the reception counter and stowed her belongings in the file cabinet.

The door swung open and Susan appeared, a steaming coffee mug in one hand. A brief almost-smile flashed onto her solemn face and she gave a quiet, “Good morning.”

“And I thought
I
was an early riser,” Millie said as she slid the drawer shut. “You must have gotten here hours before sunup.”

“Well, uh.” The girl didn't quite meet her gaze. “Yes.”

Millie examined her more closely. Her straight hair, which was a nondescript dark blond, hung damply to the shoulders of a crisp white lab coat with
Dr. S. Jeffries
embroidered above the breast pocket. In terms of makeup, the girl typically wore little more than pale pink lipstick and a bit of mascara—Millie had thought several times that a touch of color on her cheeks would emphasize her eyes—but today she wore none at all. When she stepped near, the scent of soap clung strongly to her.

The reason hit Millie in a flash. “Did you spend the night here?”

A guilty flush crept over Susan's cheeks. “Well, yes. Doc said he was going to bring Ajax late last night and kennel him so they could leave first thing this morning. I wanted to be here for a personal introduction. So while I was waiting, it occurred to me that it's a waste of money to pay for a hotel when there's plenty of room in the back office, and a hand-held sprayer in the grooming sink, and a microwave and coffeepot. So I drove to Lexington and got my lizard and—”

“Your lizard?” Millie interrupted, trying to banish the image of the girl washing up in the dog washing sink.

Susan nodded. “His name is Puff. I checked out of the Holiday Inn and picked up a camping cot and sleeping bag at Walmart on the way back.” She smoothed a damp lock of hair behind her ear and gave Millie a slightly defensive look. “It's very comfortable.”

Millie stared at the girl. Were her finances so desperate, then? How could she afford to buy the clinic if she couldn't even pay for a hotel room?

Though she really should discuss this with Albert before offering, Millie couldn't stop herself. “My husband and I have two spare bedrooms, and we'd be happy to have you stay with us until you find something in town.”

But Susan shook her head. “I'll be fine here. Actually, I prefer it. I can work on the files as late as I want and keep an eye on the boarded animals.” Her gaze circled the room, and a slight smile played around the corners of her lips. “Besides, it makes me feel more like it's really mine, you know?”

In an odd way, Millie did. “At least accept an invitation to dinner every few days.” She cocked her head and added, “And you might find the occasional use of my guest bathroom's shower preferable to dousing yourself in the dog bath every day.”

To her surprise, the girl laughed, the first time Millie had heard her make the sound. “I can't argue with that. Thank you.”

“Oh, before I forget.” Millie picked up the large envelope she'd brought from home and pulled out a sheet of paper. “What do you think of this? My husband drew it up last night.” She handed over a copy of Albert's draft postcard and watched Susan's face light up.

“This is really good.” She held the paper at arm's length and tilted her head. “I like the font he used for
Introducing Dr. Susan Jeffries.
And those little scissors around the dotted line make it look like a real coupon.”

“My Albert is so talented.” Millie didn't bother to filter the pride from her voice. “I counted our client list, and figure if we print 250 we'll have enough to send one to everyone and have some leftover to set out on the counter in case people forget theirs. And I know Lucy Cardwell will let us put some by the cash register down at the drug store.”

“Good thinking. I'm going to fax this to Daddy and make sure he approves.”

The comment struck Millie as odd. Of course it was perfectly fine to ask for advice from someone you respect. Their own children, who were only a few years older than Susan, often called to discuss their decisions with Albert and her. But the idea of a grown woman, a business owner, having to get
approval
from her father?

Of course, her father did cosign the loan. Millie had overheard her discussing that fact with Doc last week. Still, wouldn't the man encourage her to make her own business decisions?

She stood aside while Susan headed toward the fax machine resting on the corner of the reception counter, behind the dog cookie jar. “Is your father a businessman?”

“Oh yes. He's a bank vice president down in Paducah.” Susan dropped the paper into the machine and punched a series of numbers
on the front panel. “He's got great instincts about business and finances and practically everything else. I never make a move without consulting Daddy first.”

Well, that made sense. While the fax machine whirred and buzzed to scan Albert's paper, Millie booted up the computer for the day. She replaced the pen cup with a smile. In Lizzie's absence it would stay in place for a full week.

Within two minutes, Susan's cell phone rang. She extracted it from her lab coat pocket.

“Good morning, Daddy,” she answered in a cheerful tone.

Millie heard the drone of a deep male voice.

“It's a postcard with an introductory offer to generate business. My morning receptionist's husband designed it. Doesn't it look great?”

The man's tone did not change, but Susan's expression did. Her smile faded and, with a quick glance at Millie, she headed toward her office.

“I know we did,” her voice drifted back to Millie in the seconds before the door swung shut, “but if you could see…”

Eavesdropping became impossible. The conversation continued in the back office, Susan's voice barely audible above the whirr of the printer as it spit out the day's appointment schedule. Millie glanced over the list, noting the names that were likely to cancel their appointments when they learned of Doc's absence. Unfortunately there were quite a few. Ah, but Mrs. Olsen was scheduled to bring her poodle, Tiny, in at ten for a checkup. Surely that sweet, elderly soul would take pity on poor Susan and allow her to conduct the exam. In fact, Millie might just make a call—

The clinic door opened and Susan stood in the doorway, her face unreadable.

“Please tell your husband how much I appreciate his work,” she said in a carefully even tone. “On second thought, I think I'll hold off on the discount offer for the time being.”

Though Millie didn't know the girl well, the rapid convulsions of her throat spoke of tears being swallowed back.

“If you change your mind, I can have them printed and mailed within a couple of days.”

With another swallow, Susan nodded and disappeared back into the office. Millie stared at the door thoughtfully. The poor child. In many ways she seemed very young, regardless of her education and accomplishments.

Millie's glance fell on the fax machine and a hard knot settled in the pit of her stomach. How awful of her to take a dislike to a man she'd never even met.

Chapter Ten

T
he Goose Creek City Hall was situated in the ancient brick building that used to house the jail, back in the days when the town was responsible for dispensing justice on its own. Al figured the building was old even when the Updyke house had been built. The cells in the back of the building had been renovated into a conference room, and the second floor contained offices for the Mayor and Sally Bright, his secretary.

The City Council met the first and third Thursdays of every month. Normally these meetings were attended only by the six Council members. Though the public was invited to attend any meeting, no one ever bothered. Al held the general impression that the meetings were spent going over complaint letters involving residents who failed to clean up after their pets or had noisy neighbors.

But tonight's meeting was different. After supper, Al donned his jacket, kissed Millie's cheek, and headed for Main Street. He intended to maintain a cautious stance of noncommittal in the case of the water tower painting contract, but with the remote possibility that he might one day become a business owner in Goose Creek, he felt it prudent to at least stay advised on the issue.

Apparently he was not the only one. When he turned the corner to Main Street he spied a crowd on the sidewalk outside of City Hall. Dividing lines had definitely been drawn. To one side stood a small group clustered around Norman Pilkington, who was expressing his
opinion loudly and with much waving of his hands in the air. Instead of his usual worn T-shirt, he'd donned a blue button-up this evening and tucked it into a pair of relatively clean baggy denims. Al scanned the faces around him. No sign of Little Norm. Odd, since he stood to benefit the most if his father's petition was successful tonight.

A few feet away stood a slightly larger crowd with apparently no leader, since they stared off into space, shuffled on their feet, and appeared to put forth an effort not to meet anyone's eye. Al spied a few familiar faces. Pete Lawson, the Cardwells, and Miles Stockton. Since they had all been vocal in their support of the Council putting the painting project out to bid, Al recognized that group as Norman's opposition.