The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (20 page)

“I'm sure of it. Doc and Lizzie were both adamant about locking the doors right at five o'clock.”

“Maybe I could give them a call.” She seemed almost fearful that Millie would veto the idea. “You know, kind of introduce myself and tell them I'm happy to work around their schedules.”

“An excellent idea.” Millie poured on the enthusiasm, pleased when Susan's face lit. “If you want, we can go over the files together and I'll tell you what I know about each one before you call.”

“I'll start on a list right away.” She half-turned, and then stopped as though a thought had just occurred to her. To Millie's sharp eye, the gesture looked a tad put-on. “Uh, you know that guy who was here earlier?”

“Justin?” Millie affected a pleasantly blank expression, though she had a hard time biting back a chuckle. “He seemed like a nice young man. He certainly is nice looking.”

“Is he? I didn't notice.” At least she had the grace to blush when she lied. “You mentioned some work he'll be doing for you.”

“That depends on his prices. But I hope he's affordable. I rather liked him.”

In fact, she had decided to hire Justin Hinkle when she first heard about him, no matter what Albert said. They'd argued over the issue last night when he insisted she get estimates from at least two other sources. A complete waste of time, in her opinion.

Susan seemed to be struggling to come up with a reply, so Millie added, “Do you have some work that needs to be done?”

Her face cleared as she leaped on the question. “Yes. Exactly. I noticed that, uh, the knob on the door of my office is loose.”

“I noticed that myself,” Millie agreed, and then added graciously, “Maybe he could look at that toilet too. I think the water level needs adjusting.”

“I've thought the same thing.” The enthusiasm in her nod definitely exceeded what would be normal for a toilet repair.

“He said he'd call with his bid this evening,” Millie said. “If you want, I could ask his fee for repairs like that.”

The tension in her shoulders relaxed, and a smile transformed her rather severe features. “That would be good. Thank you.”

Carrying her folder, she left in the direction of her office. Millie's grin broke to the fore. Did young people realize how transparent they were? She pulled the trash can from beneath the desk and swept the mangled paperclip and confetti in.

The door swung open, and she looked up to find Susan's head peeking into the room. Smile gone, the lines had returned to her forehead.

“On second thought, never mind. No sense wasting the money. Daddy can fix those things next time he comes.”

The door swung shut.

Daddy again.

With a thud, Millie shoved the trash can back in place. If
Daddy
were here right now, she'd give him an earful.

“She wouldn't budge,” Violet announced over the phone that evening. “Lips shut tighter than a clam. Tongue frozen over like a pond in January. Silent as the grave. Quiet as—”

“I get the point.” Millie used a firmer tone than normal. Sometimes Violet could get carried away.

Albert tore his gaze away from the television to give her a questioning glance. She waved him back to his show and headed into the kitchen.

“As a church mouse,” Violet finished stubbornly.

Millie sighed.

“There's definitely something going on,” her friend continued. “Sharon talked my ear off about the need for overseeing the government, and pressured me to agree. When I refused to say either way, she got stubborn.”

The only light in the kitchen shone from beneath the microwave, casting a homey yellow glow throughout the room. Millie slid into a chair. “What could they be up to?”

“I don't know, but I'm sure it's not good.” A pause. “Millie, what side are you on, really?”

“Albert and I are officially neutral. We're both against giving the contract to Little Norm, but I'd never say that publicly. I couldn't hurt Eulie's feelings like that.” Something in Violet's question sounded hesitant. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing.”

A long pause, which Millie endured patiently. Normally her friend was quick to speak and quite verbose. When she took her time with words, a great deal of contemplation was going on beneath all those salt-and-pepper curls.

Finally, Violet continued. “What Sharon said kinda made sense. This may have started out being about Little Norm, but it's bigger now. I mean, our City Council
is
made up of regular people. Our neighbors. Shouldn't they have rules about spending tax money?”

It sounded like Hazel and Sharon had been talking.

“I think they do. I mean, they must have.” Political discussions, even with her best friend, always left Millie feeling uncomfortable. She
should
know more than she did about her government, should make a point of educating herself. Instead, she was content to cast her vote and let others decide. “Anyway, the mayor leads them. I trust him, don't you?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation, and with a hint of relief. “I do trust Jerry.”

“And besides,” Millie said slowly, thoughts solidifying as she spoke, “if I were making the rules about spending taxpayer money, I would want the Council to do exactly what they're doing. Shop around. Look for bargains.”

“Like we do when we're shopping for a new washer and dryer.”

“Exactly.”

Or a new roof. She glanced over her shoulder, toward the den.
Maybe I will get one or two estimates besides Justin's.

“And if I were in the market for a new washer and dryer,” Violet went on, “I wouldn't limit my shopping to Goose Creek.”

Millie chuckled. “If you did, you'd be using a scrub board and stringing a clothesline in the backyard.”

“True fact.” Violet's laughter sounded lighter than a moment before. “Okay, so unofficially we side with the mayor. Officially, though—”

“We're Switzerland,” Millie said.

“Huh?”

She smiled. At least she knew a
little
about politics. “We're neutral,” she explained.

“Hey, I like that. We're so Swiss we're full of holes.”

“Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that.”

While they shared a final laugh, Rufus waddled into the room. On his way to his corner cushion he paused beside her chair and looked up, a patient request in his eyes. Disconnecting the call, she obliged by rubbing behind his ear. An unpleasant odor wafted toward her. Sniffing her hand, she wrinkled her nose.

“Do you need another bath already?”

One thing about Rufus. He wasn't as slow-witted as Albert claimed. At the dreaded word, he tucked his tail and scurried from the room.

Mayor Jerry Selbo went to bed at eleven o'clock, as usual. When the red digits on the alarm clock read 12:00, he slipped out of bed, taking care not to disturb Cindie.

In the seven years since his entrance into local politics, first with two terms on the Council and then as mayor, he'd never lost sleep over an issue. This water tower situation had taken over his professional life, and now was interfering with his personal life as well.

It'll be over soon.

Though the RFB had just gone out on Friday, they'd already received their first response via e-mail. No one knew it, hopefully. Sally had taken a vow of secrecy, not that she was eager to discuss the water tower with anyone. She hated conflict. If she didn't resign before this was over, he'd be surprised.

I would too, if I thought I could get away with it.

Creeping down the stairs, he stepped over the squeaky fifth step and descended to the main floor in silence. He slipped into the living room, but didn't turn on the light. Normally he would pick up one of his guitars and lose his tension in the music, but he didn't want to wake Cindie. Instead, he headed for his recliner. The house felt stuffy tonight. He detoured to crack open one of the small windows on each side of the large bay window, and stood for a moment breathing in the cool midnight air before sinking into his recliner.

At least there was one benefit from this contentious affair—the decision about making another run for mayor next year had been made for him. The water tower controversy had shot a fatal bullet through his political career. He wasn't sure whether to be upset or relieved.

He must have fallen asleep, because what seemed like moments later he jerked upright. The display on the DVR box read 12:33. What had awakened him? A muffled exclamation. Real, or had he dreamed it?

Hissing whispers from outside drifted through the window. Not a dream, then. Instinct shot him to his feet, but he stood there, hesitant. Should he make a dash for the kitchen phone? Run upstairs and barricade himself and Cindie in the bedroom?

“Shut yer trap, you idjit!”

The words, uttered by a familiar voice, decided him. Keeping to the shadows, he crept closer to the open window. Why in the world was Norman Pilkington slinking around his house in the middle of the night?

“I think I broke something,” came the reply. Also familiar. But who?

“Don't tell me I'm gonna hafta carry you outta here, 'cause I ain't a-doin' it.”

“Not on me,” the second voice said. “One of them garden thingies. I felt it crunch under my boot.”

Jerry winced. One of Cindie's garden gnomes had also fallen victim to the water tower controversy.

“Fergit it,” Norman commanded. “Heft that there brick.”

Brick? Jerry straightened. Time to end this. He turned toward the door, ready to jerk it open and confront the trespassers. A loud
bang!
sounded as something hit the front door, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Dang, Junior! I coulda throwed it better'n that. You plumb missed the whole winder.”

Junior Watson. Yes, that was the voice.

“Didn't wanna break the winder. That woulda cost the mayor a bundle to fix.”

Norman gave a loud groan. “You really is a idjit. C'mon. Let's git outta here. He'll git the message in the morning.”

Jerry followed their progress by the sound of Norman insulting Junior's intelligence. When silence once again settled outside, he opened the front door. An ugly scratch would have to be repaired, but he had extra paint. On the doormat lay a paper-wrapped brick.

Back inside, he flipped on a table lamp. Removing the rubber band, he held the note beneath the lampshade.

Dear Mayor and City Council,

We ain't about to let you get away with hiring no outsiders. Come Saturday you'll see we mean business.

Jerry let out a resigned sigh. If the note had been from anyone else, he might have felt threatened. He'd still have to show the sheriff, of course, but only as a precautionary measure. The man couldn't be planning anything too violent or illegal. After all, how could anyone feel threatened when the culprit had signed his note?

Sincerely,