The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (21 page)

Norman Pilkington, Sr.

Dog Cookies

1 cup old-fashioned oatmeal

⅓
cup butter

1½ cups boiling water, divided

2 tsp bouillon granules (chicken or beef, depending on your dog's taste)

1 cup sharp Cheddar cheese, shredded

¾ cup cornmeal

1 beaten egg

2 tsp sugar

3 cups whole wheat flour

Preheat oven to 350° and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. Combine oatmeal, butter, and 1 cup water. In a separate bowl, combine cornmeal, sugar, ½ cup water, bouillon, cheese, and egg. Stir that combination into the oatmeal mixture and blend thoroughly. Add flour a little at a time, stirring to form a stiff dough. Turn onto a floured surface and knead a bit until fully blended. Roll out and cut with squirrel-shaped cookie cutters. (Feel free to use your dog's favorite shapes.) Bake for approximately 40 minutes. Cookies will turn golden brown. Remove parchment paper to counter to cool.

Chapter Fourteen

A
n eerie tension settled over Goose Creek. Being out of town for the better part of each day, Al only had Millie's word to go on. Her description of the furtive glances exchanged by passersby on the streets and the veiled references to Saturday's mysterious event made Al almost glad to escape to his job.

Almost.

Thacker made the office more unbearable than ever. He apparently believed that he and Al were now buddies since, as he announced to everyone, “We're going to be fellow geese, flying in the same flock.” Most disturbing of all was his loud and often-repeated rendition of the theme song from
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood
.

“No!” Al wanted to shout over the cubical wall. “It is
not
a beautiful day in the neighborhood. And I do
not
want to be your neighbor.”

Saturday arrived with a glorious sunrise, which Al witnessed from his lounge chair on the back deck. He and Millie wrapped themselves in fleece blankets to ward off the pre-dawn chill and sipped hazelnut coffee while God showed off by splashing color from His shining palette onto a sky full of wispy clouds.

A happy sigh issued from his wife. “Just think, Albert. In a few weeks we'll be sitting on our
verandah
and watching the sunrise over the lake.”

“It's a pond,” he informed her, “and the
back porch
faces west.”

She cast a scowl sideways, and then brightened. “I've been thinking about names for our B&B.”

“We're a long way from needing a name.”

“I know, but I don't want to keep calling it the Updyke house. How does Woodburn Manor strike you?”

A shudder rippled through him. “The place is an ancient tinderbox. I'd rather avoid any mention of burning wood.”

“Good point,” she conceded. “How about Beautiful Dreamer B&B?”

“Too cutesy.”

“Bluegrass Estates?”

“Too generic.”

“What about Lakeview Manor?”

He raised an eyebrow. “There's no lake, therefore no lake view.”

“Don't be an old poop.” With an exasperated glance, she burrowed further into her blanket. “What do you suggest?”

“Haven't given it any thought.” He cradled the warm mug and regarded the lightening sky. “What about Mother Goose Inn?”

“Albert, be serious.”

“I am,” he teased. “You could be Mother Goose.” A thought occurred to him, and he sobered. “Or maybe Old Mother Hubbard, and we'll have to live in a shoe because the repairs will bankrupt us. What time are we meeting this fellow?”

“Nine-thirty.” She twisted around and squinted through the window toward the clock inside. “Just over two hours.”

The sun was fully up now, though hiding behind the Andersons' house. Al glowered in that direction. Today he would commit the first of a great many expenditures that posed a threat to his financial security. The bid from the handyman in Frankfort was far less than he'd expected, though he didn't admit that to Millie. He'd be inclined to hire Hinkle based on that alone, regardless of the fact that the other two bids Millie obtained weren't nearly as comprehensive as his. Woody's brother-in-law didn't even bother to inspect the place, but had requested that Millie e-mail him pictures.

Millie was watching him with a pensive expression. “You
will
be nice, won't you?”

His chin jutted forward. “I'm always nice.”

After a long blank stare, she burst into laughter. Chuckling, she unwrapped herself from her cocoon and headed for the house. Offended, he did not get up to open the door for her.

Hinkle was already there when they arrived. Though the temperature was still a brisk fifty-one degrees, they'd decided to walk the four blocks. Rufus, putting on a show of obedience for Millie's benefit, trotted sedately alongside them, his nose working overtime to smell every clump of grass growing in the cracks of the long driveway. They approached a motorcycle parked near the front door, chrome gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. A full-face helmet hung from the handle grip. Fascinated, Rufus gave the bike a thorough inspection.

A denim-clad young man rounded the corner of the house, his smile widening when he caught sight of Millie. “Hello ma'am.” His gaze switched to Al. “Mr. Richardson, I'm Justin Hinkle.”

The guy had a firm handshake and looked Al directly in the eye. A sign of honesty, he'd taught his boys.

“Nice bike.” Al gestured toward the motorcycle. “They stopped making the Bad Boy in the mid-nineties, didn't they?”

“That's right. This one's a '96.” The young man looked at him with interest. “Do you ride?”

Al shook his head. “I always wanted to, but…” He cast a sideways glance at Millie, who managed to look disapproving and friendly at the same time.

Hinkle gave him a sympathetic look, and then, demonstrating a keen sense of diplomacy, changed the subject. “Thanks for meeting me. I wanted to go over a couple of points on the list and make sure I understand the priorities.”

“Pretty simple,” Al said. “Do only what's necessary, and do it cheaply.”

Millie gave him a sharp look. “Expense is a consideration, of course, but we don't want to cut corners if it will affect the quality. We'll be opening a bed and breakfast, so we want things done right.”

“Yes, ma'am. I understand.” He unlatched a leather sidesaddle on the bike and pulled out a clipboard. Flipping the top sheet over, he ran a finger down the second. “In your e-mail you said the roof is number one. After that, you want me to focus on the kitchen and the back bedroom on the main floor.”

“That's right.” Millie stretched her neck to glance at his paper. “We want those rooms livable, and then after we move in we'll work on the rest. While we're here, I want to ask you about the window in the back. It's probably easiest to show you.”

She pushed the leash into Al's hand and the two of them headed for the backyard. Not about to be left out, Rufus trotted after her, dragging Al behind.

They rounded an overgrown evergreen at the back corner of the house. Before them stretched the vast unkempt lawn leading to the pond. Their arrival startled a herd of squirrels foraging in the grass. Al saw them a split second before Rufus and dropped the leash, thereby avoiding certain injury.

Barking like a crazed creature, the beagle charged toward the nearest rodent. A dozen gray heads rose and squirrels scurried in all directions. Rufus almost overtook the nearest one before it gave a heroic leap and scampered up the knobby bark of a tree. Not deterred in the least, the dog sprinted to the next tree, and then the next, voicing his anger in frenzied woofs and growls. One squirrel, braver or perhaps stupider than the others, paused eight feet up the trunk of a tall oak, turned, and eyed the furious dog, its bushy tail twitching. To Al, it looked like the creature was taunting his would-be attacker.

Watching the show from the sidelines, Hinkle laughed. “That dog sure does hate squirrels, doesn't he?”

Eyeing Rufus with something that came as close to approval as he ever got, Al muttered grimly, “That makes two of us.”

They left Hinkle making notes on his clipboard and headed downtown. Though Al typically hung out at Cardwell's on Saturday mornings without Millie, she suggested that, since they were already out, she accompany him.

“Do you mind a short detour?” Millie asked him. “I want to drop by the animal clinic.”

Al raised his eyebrows. “Haven't you spent enough time there this week?”

“I want Susan to smell Rufus.” Her nose wrinkled as she eyed the oblivious animal trotting along at her side. “It can't hurt, and she could use the business.”

Business? Surely she didn't intend to pay good money for the odiferous hound? Doc always did his exams for free. He opened his mouth to voice his objection, but at the rock-hard look she gave him, closed it again. She'd become almost obsessive about the new veterinarian's lack of customers. Besides, twenty or thirty bucks was a mere drop in the deluge that was about to hit their bank account.

The sun had yet to have much effect on the temperature, so the brisk walk to the animal clinic got their blood pumping and warmed Millie to a comfortable level. More traffic than normal traveled Goose Creek's narrow streets. She counted a dozen cars driving down Walnut Street.