The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (5 page)

Al had learned to walk through town with his gaze lowered.

Mayor Selbo set his juice down untasted. Only those seated with him saw the slight tremble of his hand. Al felt a flash of sympathy at
the mayor's resigned expression. By nature he was a mild-mannered man with a deep desire to please his constituents, and went to great lengths to avoid confrontation. There seemed to be no way to avoid this one, though.

Drawing a deep breath, Jerry turned sideways in his chair to face Norman. “I've received a complaint about the peeling paint on the water tower. It needs to be repainted.”

“Last few winters've been hard 'uns on paint. My barn's peelin' too.” Norman glanced around and received a few hesitant nods.

Al kept his gaze averted. No doubt everyone in the room shared the same thought. Norman's son had painted his father's tobacco barn around the same time as the water tower.

Norman reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cell. “I'll jist give Little Norm a call. See when he can squeeze the job in. He's stayin' right busy these days, ya know.”

Norman began to punch numbers on his phone while everyone else shot cautious glances at the mayor.

Jerry's eyes fluttered shut while he sucked in another breath and cleared his throat. “Of course he's welcome to submit a bid, same as everyone else.”

A scowl descended over Norman's face, and his finger paused mid-punch. “Whaddya mean, a bid?”

“The town council's announcing a request for bids for the job of painting the water tower. At the April meeting we'll consider the ones we've received and make a decision on who gets awarded the contract.”

Norman's spine stiffened. “Are you settin' there tellin' me that you're thinkin' a hirin' somebody 'sides Little Norm?”

“Yes, we are.” Al gained new respect for their mayor when the man met Norman's gaze without flinching. “When it comes to spending the town's money we need to avoid the appearance of favoritism. So we're taking bids, and the council will vote on them.”

The silence with which Norman received the news set Al shifting in his chair.

“Well.” Norman pocketed his phone and slid off his stool. “We'll see 'bout that.”

The bells gave an extra-loud jangle when he slammed the door behind him. A collective sigh was expelled from those who remained.

“Sorry, Jerry,” Jacob muttered.

With a final glance after Norman, the mayor picked up his orange juice. “Had to happen sooner or later. At least now it's over and done.”

Al refrained from answering. Judging by the look on Norman Pilkington's face, the matter was far from over.

Chapter Four

A
l gritted his teeth as his tires bounced through a pothole in the long driveway leading to the Updyke place. The blacktop had so many cracks it looked like a jigsaw puzzle. Jagged lines of weeds pushed through the gaps, some over a foot tall. This disaster of a driveway was a total loss. No amount of patching could repair the mess.

“Oh, Albert, look at that lovely old tree!” Millie turned from the passenger window to fix sparkling eyes on him.

He glanced at the object of her admiration, a giant oak near the corner of the house. The thing had to be at least fifty feet tall. From the looks of it, it hadn't been trimmed since it was planted. Twisted branches poked out from the trunk in all directions, and gnarled roots as big around as his leg crept across the ground toward the porch.

“It's too close to the house,” he commented. “See where the branches are rubbing the roof?”

“Those can be trimmed. Just imagine what it will look like in a few weeks when the leaves come in. It'll shade that whole side of the house.” She grinned. “That will keep the electricity bill down.”

Al ignored her, warming instead to his dire prediction. “Look how it's leaning. It's so old it's probably rotted out inside. At the first strong wind it'll come crashing through the roof.”

She gave him the steady look that always preceded a sharp retort,
and he braced himself. Her lips tightened but remained still, and she turned back to her window.

So, that's how this would go. She had determined to blithely ignore any rational observations he made. Did she think that attitude would temper his comments? He'd warned her of his intentions last night, and his resolve had not changed.

A car turned into the driveway behind them as Al rolled to a halt near the boarded-up bay window.

“There's Louise, right on time.”

Millie unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door the moment he cut the engine. Before he'd even gotten out of the car, she trotted over to stand in the unmowed grass, waiting for the realtor to park.

Louise Gaitskill emerged from her shiny red Camry with a folder in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other. A slender blonde, she would have towered a full head above Millie even without the spike-heeled shoes that contorted her feet into an impossible angle. As the two women hugged, Al shook his head. How her dogs must ache at night when she kicked those ridiculous contrivances off and descended to earth. Thank goodness his wife had better sense.

Of course, the fact that he was here, ready to look through this atrocity of a house, proved that Millie's good sense did not extend to real estate.

Al slid out of his seat and pocketed the keys. Might as well get the ordeal over with.

Millie turned at his approach. “Albert, you know Louise, don't you?”

The realtor shoved a pair of sunglasses up on her head and pasted a bright smile on lips the same color as her Camry. “Of course. Nice to see you again, Mr. Richardson.” She tucked the folder beneath one arm and extended her hand.

Al always approached a handshake with a woman with an awkward feeling of caution. How hard should he squeeze? Too much pressure and they might interpret the gesture as a show of male dominance.
On the other hand, some ladies approached a handshake like a football tackle, and he never could decide what they were trying to prove with such a firm grip. Others melted limply in the moment of contact, and what did that mean?

“Call me Al,” he mumbled as he made a grab at her fingers and gave them a quick shake. Then he shoved his hand into the safety of his trouser pocket.

“Al, then.” Another blinding smile. She had obviously bleached her teeth recently. “I'm excited to show you this property. I think you'll agree it has tremendous potential.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Potential for what?”

She splayed her free hand wide. “Why, for whatever you want to do with it.”

Best get this out in the open right up front. “I don't want to do anything with it. The yard is a shambles, and far too big for us. The roof needs replacing, and it's obvious to anyone with a set of eyes in his head that the house is in a sad state of disrepair. In my opinion it's an antique atrocity.”

After a nearly imperceptible pause, Louise's already-bright smile gained a kilowatt or two. “Valid concerns, and definitely something you and Millie need to discuss before making a decision. This property is what we'd call a fixer-upper. Now, if you'll follow me.”

She swiveled on one spiked heel and headed for the front steps. Millie trailed after her, leaving Al alone on the crumbling blacktop. So that's how it was going to be. He studied the women chatting amicably while Louise unlocked the front door. Obviously, she and Millie were in cahoots. They'd both decided to ignore his protests and act as though buying this property were an actual possibility. By doing so, no doubt they hoped to dull his determination, to lure him gradually to their way of thinking.

Well, he would not tamely concede the victory in this battle.

Setting his jaw, he marched up the stairs after them.

Louise pushed the door open and stood aside. Millie crossed the threshold and stopped, her gaze sweeping the entry hall. The magnificent staircase dominated the room, demanding the admiration of everyone who entered. It swept upward, turned, and then continued toward the second floor bedrooms. A railing ran alongside a generous landing above. She closed her eyes, picturing the charming Queen Anne sofa she would place at the top of those stairs. A spindly-legged side table with a giant vase of flowers would add the perfect touch. Was there room for a small bookshelf? She'd like to have an assortment of antique books on the shelves, and maybe a second table with a reading lamp. The lampshade would be stained glass, of course.

“Good golly, look at that banister!” Behind her, Albert gave a long, low whistle.

Millie swiveled toward him to voice an enthusiastic comment about the ornate carving on the railings, but bit the words back when she caught sight of his scowl. She turned again to the staircase. “What's wrong with it? I think it's lovely.”

“Lovely?” In two strides he crossed the floor—original poplar hardwood that would be gorgeous when refinished—and put a hand on the railing. He gave it a jerk, and turned a look of triumph on her when the wood creaked and wobbled. “It's unsafe. The whole thing needs to be replaced.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Behind them, Louise shut the door. “It needs a bit of tightening up for sure, but that's all. Besides, look at the handiwork on those newel posts. You can't buy handcrafted work like that these days. And why would you want to? With a little bit of elbow grease it will be as gorgeous as the day it was built.”

Al opened his mouth, and judging by the crevices on his forehead he wasn't about to agree with her. Louise didn't give him a chance, but pulled a sheet of paper out of her folder and thrust it into his hands.

“Here's the spec sheet on the property. I think you'll find all the pertinent information there.” She extracted a second sheet and handed it to Millie with a quick smile.

Millie dutifully scanned the page, though she already had a copy tucked away in her magazine rack at home.

A choking sound from Al's direction drew her attention. “
Eight hundred thousand dollars?
”

With his eye sockets open that wide, he resembled Mrs. Tolliver's pug, Chumley.

“Seven ninety-eight,” Louise corrected calmly. “After all, it is located in the historic district. And I'm confident the sellers are willing to flex a little on the price point.”

“They'd better be willing to flex a lot! This is no fixer-upper. I'd call it a knock-down-and-do-over.” Albert turned his bug-eyed stare on Millie. “Six bedrooms? You can't be serious. What in the world would we do with six bedrooms?”

Now was when she needed to remain levelheaded and stick to her plan. Albert was one of the most intelligent men she knew, and quick to spot what he would no doubt refer to as one of her schemes. One wrong answer at this stage would set his mind down a path she wasn't yet ready to reveal.

She settled herself and replied calmly. “The grandchildren are growing, Albert. We can't have them camping out on the living room floor forever. And of course each married couple deserves a private bedroom when they come for Christmas Eve. Alison's husband won't be stationed in Europe forever, and then we'll be even more crowded.”

“So let them go home after dinner! The boys only live a couple of hours away. It's about time for them to develop their own Christmas traditions anyway.”