The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (17 page)

Millie smiled at the girl. She looked so young and…well, helpless. “I'm glad to help.”

With a nod, the veterinarian continued toward her office. “If you need anything from Lexington, let me know. After I close up I'm running over to the pet supply store to pick up saltwater solution and a sea sponge.”

And no charge to Willow, probably. How sweet. If the town knew of Susan's soft heart, they'd welcome her with open arms.

Well, that was something Millie could do—make sure they knew.

“Really, Millie? Franklin Thacker?”

Al fixed a pained expression on his wife. The restaurant booth's light dangled between them, casting a yellowish glow on her face and turning her eyes into dark orbs. Just then her eyebrows were arched innocently above them.

“He seemed friendly enough. And he called you Bert.”

He winced. “He does it to plague me. Did he laugh a lot?”

Her lips twitched sideways. “And snorted.”

With a shudder, Al unrolled his silverware. “He spent the afternoon drilling me about our plans.”

Now her mouth tightened irritably. “Why haven't you told anyone at work about the house being for sale?”

“Because it's none of their business. I prefer to keep my personal and professional lives separate. Especially when it comes to Thacker.” He smoothed the napkin in his lap and changed the subject. “How long do we have to stay gone?”

“A long time, hopefully. That means they like the house.” She laid out her cutlery, knife and spoon on one side, fork on the other, and
then reached across the table to arrange his as well. “Violet is going to text me when they leave.”

A glance at his watch told him the time: five fifty-seven. In three minutes his home would be invaded. Strangers tromping through their bedrooms, inspecting their bathrooms, peeking in their closets. The whole business left him distinctly uncomfortable.

Millie, too, glanced at her watch. “I hope they like Sugar Cookie.”

He cast a startled glance across the booth. “You baked them cookies?” She never baked
him
cookies anymore.

“No, silly. I burned Sugar Cookie scent in my warmer. A pleasant aroma is supposed to welcome people when they step inside. That, and a bright, warm light. I turned all the lights on, and even put some soothing music on the stereo.”

All the lights burning. That dial on the electric meter was probably whirling like a windmill. He held his tongue, but didn't suppress an aggrieved sigh.

The server arrived with their iced tea and set a slab of warm cornbread between them. Al ignored Millie's disapproving frown and ordered a side of mashed potatoes and gravy with his chicken and dumplings. His private property was, at that very moment, being put on public display. He deserved all the starch he wanted. In a minor attempt to erase the crevasses between her eyes, he requested a light vinaigrette for his salad in place of his usual bleu cheese.

The young man left, still writing on his pad, and a woman stepped into his place. Hazel Duncan, who covered reception at the animal clinic on Saturdays. An outspoken liberal, she and Al had butted heads over politics more than once before acknowledging the futility of trying to convince each other. They had maintained a satisfactory arrangement of mutual avoidance for years.

“Millie! Good to see you.” Her gaze traveled the distance of her nose toward Al. “Hello.”

He nodded more or less pleasantly and made a show of selecting a yellow packet from the sugar container.

“We haven't had a chance to talk in ages.” Millie settled back in the high booth and looked up at the woman. “So what do you think of our new boss?”

“Hard to tell.” Hazel scrubbed a hand through her spikey brown locks. “She's kind of a mouse.”

“Oh, no.” Millie rushed to the new vet's defense. “She's a bit hesitant at first, but she has such a good heart.”

“You'd know better since you work with her more.” The woman shrugged, and her gaze slid again toward Al. “So what side have you two come down on?”

Millie and Al exchanged a blank look.

“Side?”

“You know. This water tower thing.” She waved vaguely in the general direction of the unseen tower. “I admit at first I was hesitant to align with Pilkington because…” Her eyes rolled toward the beamed ceiling. “It's Norman, after all. But once I put my noggin to noodling the issue, I agree with him.”

Her words surprised Al out of his determined silence. “You do?” If he'd been asked, he would have pegged Hazel for the give-everybody-a-shot-at-the-job woman.

“Not that I think we ought to hire Little Norm, you understand.” A shudder shook her wide shoulders. “Lord only knows what we'd end up with next time. But I'm all about governmental oversight.” She leaned over and planted her hands on the table. “I mean look what we've got here. A bunch of local yokels sitting around a folding table twice a month and deciding how to spend our tax dollars. We don't even know if they're Democrats or Republicans, just average Joes and Josettes who change diapers during the day and pretend to be politicians at night.”

A direct slap at Diane Hudson, whose third child had just started to toddle.

“I'm sure they do the best they can,” put in his kind-hearted wife.

“'Course they do, but they're untrained. They need rules in place
to keep them honest, that's all I'm saying. They ought to have procedures to follow before they start writing checks.”

Al couldn't hold his tongue. “That's not what Norman is proposing. He believes the city should be forced to hire residents over outsiders.”

Hazel rounded on him, eyes flashing. “So you're against the proposed legislation?”

“I didn't say that.” He splayed his hands in her direction to ward off the accusation. “I'm staying completely neutral. But what you're describing isn't what I understood Norman's position to be.”

She planted a sturdy hand on her hip. “Look, we all know what Norman wants. He wants his kid to make a buck off of Goose Creek.” She shrugged. “If I had a kid, I'd probably want the same thing. But this issue is bigger than the water tower. It's the beginning of change, a step in the right direction. First we get them to agree to follow a set of established rules before they make decisions involving our money.
Then
we work on fine-tuning those rules 'til we get 'em where they should be.”

Twisted logic, but in a way it made sense. Of course, the Council already had procedures, but since he had no idea what they were he couldn't comment on them one way or the other.

The server returned and edged Hazel out of the way to place their salads in front of them.

She continued talking, apparently determined to deliver her opinion whether they wanted to hear it or not. “Which side of the street are you two going to march on? If you take my advice, you'll choose a side and skedaddle over to it quick. 'Cause you know what happens if you stand around in the middle of the street in Goose Creek.” Her gaze ping-ponged between Al and Millie. “You get run over by a train.”

With that parting shot, which Al had to admit was clever, she drifted away. As the server set a miniature pitcher of salad dressing in front of him, a double-ding erupted from Millie's phone. She snatched it up and punched at the screen.

Crestfallen, she looked up at him. “They just left. They didn't even stay fifteen minutes.”

Relief loosened the muscles in Al's neck. A bullet dodged, thank goodness.

But he found it hard to enjoy his chicken and dumplings with Millie looking so crestfallen.

Creating a Healthy Crabitat

Creating a comfy, healthy home for your hermit crab will ensure that he enjoys a long, happy life. You will need:

Container
: Most experts agree that the plastic container your crab came home in is inadequate for his long-term health and happiness. Instead, get him a glass aquarium with a lid.

Substrate
: Hermit crabs like to burrow and crawl. Cover the bottom of your crabitat with terrarium sand, or with a substrate made specifically for hermit crabs.

Water bowl
: Make it shallow enough that he can climb in and out of it easily, and won't drown. Keep the dish filled with bottled or distilled water, which is chlorine-free.

Sponge
: Place a natural sponge in a dish to slow the dehydration process, and keep it saturated with salt water.

Salt Water
: Crabs require both fresh and salt water. You can purchase a salt solution from your local pet store.
Do not
use table salt, which will make your crab sick, or even kill him.

Toys
: Crabs need to roam and climb. Give him rough barks, climbing toys, shelters, and sanitized branches.

Temperature
: The ideal temperature is no lower than 75 degrees. Place your crabitat in a warm corner in your house. Or you can purchase an under-tank heater or a reptile light to regulate the temperature. Do invest in a thermometer so you can make sure your crab isn't too hot or too cold.

Humidity
: Your crab thrives in a sub-tropic environment where the relative humidity is around 70%. To accomplish this, you can purchase a bubble bowl, or simply make it a habit to mist your crabitat daily with warm water.

Extra Shells
: As crabs grow, they leave their old shells and relocate to new ones. Include a few shells in a variety of sizes larger than your crab's current one so he has a bit of choice.

Space
: Crabs also need room to roam in order to burn energy. Make sure your crabitat includes some empty space in case your crab wants to indulge in the occasional sprint.

Food
: For the best results, purchase crab food from your local pet supply store. This will provide all the nutrients your crab needs. Then supplement with natural fruits and vegetables such as berries, bananas, cucumbers, and spinach or kale leaves.

Companions
: Hermit crabs love company! Since you've set up an appropriate crabitat, get a few friends for your crab.

Chapter Twelve

A
ll through the morning, Al puttered around the empty house and struggled to ignore a nagging sense of foreboding. Millie had left him to his own devices and gone off to meet the inspector at the Updyke property. She had not bothered to hide her irritation at his refusal to go along.

“I'm not spending my Saturday watching somebody crawl through insulation and turn on water faucets,” he'd told her. “Saturdays are my only chance to sleep in.”

The clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen rendered sleep an impossibility, so he'd arisen at his usual six-thirty. The noise was definitely an expression of his wife's displeasure, since breakfast turned out to be cold cereal and a piece of toast. Nothing requiring pots
or
pans. Millie's lips had formed a reproving line which she swiped at his cheek in a perfunctory goodbye kiss. At least she'd taken her dog along.

He had just unearthed the box of bird feeders from the shelves that lined the garage when the electric whirr of the opener erupted to life. Sunlight flooded the space, and he watched as the front tire of her pepto-pink Volkswagen rolled to a stop against the two-by-four he kept in place so she wouldn't smash into his workbench. The happy smile she flashed through the windshield tightened a knot in his stomach. Apparently the inspection had gone well.