The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (28 page)

“Good. Rufus could use some exercise too.”

At the mention of his name, thereby proving that his hearing loss was entirely selective, Rufus trotted in from the kitchen. Al wrinkled his nose.

“Phew. You said you've been following him around the yard to make sure he doesn't…” He shuddered. “You know.”

“I have. I promise.” She splayed her hands, looking perplexed.

“You stink,” he told the dog, who pranced like an idiot, as though he'd been paid a compliment.

“I've got a couple more.” He knew without asking what she was referring to. Her efforts to come up with a name for their bed and breakfast had begun to border on obsession. “What about Ashwood?”

“Ash and wood together are as bad as wood and burn.”

“Sunset Manor?”

He scrunched his nose. “Sounds like a retirement home. Keep trying.”

With a grumble she went for the leash while he got his jacket. “While you're there, you might ask why he and Susan haven't gone out again.”

The ludicrous thought elicited a laugh. “I most certainly will not.”

“I don't mean you should pry,” she hurried to say. “But if the chance arises.”

“It won't.” He zipped his jacket. “That's their business, not ours.”

She stooped to snap the leash on Rufus's collar and continued as if he had not spoken. “They are obviously attracted to each other. I hope they aren't letting that whole business with the kidnapping accusation stand in the way of romance.”

“If I were you, I wouldn't meddle in my boss's love life.”

Hands on her hips, she gave him a mock-scowl. “Honestly, Albert, you act as if I didn't know enough to be subtle.” A thought occurred to her, and a frown creased her brow. “Speaking of subtlety, never mind. Don't say anything. You'd probably bungle the whole conversation.”

Torn between offense and relief, Al took the leash and left the house.

The walk to the Updyke place—he refused to call it a Manor—warmed Al to the point that he unzipped his jacket. An enjoyable breeze carried the scents of spring and blew away the pungent odor of the dog that trotted along beside him. Al approached the house with a lighter spirit, pleased to see three pickup trucks lining the long drive. Four men knelt in pairs at opposite ends of the steepest part of the roof, the
tat-tat-tat
of a nail gun rising from their work. Another two worked on the ground carrying bundles of shingles from a truck bed and tossing them on the ground near an extension ladder.

At their approach, one of the workers broke away and headed toward them. Al recognized Justin.

“Hey, Mr. Richardson. Stop by to make sure we're earning our paychecks?” The comment was delivered good-naturedly and accompanied by a firm handshake.

“You're making good progress.” Al nodded toward a newly roofed section. The onyx laminate was a good choice. The black was attractive against the white siding, and the neat, even rows put him at ease.

“We're on schedule. The hardest part is getting those old slate shingles off. They're a bear to remove, especially with the slope. Oh, and we finished the back awning yesterday. Want to take a look?”

“Sure.”

They headed toward the back, rounding a row of overgrown lilac bushes that had bloomed since the last time Al visited. The intoxicating aroma filled his senses, and he noted with pleasure that the blossoms were a combination of deep purple, delicate lavender, and white. They needed pruning, of course, but with a bit of attention they would be glorious.

They surprised a swarm of squirrels. Al dropped Rufus's leash and looked on approvingly as the dog raced after them, barking like a fiend.

“These support columns aren't as bad as I thought.” Justin slapped the nearest post with a solid thud. “I was afraid I'd have to shore them up before we did any work up there, but they're sturdy. Some sanding and paint, and they'll be good as new.”

“That's one piece of good news, anyway. Something that
doesn't
have to be repaired.” Al tried not to look sour, but apparently failed because Justin laughed.

“Feeling the pinch already?”

Al scowled. “When the realtor called this a fixer-upper, she was being kind.”

Rufus bounded back to them with something in his mouth.

“What have you found, pup?” Justin squatted on his haunches and took the object from between the dog's teeth. It was a tennis ball, old and dirt-covered, but still inflated. “Do you play fetch?”

Rufus pranced in place, eyes fixed on the ball.

“Okay, then.” Justin stood and cocked his arm. “Go get it.”

The ball soared long and high, Rufus in hot pursuit. It bounced once before the hound reached it, but then he leaped and snagged it midair before it touched the ground a second time.

Impressed, Al gave a low whistle. “I've never seen him move like that.”

“You didn't train him?”

Al shook his head as Rufus raced back to them, dropped the ball at Justin's feet, and then took a backward step, tail pummeling the air. “He was dropped off at the animal clinic a few years ago. Millie took pity on him and brought him home. I've never played ball with him,” he added, a little guiltily.

Justin threw it again, and Rufus leaped even higher, his body twisting like a gymnast's. Al couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was showing off.

On the third throw, Justin asked casually, “Speaking of the clinic, how is Susan?”

Noting the man's nonchalant manner, Al kept his eye on the dog. “Fine, I guess.” He cast about for something to add. This sort of thing was his wife's forte, not his. “Millie did mention that she enjoyed the motorcycle ride the other day.”

“Did she?” His glance rested on Al a moment before returning to Rufus. “Good to know. Wonder why she hasn't returned my calls.”

Sympathy for the younger man stirred Al to offer an excuse. “Business has picked up at the clinic, according to Millie. Maybe she hasn't had a chance.”

Justin considered that, and then nodded, his expression one of mild relief. He turned a grateful smile toward Al.

A furious fit of barking erupted in the yard. Al looked up in time to see a green and gray blur leap from the ground toward a tree, a snarling Rufus in hot pursuit. The squirrel landed three feet up the tree trunk, tennis ball tucked beneath its chin like a green goiter, and scampered to the lowest branch. There it stopped, peering down at the indignant dog, who threw back his head and howled his fury.

“Wow.” Justin shook his head. “Never saw a squirrel do that before.”

“Maybe we ought to call the place the Gray Squirrel Inn,” Al muttered.

With some trepidation, Al decided to drop by Cardwell's instead of facing the disorder that had descended on his once-peaceful home. Rufus, thoroughly defeated by the trouncing he'd received from the squirrel, trailed behind with a doleful expression. Even the sight of Bill's Labrador and Fred's German shepherd waiting on the sidewalk outside the drugstore failed to cheer him. Al actually felt a little sorry for the miserable canine. He secured the leash at the hitching post and spared the dog a sympathetic pat on the head.

“Perk up, boy. We'll get them eventually.”

Rufus slumped to the sidewalk and rested his head on his paws, apparently unconvinced.

Bells jingled when Al entered, and a half-dozen pairs of eyes fixed on him. A quick scan failed to reveal the one person he'd feared seeing. Thank the good Lord Thacker was not in evidence. Nor, he realized, were Norman and Woody. The knots in his stomach unwound as he selected an empty stool.

He nodded a greeting toward Bill and Fred, and then told Lucy, “Coffee, light. With honey.”

Her lips pursed. “A little late for caffeine, don't you think? You know how it affects you.”

With a quick glance at the clock, he had to admit her comment was justified. Almost three thirty. He'd spent more time at the Updyke place than he'd realized. Staring into Lucy's disapproving frown, he almost insisted that he was a grown man and could therefore enjoy a cup of coffee whenever he wanted. But the unpleasant prospect of a sleepless night won out. Not to mention the fact that she would probably text Millie, who would veto his request.

Meekly he asked, “Got any decaf?”

His reward was an approving smile. “I'll make a fresh pot just for you.” She refilled Fred's iced tea and turned away to do it.

“Quiet day,” commented Bill. “Not like last week.”

“Thank goodness.” Fred dumped a packet of sweetener into his tea and stirred with a straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Surprised me when you joined the fray, Al. Didn't see that coming.”

Al regarded the man. Did his neighbors consider him weak? Unwilling to stand up for what he believed? “What's that supposed to mean?”

Fred answered in a hurry. “Nothing bad. Just surprised me, is all. I mean, you haven't said a word one way or another since this thing started. Not that I've heard, anyway.”

“I took my time deciding,” he replied with dignity.

Beyond Fred, Bill sliced off a piece of pie and speared it with a fork.
“I s'pose since you hired an out-of-towner to handle your repairs, it makes sense you'd side with the Council.”

Al twisted on the stool to face him fully. “That's part of it.”
Not that it's anybody's business who I hire.
“But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this town is failing. As a resident and a future business owner, it's in my best interest if Goose Creek thrives. It's in all our best interests. We're inbred. We need to open our minds to outside ideas, and that means opening our wallets to outside business.”

Lucy applauded, and Al, feeling rather proud, sat taller on his stool. In the past few weeks he'd been so intent on not taking sides that he had not articulated his feelings on the matter, even to himself. Fred's expression remained guarded, but Bill looked thoughtful, and he even gave a slow nod.

The door opened, bells chiming, and Miles breezed in. “'Lo, boys.” He mounted an empty stool. “Heard the news?”

Lucy set a coffee mug in front of Al. “What news is that?”

“The Council's made their decision.”

Everyone turned toward him. Al swiveled his way. “And? Who'd they pick?”

Miles shrugged. “Dunno. I just saw Jerry hanging a notice on the doors of City Hall. There's gonna be a special town meeting on Thursday in the elementary school gymnasium to announce the Council's decision.”

“The elementary school, huh?” Lucy set a bottle of nondairy creamer and a bear-shaped honey container in front of Al. “They must be expecting a crowd. I hope everybody keeps a level head this time.”

Al poured a generous helping of creamer into his cup, turning the dark liquid a milky brown. By everybody, she could only mean one person. But when had Norman ever kept a level head about anything?

Susan stabbed the remote control toward the television and the screen went black. Golf. Yuck. How she dreaded Sunday afternoons.
She should have accepted Millie and Al's invitation to lunch after visiting their church this morning, but she didn't want to inflict her sour mood on the cheerful receptionist.