The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (9 page)

That is, if any of them ever returned. She tried to ignore the tug of gloom as, one by one, they bid farewell to Doc and even Millie with words that held a note of finality. One lady even hesitated in the doorway before exiting, her gaze circling the reception area, and said wistfully, “What a shame. I've always liked this place.”

When Daddy called tonight, she'd ask his advice. After all, as the primary funder of her new business, he had a right to know the challenges she faced. And maybe he'd be able to offer a helpful suggestion or two.

The dog-shaped clock on the wall above the reception desk had just barked eleven times when the front door opened. Seated in the Kuddly Kittie room, Susan looked up from her perusal of a
Cat Fancy
magazine. Maybe she'd be allowed to examine
this
animal. Doc had announced his intention to run down the street for a soda, leaving her in charge for a few minutes, but the two pet owners who arrived after he left had informed her that they weren't in a hurry. They were currently installed in exam rooms one and two, waiting for Doc's return.

The man who entered wore a scowl that rested naturally on his heavy-browed features. And he had no pet in evidence. Instead, he carried a spiral notebook.

Millie smiled a greeting. “Hello, Norman. I heard you might be stopping by.”

“Figgered.” The man slumped forward and slammed his notebook down on the counter. “You-uns gonna sign?”

The pleasant expression on the receptionist's face did not change. “I've spoken with Albert, and we'd prefer not to get involved.”

Norman emitted a low-throated growl. “Live here, doncha? Gotta get involved. Cain't let the government tell us how we're gonna live. Got forty-three names right here says I ain't the only one who thinks so.”

Susan lowered the magazine to her lap. The man was circulating a petition of some sort.

“The Council isn't trying to tell us how to live.” The gently chiding tone Millie used might have been appropriate for a kindergarten teacher explaining why he must share the crayons with the other children. “They're only trying to make a fair decision.”

“Bah! They's giving business to outsiders. Creeker money ought to stay in the Creek, where it'll do some good for the town.”

Her ears perked up. Whatever the issue was, if it concerned Goose Creek, it concerned her business. She stood and dropped the magazine into the wall rack on her way to join the conversation at the counter.

“Hello.” She gave the man a bright smile and extended her hand. “I'm Dr. Susan Jeffries.”

The man's scowl deepened, his eyebrows descending to almost obscure his close-set eyes. “The new animal doc?”

“That's right. And as a new business owner in Goose Creek, I'm interested in hearing what you have to say.”

Millie rolled her desk chair to one side so she was behind Norman. Wide-eyed, she began a silent pantomime, shaking her head and holding a finger over her lips. What did the woman mean? Surely she didn't have a problem with her new boss becoming civic-minded.

Susan's gaze jerked back to Norman when he raised a crooked finger and jabbed it toward her face. “You are jest what I'm talkin' about. Somebody ought to take Doc out behind the barn and wallop him a good un.”

The grease-caked fingernail stabbed alarmingly close to Susan's nose, and she took an involuntary step backward. “Excuse me?”

“Ain't no excuse for ye, comin' in here expecting us to hand over our hard-earned money so's you can take it back to wherever you're from, when we got people right here in this town who's trying to make a decent living.”

“B-but I'm moving to Goose Creek. As soon as I find a place to live I'm going to break my lease and move here.”

“Yeah?” The man dismissed her protest with a wave of the accusing finger. “Don't be too quick about that. They's lots of Creekers don't take kindly to strangers, even strangers with fancy degrees.”

With a final glare, the man whirled and stomped away. The door slammed behind him.

Dumbfounded, Susan stared at the swinging mini blinds. After her reception from the Goose Creek pet owners she'd met today, his words rang like the gongs of prophecy in her ears.

“Don't mind Norman.” Millie glanced toward the door. “The town council has wedged a burr under his saddle. It's nothing to do with you. Do you drink tea, dear?”

“What?” Susan shook her head and turned to the receptionist. “Um, yes. Sometimes.”

Millie opened a drawer and extracted a box of chamomile. “I'll just zap some water in the microwave and we'll have a cuppa while I explain.”

Chapter Seven

A
l stared morosely at the figures displayed on his computer monitor. His retirement accounts, so carefully managed over the years, were in danger of being squandered. If he conceded to this scheme of Millie's, he'd be working for the rest of his life just to put food on their table and keep a roof over their heads. A roof that would probably decimate at least one of his IRA accounts.

A face appeared over the top of the cubicle wall and fixed him with a smirky grin. “'Sup, Bert?”

Al set his teeth. Several years ago he'd stopped reacting to Franklin Thacker's attempt to needle him by calling him
Bert
. Correcting the guy merely resulted in that irritating guffaw of his. Retaliation had also proved ineffective, since addressing his cubicle neighbor as
Lin
only encouraged him. Instead, Al had settled into an approach of patient endurance. Thacker was a temporary annoyance, and best treated as such.

“Working.” He clipped the word short and stared solidly at his monitor. Sometimes ignoring Thacker made him go away.

Unfortunately, not today.

The man folded his arms across the top of the cubicle and rested his chin on them. “Heard you and the little woman took a boat ride yesterday.”

Uh oh. Here it came. He'd been waiting all day for the canoe story
to make its way around the office. Al turned his expression to stone and did not respond.

“Real romantic, I heard. A picnic on the water and all. Yep. Only one thing, though.” Thacker's smirk deepened. “Next time you want to score points with the missus, instead of a ham sandwich you might want to give her an umbrella.”

He erupted into guffaws punctuated by snorts. To make matters worse, answering chuckles sounded from within several of the nearby cubicles. Al drowned them out with the noise of his teeth grinding against one another.

Still snorting, Thacker withdrew.

If Al had to pinpoint one single thing he would enjoy most about his long-anticipated retirement, it was that he would never have to lay eyes on Franklin Thacker again.

“I'm worried about her,” Millie told Violet that afternoon. “When I left the clinic at noon she looked so down.”

Seated at the table in Millie's comfy kitchen, the ladies were engaged in a ritual they practiced on Mondays and Thursdays: afternoon tea with fancy treats just like the queen of England had every day. The mini scone recipe she'd found in an old church cookbook—and tweaked, of course—had turned out better than she hoped.

Violet plucked a second scone from the middle tier of the silver serving tray. “You know how Creekers are about outsiders. That gal is about as welcome here as a skunk at a lawn party.”

Unfortunately, Violet was correct. With a sigh, Millie helped herself to another cucumber-and-cream-cheese finger sandwich. “She's so young. If people don't accept her immediately, I'm afraid she'll take it personally.”

“Timid as a field mouse, is she?”

“No, not timid.” Millie dismembered her sandwich and wiped off the excess cheese. Violet always slathered on too much for her taste.
“She's rather intense. Pays very close attention when people talk, and doesn't smile much.”

“Gets along better with animals than with people,” Violet observed with more insight than usual.

“Exactly. At least, I imagine so. The poor girl wasn't given much chance to interact with the animals. Delores must have called everyone in town the moment she got home.” Millie replaced the top slice of rye and wiped cream cheese from her knife on the side of her hand-painted dessert plate. “I don't know what we'll do when Doc and Lizzie move away. I'm afraid everyone will take their pets to a vet in Lexington.”

Violet cocked her head and examined her half-eaten scone. “Maybe I'll bite the bullet and get me a cat. I've been thinking of it for some time.”

The idea of a cat sharpening its claws on Violet's already-worn sofa and leaping from one dusty, cluttered table to the next sent a shiver down Millie's back. Though Violet was her best friend in the world, she was not an immaculate housekeeper.

Sometimes friendship required brutal honesty. She set down her sandwich and leaned across the table to catch her friend's eye. “You don't vacuum often enough, dear. Think of the cat hair.”

Violet shrugged, not offended in the slightest. “You're probably right. Besides, Rufus wouldn't like living next door to a cat. I'm sure they'd fight”—she grinned—“like cats and dogs.”

With a moan, Millie retrieved her sandwich. “If you mention rain at this point,” she told her friend, “I will shove the rest of these scones in your mouth.”

Violet laughed and reached for her teacup. “We'll have to come up with another way to help your new boss. Perhaps a postcard giving every pet a free checkup?”

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. “We'd have to put an expiration date on it. We don't want the poor girl conducting free exams for the next five years.”

“And a limit,” Violet warned. “One pet per household. Otherwise John Wayne will bring all fourteen of his hounds.”

The more she considered the idea of an introductory special offer, the more Millie liked it. “You know, that might work. I'll mention it to her and Doc tomorrow.” She sipped fragrant tea, Earl Grey this time, and set her dainty cup in its saucer.

Violet gathered a handful of nuts from the top serving tier. “Has Al called today?”

At the mention of her husband's name, Millie's appetite fled. She set her unfinished sandwich down again and slid her plate away. “No, and I expected him to call and apologize for being such a grouch all evening.”

“I'm sorry.” Her friend gave her an understanding smile and then lowered her gaze. “What's good for the goose is good for the gander, you know. And vicey-versa.”

True, she could have called Albert at the office with her own apology. After all, she hadn't been very friendly last night either. Their cold shower in the lake had done nothing to cool her anger, and she'd maintained a rigid posture all the way home, staring out the passenger window with her back turned to her husband as far as the seatbelt would allow. For the first time in decades, they had gone to bed without speaking. Even now, the thought of their disagreement fanned angry embers that had not quite burned themselves out.

“Imagine!” she blurted. “Me, roaming around the country in a travel trailer. Cooking on a camp stove and showering in a closet. Where did he come up with such an idea?”

“Men are from Mars.” Violet nodded sagely. “And women—”