The Room with the Second-Best View (14 page)

In the week since Justin moved out, Millie had been surprised to find herself struggling with some of the same empty-nest emotions she'd experienced when Alison married and moved to Italy. The sound of Albert's loafers on the floor didn't compare to the stomp of Justin's work boots tromping up the stairs at the end of a long day.

“I'm so glad you were able to come.” Millie turned to welcome her employer with a hug, careful not to disturb the foil-covered pie pan she carried. “You look lovely, dear. That fascinator is very attractive on you.”

Susan preened, an unusual sight for the serious young woman. “I had so much fun picking it out.” She tilted her head to show off the lace and ribbon design clipped in her hair. “I've never shopped for a Derby hat before.”

“That one's a good choice.” She eyed the pie. “And what did you bring to share with us?”

A proud smile appeared as Susan extended her offering. “Derby Pie, made in my own kitchen. Even if I don't actually live there yet.” The smile dimmed. “It probably isn't very good. It still looked a little jiggly when the recipe said to take it out of the oven, so I left it in. The crust got kind of black.”

“I'm sure it will be delicious,” Millie said as the doorbell chimed again.

Justin, who was closest, opened it to reveal Tuesday Love on the porch, her features nearly obscured by a floppy straw hat with a garden's worth of purple flowers on the brim. “I hope I'm not late,” she said as she entered. “I got halfway here and realized I'd forgotten my shoes.”

She extended a foot to display a sandal with the tallest spiked heels Millie had ever seen. How the woman managed to balance on the things, she couldn't imagine.

Tuesday shoved a large plastic bowl into Millie's hands. “Green salad. Hope that's okay.”

“Perfect,” Millie assured her. “Justin, I have a feeling Albert would appreciate some help hooking up the TV in the parlor.” Their private sitting room wasn't nearly big enough for all their guests to gather when it was time to watch the big race, so they'd decided to move it temporarily into the most comfortable room in the house.

“Sure thing.” Justin disappeared in that direction while Millie led the others into the dining room.

Tuesday clomped along with an awkward gait, clearly unaccustomed to walking on stilts. It wouldn't be long before the massage therapist shed the shoes.

“Susan, is your daddy coming to the party?” Tuesday asked, a touch too eagerly. Though they'd become business partners during the renovation of the Day Spa, Tuesday had never hidden the fact that she found Thomas Jeffries to be an attractive man, and flirted outrageously at every opportunity.

Susan shook her head. “Afraid not. He was invited by a client to sit in the clubhouse at the Derby.”

“Lucky man,” said Violet, who overheard the comment as they entered the dining room. “That's the only way I'd go. They'll be packed in like sardines everywhere else.”

The doorbell rang again, and a knot twisted in Millie's stomach. There were only two more guests who'd RSVP'd to say they'd come to the party. She cast a cautious glance at Violet as she heard the front door open and a familiar voice echo down the hallway.

“Yoohoo! Where is everybody?”

Violet recognized the newcomer instantly. She turned a wide-eyed stare on Millie. “You invited
her
?”

Before Millie could answer, the Thackers erupted into the room. Franklin had dressed for the occasion, though where he'd found pink-checkered trousers and that silky chartreuse shirt, she couldn't imagine. They looked like a golf outfit gone terribly wrong.

But it was Lulu who commanded attention. Wearing what looked like a towering fruit bowl on her head, she threw her arms wide and shouted, “Ta da! What do you think?”

“Oh my,” said Susan, staring with a rather horrified fascination.

“It's quite elaborate,” Millie managed.

Violet didn't bother to filter the heavy sarcasm out of her tone. “And completely appropriate if we decide to dance the Macarena.”

“Exactly.” Lulu beamed at her, oblivious to the cynicism. “And when we're finished dancing, we can eat it.”

Tuesday approached to examine the headpiece closely and reached out a finger to touch an apple. “That's real fruit?”

“Sure is.” Franklin plucked a grape off of his wife's head and popped it in his mouth.

“Oh, you!” Lulu awarded him a playful slap. “Would you stop eating my hat already?”

The pair guffawed, ending in unison snorts.

Franklin caught sight of Violet. “Hey, there's our invisible neighbor. What's shaking, Plum?”

A visible shudder rippled through Violet's frame. She detested the nickname Franklin had awarded her at their first meeting. Millie rushed in with a question.

“What's that you've brought?” She reached out to take the covered dish he carried.

“It's one of my specialties,” Lulu answered. “Purple turnip pie.” She addressed Violet. “Honey Bun wanted me to bring a plum cake, since we knew you would be here. But I figured everybody would bring desserts, so we compromised on purple turnips.” She paused, and when Violet did not react, offered an explanation. “You know. Violet. Purple.”

Millie didn't dare glance in Violet's direction.

Al closed the door behind their guests and twisted the dead bolt. He wouldn't put it past Thacker to attempt reentry. He found it completely unfair that he was forced to suffer the man's presence all week long at the office and then be required to play host to him on the weekend too. But Millie insisted on inviting them. With a sigh, he shook his head. The things a man did for his wife.

He found Millie in the kitchen, trying to wrap a plate of mini hot browns in plastic wrap with one hand. Hurrying to her side, he took the roll from her. She edged sideways and began sealing the foil over the remains of the veterinarian's practically inedible Derby Pie. The corners of her lovely lips drooped, and there wasn't a sign of the dimples he loved.

“That was a good party,” he ventured. “You did a great job.”

“Thank you.” The answer came by rote, full of despondency.

“I think everyone had a nice time.”

“Everyone except Violet.”

True. Violet had perched on a chair in the corner and sat without speaking anything but the occasional one-syllable answer to direct questions. Completely unlike her typical cliché-spouting self.

“She wasn't feeling well,” he said, repeating Violet's excuse for leaving early.

Millie's mouth went rigid. “She felt just fine until Lulu got here. She was pouting, that's all.”

Over the years Al had learned a thing or two about women in general and his wife in particular. When she was upset with something or someone, she did not want him to propose a solution, or sometimes, even offer an opinion. Doing so resulted in her ire redirecting itself toward the nearest target—him. A most unpleasant prospect. Time for the wonder-working words that applied to a multitude of situations.

“I'm sorry,” he said with as much sympathy as he could pour into his tone.

Once again, the words did their job. She abandoned her struggles with the foil and, burying her face in his chest, threw her good arm around his neck. “Oh, Albert, I just hate conflict. With anyone, but especially with my best friend.”

Al stroked her back in a soothing manner, much as he had done with Alison when some boneheaded boy had broken her teenaged heart. “I know.” For good measure, he added another, “I'm so sorry.”

His shirt muffled her words. “I never thought Violet could be mean-spirited. I know Lulu isn't the most likable person, but still.”

No, definitely not likable, but Al could name at least one worse. The right to claim the title of Most Unlikable Person belonged to Lulu's husband. Still, living with the world's most irritating man would affect anyone. But now was not the time to voice the thought.

The sound of the doorbell sliced into the moment. Not one simple
ding-dong,
but an unending series of
ding-dong ding-dong ding-dongs.
Only one person would ring a bell with such annoying persistence.

“Thacker must have forgotten something,” he said. “I'll see what he wants.”

He left Millie in the kitchen and headed down the hallway, stopping to pick up a stray orange that must have rolled off Lulu's head. He opened the door, prepared to return the errant fruit to its owner, but halted when he caught sight of the person outside.

A large woman who carried her considerable girth on a sturdy frame that put her at eye level with Al stood on the porch. She wore a full-length maroon wool coat, though she must have been roasting from heat, and carried a black handbag looped over one arm. It was not merely her size that lent to her commanding presence, but a square jaw beneath tightly clamped lips and a pair of small, sharp eyes that traveled the length of him from top to bottom.

“Are you the butler?” The question sounded more like a demand.

“What?” Al was too confused to be offended. “Of course not. I'm Al Richardson. I live here.”

“Richardson, you say?” She turned her head and shouted over her shoulder, “You may unload my bags.”

For the first time, Al noticed a black limousine parked on the circular driveway near the bottom of the porch stairs. The trunk lid opened at a click from the driver's remote, and he began lifting out suitcases and setting them on the walkway.

“Hold up there,” Al shouted, and then turned his attention back to the woman. “There's been some sort of mistake. Who are you?”

She tilted her head back, spearing him with an arrogant gaze down the not inconsiderable length of her nose. “I am Lorna Hinkle, and I am expected.”

Al realized his mouth gaped open, and snapped it shut. Then he turned and shouted toward the kitchen for help.

“Millie!”

Chapter Ten

W
hy, yes, Mrs. Hinkle,” Millie stammered, her head craned back to look up into the towering woman's face. “Of course we're expecting you.”

“It's
Miss
Hinkle. I never married, and I don't hold with the new-fangled way of addressing unmarried women as
Ms.
” Her gaze shifted down the hallway, where Albert had disappeared to place an emergency call to Justin. “I had the impression my arrival took Mr. Richardson by surprise.”

“To be honest, you've taken us both by surprise. We weren't expecting you quite so soon.”

One penciled eyebrow arched. “I informed my future niece of my intention to arrive early in order to help with the preparations. Did she not relay the information?”

“She did,” Millie rushed to say, lest she stir this imposing woman's ire against poor Susan. “But I assumed you'd arrive a few
days
early. The wedding isn't for another three weeks.”

“An insufficient amount of time as it is, considering the lack of planning that has occurred to date.” She made a pointed examination of the door frame and then asked, “Am I to be invited in, or am I expected to pitch a tent in the yard?”