The Room with the Second-Best View (19 page)

“Lulu's idea,” Millie hurried to say. She paused for a sip of coffee and to gather her thoughts. “It's true I've handled most of the talking, but Lulu is excellent at written communication, and when it comes to research, she's amazing. She's unearthed details I wouldn't even know to look for. When we went to Carrollton—”

“So she's a good research assistant.” Frieda dismissed Millie's argument with a flick of her fingers. “She'll be a great help to the Main Street Manager in that capacity.”

Millie set her mug down a little more forcefully than she intended. Coffee sloshed over the side and onto the vinyl tablecloth. “Where is this coming from? According to Albert, at the last celebration committee meeting you applauded Lulu for volunteering.”

“Nobody else wanted to do it.”

Aha. Now they were getting to the truth of the matter. “And now someone has come forward to volunteer? Someone you think would be more suitable for the job? Cheryl Lawson, perhaps?”

The name of the instigator failed to produce the anticipated response. Frieda replied calmly. “Cheryl brought up a valid point, that the Main Street Manager should be someone with a longer history in Goose Creek than a few months. But she's not interested in the job. We have another candidate we think is far more suited to the position than Lulu Thacker.”

With rigid self-control, Millie managed to ask in a calm manner, “And who is
we
?”

“The Cardwells, John, and Randy.” She ticked off a finger with each name. “I couldn't get hold of Carl, but I'm confident he'll agree. Plus, the other members of the committee, Phyllis and Tuesday.”

Millie sat back in her chair. Tuesday? She studied Frieda's face but could detect no trace of insincerity. How had she managed to recruit Tuesday in her effort to cut Lulu out of the manager job? The new candidate must be someone highly thought of by the massage therapist and the others.

The answer came in a flash. Abruptly, Millie rose, her chair legs scuffing across the floor with a loud scrape. Taking her overly sweet coffee to the sink, she poured it out while a battle erupted in her mind.

Frieda spoke from the table. “We'd like you to take the job, Millie. You've lived in Goose Creek your entire life.”

“Not really,” she said automatically. “I moved to Akron for seven years when Albert and I first married.”

“So you've lived here
most
of your life. The point is, you know the town and the people. You're one of us. You'll be the perfect Main Street Manager.”

Millie turned on the faucet and watched water fill her mug. The ambition she'd managed to overcome ten days ago resurrected from somewhere deep inside. When she'd first discovered the existence of the Main Street Program, she'd seen herself as its manager. Frieda was right. Her history with the town and the people made her the perfect person to run the program. People would listen to her because she was one of them. A Creeker. Especially now that she was a business owner too.

Albert's words came back to her. She spoke without turning. “I already have a job. Two, in fact. I don't have time for a third.”

“I was under the impression that you planned to quit working at the veterinary clinic when the B&B opened.”

Millie bit her lip. She'd made no secret of that fact.

Frieda continued. “Once the program gets going, I can't imagine it will be a full-time job. It probably won't take more than a few hours a week. Think of the exposure you'll gain for your B&B with such a prominent position of leadership in the Creek.”

That was true, and one of the reasons she'd originally wanted the job.

Water flowed over the sides of the mug and trickled down the drain. What would Lulu say when she heard the committee's recommendation? Oh, Millie knew what she would
say.
She would be thrilled for her new friend and would exclaim that Millie was far better suited than she. But her feelings on the matter would be different. Would she feel that Millie had betrayed her?

Millie twisted the knob to shut off the water. She would not betray a friend, not even for her own ambition.

Holding her head high, she faced Frieda. “I'm not interested. Lulu has the time to devote. She has an in-depth knowledge of the program and has started developing relationships with other communities around the state.” That last wasn't exactly a lie. She'd at least met the other Main Street Managers, even though she'd made a less than stellar impression on some of them. “I'll assist her however I can to make sure Goose Creek's program is successful.”

There. Though the offer stung, at least being Lulu's assistant was less painful than the miserable guilt Millie would feel at betraying a friend.

Apparently her answer was not the one Frieda expected. The owner of the Freckled Frog stared at her, mouth hanging open.

The silence was broken by the sound of a toilet flushing upstairs and water rushing through pipes.

Millie smiled brightly. “I hate to rush you away, but my guest will be wanting her breakfast soon.”

Frieda rose and, still silent, gathered her hat and purse. She allowed Millie to escort her down the hallway and open the front door.

She turned in the doorway. “If you change your mind—”

“I won't.” Millie smiled to soften her firm words.

Lips pressed tightly together, Frieda gave a nod. “Then I'll see you at the committee meeting on Thursday.”

After closing the door, Millie paused with her hand on the knob to draw in a deep breath. There it was. She'd driven a stake through the heart of her aspirations to civic leadership. What a surprise that she didn't feel even a smidge of regret.

Smiling, she headed for the kitchen for a one-handed attempt at scrambled eggs.

By Wednesday Millie had become adept at left-handed egg cracking. She hummed a tune as she dished a large portion of fluffy eggs onto a plate, added four sausage links, wheat toast, and garnished tomato slices—cut by Albert before he left for work this morning—with a sprig of fresh parsley. Quite an attractive presentation, if she did say so. She picked up the plate and headed for the dining room.

Rufus interrupted a snore to leap to his feet.

“Stay,” she commanded in the firm tone that told him she meant business.

The poor dog's ears drooped. He slumped back to his cushion and collapsed with a forlorn sigh.

Footsteps heralded her guest's approach as Millie slid Lorna's plate—they'd achieved first-name basis just yesterday, though Albert had not yet been granted the privilege—onto the lacy place mat at her usual seat. Whirling to the gleaming sideboard, she retrieved the silver jam bowl filled with homemade apple butter and placed it within her guest's reach. When Lorna entered, Millie was filling her china cup with coffee.

“Good morning,” she chirped. “Did you sleep well?”

“Passably,” came the grudging reply. Lorna approached the table, eyeing her breakfast with a lack of enthusiasm. “Scrambled eggs again?”

Chagrined, Millie examined the beautifully arranged plate of food. “You don't like scrambled eggs?”

“Not a consistent diet of them.” Heaving a resigned sigh much like Rufus's a moment before, Lorna seated herself and picked up a fork. “My dear, if you want to operate a quality B&B, you really must broaden your menu.”

Millie clamped her mouth shut before she could point out that the breakfast meat had changed every day, from bacon to sausage to sliced ham, and today's links. And yesterday she'd included a side of fresh melon. But it was true that scrambled eggs had made a consistent appearance, since she did not yet trust herself to flip an over-easy without breaking it.

“Of course you're right.” Millie set a second silver bowl beside the apple butter, this one filled with strawberry jam. “I'll come up with something different tomorrow. Perhaps a continental breakfast for a change?”

Lorna halted in the act of spreading her napkin across her lap to award a disdainful stare. “At the prices you charge?” She smoothed the linen with a prim gesture. “I think something rather more substantial than a donut is to be expected.”

Thus chastened, Millie turned to head for the kitchen.

“Millie dear, I hoped to speak with you about the wedding reception.”

The nonexistent reception had become a favorite topic. Each evening after work Justin appeared to take his aunt out to dinner, and the poor boy had confessed last night that Lorna's constant badgering was beginning to wear on him.

Lorna spoke while spreading jam on her toast. “Now that I've had the opportunity to sample the wares of the only two restaurants in town, I've come to the conclusion that neither is an appropriate venue.”

Millie slipped her good hand into the sling to rest on top of the other. “I wasn't aware that Susan and Justin had changed their plans about having a reception.”

“Merely a matter of time. I came all the way from Boston to help plan a wedding, and I don't intend to be thwarted.” She balanced the knife on the edge of her plate. “Since the wedding party will come here after the ceremony, I see no reason why we can't host a small reception. After all, you have a lovely home.”

Millie glanced around the dining room at the high ceilings, the vintage chandelier, the elegant wood trim. This room would be the perfect place to lay out a spread of tasty treats for a reception. Guests could take their plates into the parlor, or if the weather was nice, out onto the veranda.

But she refused to pit herself against the young couple of whom she'd grown nearly as fond as her own children.

“Though I agree that the house is perfectly suited, I'm hardly in a condition to host a reception.” She extracted her injured wrist from the sling and held it aloft as proof.

“That's what caterers are for.”

Millie shook her head. “Even if you could convince Susan and Justin to agree to a reception, I doubt they'll stand for a catered event.”

A thoughtful expression settled on Lorna's face. “You're right, of course.” Then she brightened. “No matter. I'll help. And surely you have friends who would pitch in. I'm not talking about a six-course meal, just a few tidbits. And a cake, of course.”

A wave of sorrow washed over Millie. Normally Violet would leap in with enthusiasm, but unless something changed between them, Millie wouldn't ask. Still, she did have other friends. Lulu, for instance. A laugh escaped her lips at the thought of asking Lulu to bake a wedding cake. What unusual ingredient would she include? Broccoli, perhaps?

Mistaking the reason for her laughter, Lorna smiled broadly. “You agree then?”

The wedding would take place in seventeen days. Certainly Millie's wrist would be well enough to cook by then. Already she'd regained some use, as long as she acted with discretion. And it would be fun to host a small reception.

“If you can convince them,” Millie told Lorna, “then I agree.”

“Excellent. After breakfast we'll start pla—”

The doorbell chimed.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Millie told Lorna as she headed in that direction.

A pair of delivery men stood outside. Behind them, a large box truck stood on the driveway with its engine running. The logo on the side read Haverty's Furniture.

A dark-haired man looked up from his clipboard. “You Mrs. Richardson?”

“Yes.”

“We're here with your delivery.”

Millie shook her head. “There's been a mistake. I didn't order anything.”

“No mistake.” Lorna's voice announced her entry to the hall. She addressed the men. “Take it upstairs. The room on the far left.”

While the two returned to their truck, Millie stared at Lorna. “Is it a wedding present for Susan and Justin?”

“No, dear, it's a gift for you.”

Surprised, Millie laid her hand across her collarbone. “Me?”

“And your future guests. The Bo Peep room desperately needs a comfortable chair. My back can't take another evening in that hard-backed desk chair.” She retreated a step to allow entry to the two men who carried a huge wing-backed recliner covered in plastic. “Since Justin installed that device to boost the wireless signal, I'm finally able to get online upstairs. I found this chair at a store in Lexington and decided it will go beautifully with the new mirror. The dark rose print will make a perfect contrast to the color you selected for the wall, don't you think?”