The Room with the Second-Best View (26 page)

“A bunch of old stuff. My wife hasn't remodeled that one yet, but I think she's planning on calling it the Old King Cole room and making it like a palace.” He opened the door where Mark would be staying. “You're in the Humpty Dumpty room.”

The man came to a halt on the worn carpet, his expression perplexed. “I am?”

“Don't worry,” Al said. “It's not covered in smashed eggshells or anything. But there is a picture of Humpty Dumpty on the wall.”

Wearing a dazed look, Mark entered, his neck craning to take in every aspect of the bedroom. Actually, this was Al's favorite because it was the plainest of the three Millie and Violet had decorated. White walls—the paint was called eggshell, Millie told him, hence the room's designation—and wood trim with a nice quilt on the bed.

Best get one thing out of the way right up front. “We do have wireless, but there's no television in this room.”

Mark blinked but did not flinch, which Al took as a positive sign. At least Millie wouldn't feel the need to run out and buy another TV.

They stood for a moment in an awkward silence. Should he offer help with the luggage? No, the man looked able-bodied, and Al was not a porter. Let him carry his own suitcase.

He edged toward the door. “When my wife gets home I'll let her know you're here. I'm sure she'll come up and tell you about breakfast times and all.”

“I'll, uh, probably take a drive. Look around town a bit.”

“Not much to see in Goose Creek.” Al gave a companionable laugh. “Not unless you like old buildings.”

For the first time, Mark displayed a flicker of interest. “Actually, I do.”

“Then be sure to stop in Cardwell Drugstore. Leonard Cardwell's done a bang-up job on the place. If you're hungry, the soda counter's got the best apple pie in three counties.” He started to leave but then remembered. This was Susan's uncle, or something like that. “You'll probably want to stop by the Veterinary Clinic and say hi to Dr. Susan. Her place is on Tolouse Street, one street west of Main. Can't miss it.”

Receiving only a jerked nod as an answer, Al left and closed the door behind him. Odd fellow, that one. Not much of a talker. A bit slow on the uptake too.

With a shrug, he descended the stairs and returned to his chores.

Millie slumped in the passenger seat while Violet executed a turn onto Main Street. Shopping with Lorna had about done her in. Though Millie usually enjoyed shopping, trying to rein in Lorna's penchant for extravagance had felt like attempting to harness a wild horse. And they'd only been after groceries. Her body felt like someone had hung bricks from her shoulders, and she'd almost drifted off to sleep several times on the forty-minute drive from Lexington to Goose Creek.

“Violet dear, could we stop by the Freckled Frog?” Planted in the center of the backseat, Lorna leaned forward to position her head between Millie's and Violet's shoulders. “I want to see if a replacement can be made for the bust that fell victim to Mr. Richardson's clumsy fingers.”

Millie jerked upright. “No, it can't. Frieda told me it was one of a kind.”

“Perhaps I could commission one to be made.”

Thoughts whirling, Millie exchanged a quick glance with Violet. “I appreciate the offer, Lorna, I really do. But I must insist. You've been far too generous already. I'd feel too guilty to enjoy the gift.”

“Well.” She leaned back, clearly disappointed. “I wanted to take another look at a hat I saw in there. I'm not sure about the color, but I think it would go well with the dress I plan to wear to the wedding.”

Millie sagged against the seatback. She absolutely could not walk through another store.

Violet apparently felt the same. “I'll be glad to stop so you can run inside. Better be quick, though, or that shrimp's going to thaw.”

“Quite right. Just pull over there, dear.” A large finger pointed to the empty parking place in front of the Frog. Lorna climbed out and before she closed the door told them, “I'll be back before you know I've gone.”

“Quick as a flash.” Violet awarded Millie a grin as the door slammed shut. She adored finding an appropriate situation for a cliché.

“I'm so tired.” Millie leaned her head against the window, eyes drifting closed. “I hope Albert doesn't mind ham sandwiches and chips for supper. That's about all I can manage tonight.”

“That is the spendingest woman I've ever seen.” Violet shook her head. “I thought for sure she was going to talk you into the caviar.”

“And the standing rib roast.” Millie yawned. “If I let her get away with a six-course meal, like she wants, Susan will fire me for sure.”

The car went silent, and tiredness buzzed along Millie's limbs. If Lorna didn't hurry, she'd fall asleep for sure.

“Who do you suppose that is?” Violet asked.

Millie opened her eyes to find her friend pointing through the windshield at a man walking down the other side of the street, his gait slow. A nice-looking gentleman in his suit and short-cropped hair. He stopped in front of Randy Offutt's vacant building and, bending to examine the windowsill, jotted a note on a tablet. While they watched, he extracted a cell phone, snapped a picture of the sill, and then stepped back to take one of the entire storefront.

“Maybe he's thinking of buying Randy's building?”

“That's exciting. I wonder what kind of store he'd put in there.”

The man turned and aimed his cell phone down the line of buildings toward Tuesday's Day Spa before continuing on his way. He disappeared inside Cardwell Drugstore.

The back door opened, and Lorna slid into the car. “See? I told you I wouldn't be long.” She settled a large bag in the seat beside her and then closed the door.

“Did the hat match?” Millie asked.

“Perfectly. Take a look.”

She extracted a hat box and opened the lid. Millie and Violet peered inside. Frieda had found a buyer for her three-hundred-dollar Derby hat.

By the time Al finished cleaning his teeth and climbed into bed, Millie was already asleep. The magazine she'd been reading lay open on her chest, and her head leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed. He stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. Though there was no evidence of her dimples, he fought an urge to lean over and kiss her still-smooth cheek.

She spoke without opening her eyes. “You're staring at me. I can feel it.”

“Because you're beautiful.”

He gave in to the impulse and stooped to kiss her. The dimple appeared where his lips had touched. She put an arm around his neck and drew him close for a proper kiss.

“Thank you for working so hard today. And especially for painting that crossbeam on the veranda. It looks much better.”

When he straightened, she folded her magazine and set it on her nightstand. He slid into bed and scooted to the center, where she nestled at his side, resting her head in the indentation of his shoulder. A perfect fit.

“The whole thing does need to be painted,” he admitted, “but I didn't have time.”

“It can wait until summer.” A yawn ended the comment.

Footsteps creaked overhead, followed by the sound of something being dragged across the floor.

Al glared upward. “What on earth is the woman doing?”

“Probably rearranging all those boxes so she can see the television better,” Millie answered, her words heavy with sleep.

“Well, at least your new guest is quiet.”

“Ross? I've barely seen him for two days since he's been working on his blog.”

“No, I mean the other guy.”

Her head jerked off of his shoulder. “What are you talking about? What other guy?”

“You know. Mark Logan.”

“Susan's Uncle Mark?” She sat up to look him in the face. “When did he get here?”

“This afternoon.” Al also sat up. “I thought you knew. You went upstairs before supper and I heard you talking to him.”

“That was Ross. I peeked into his room to see if he wanted a sandwich since he didn't go with Susan and Justin for dinner.” Her eyes went round as melons. “If Susan's uncle is here, why didn't he go with them?”

“Maybe he met the Hinkle woman and decided against it,” Al replied in a sour tone. “Can't blame the man for that.”

“I don't like having a guest in the house I haven't met.” Millie threw the comforter off and got out of bed. “Get dressed.”

“Why?”

She planted her hands—even the one with the brace, which proved it was nearly healed—on her hips. “Surely you don't expect me to barge into a strange man's bedroom alone.”

A good point. Grumbling, he climbed out of bed and pulled on the trousers and shirt he'd removed and tossed in the clothes bin. When Millie reached for a lipstick, he grabbed her arm.

“You're just saying hello and telling him about breakfast.”

He thought she might argue, but instead she gave a nod and followed him out of the room. The house was quiet except for the droning voice coming from the television in the Bo Peep room. Upstairs, light showed beneath Mayfield's door, but nothing below Mark's.

“He must already be asleep,” Millie whispered. “Maybe we should slip a note under the door telling him breakfast is at nine.”

Al pressed an ear to the solid wood. The door, which apparently had not been latched, cracked open.

“Albert!” hissed Millie, grabbing his arm to tug him away.

But something about the stillness from inside that room didn't feel right. Placing a hand on the wood, he pushed it open a couple of inches. “Mark? Are you in there?”

Complete silence. Al opened the door wider, and Millie came to his side as he flipped on the wall switch.

The room was empty.

Millie held the cell phone to her ear and waited for Susan to answer.

“Hello?”

Oh good. She sounded wide awake.

“Susan, this is Millie. We were calling about your uncle.” She glanced up at Albert, who stood close enough that he could hear both ends of the conversation. She tilted the phone out slightly.