The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (11 page)

She called a cheery greeting as Susan approached. “Good morning.”

The younger woman eyed Millie's Volkswagen, her expression cautious. “Good morning. Your car's quite…pink, isn't it?”

“Yes, she is.” Millie gave the Beetle's fender an affectionate pat. “My husband calls this color Pepto Pink.”

“That fits,” Susan agreed. She extended a finger to touch the tip of one of the curling black eyelashes that bordered the headlights, and then lifted a schooled expression to Millie. “Those add a girlie touch.”

“That's why I got them. I'd get a pair for myself but I'm afraid they'd give my husband palpitations.”

They walked together toward the clinic and Millie stood aside while Susan unlocked the door. She had her own key, of course, but the poor thing deserved to have
some
sense of ownership over the clinic she was buying.

Inside, Millie bustled around the reception counter and stowed
her purse and knitting in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. From the back room came the sound of high-pitched barking. Their only boarding customer was awake and eager to be released from his kennel.

She turned to find Susan standing somewhat awkwardly in the center of the room, clutching her purse and a slender briefcase and staring almost fearfully at the clinic door.

“Perhaps you could take Benji out for a walk while I get things set up here for the day,” Millie suggested. Normally the tasks of walking and feeding the boarded pets fell to her, but the poor dear looked so forlorn. No doubt she'd appreciate the opportunity to take care of the playful Yorkie.

Her forehead cleared, the lines replaced by a purposeful expression. “Of course.”

She disappeared through the door, and Millie called after her, “When he's done his business, you can feed him. He gets half a cup of the sweet potato formula.”

“Okay,” came the reply.

Millie smiled as she flipped on the computer. That should start the poor girl's day out right. It was a proven scientific fact that dogs were good for a person's blood pressure. Well, everyone except Albert's. The smile dimmed. Albert's blood pressure was the reason she'd brought Rufus home when his previous owner abandoned him on the front porch of the clinic. It had been a good plan, and would have worked, too, if only Rufus hadn't proven so stubborn in the area of potty training, and Albert hadn't proven so stubborn in the area of practically everything.

By the time Susan returned from caring for Benji, Millie had the reception desk arranged the way she liked it, with the stapler and paper clips in the corner to the left of the computer monitor and the cup full of pens up on the counter where clients could reach them. Every afternoon Lizzie insisted on putting those pens out of reach, reasoning that they were less likely to disappear if a client had to ask for
one. But why on earth would a body go to the trouble of having their business name printed on ink pens if they didn't want to give them away? Pens were a marketing tool, far better than refrigerator magnets, and the more of them in circulation the better as far as she was concerned. When she opened her bed and breakfast, there would be cups full of pens with her logo on every retail counter in Goose Creek. Which reminded her of Violet's idea.

“My friend and I were brainstorming about ways to introduce you to the clients,” she told Susan. “What about sending a postcard to everyone in our database offering a free introductory checkup?”

Creases carved across the girl's forehead. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh, you know.” Millie adjusted the dog cookie jar a fraction. “Just to encourage people to come in and meet you.”

“I plan to introduce myself during the regular course of business and let them see how I interact with their pets during an exam. My father thinks that will be the best way to prove I'm as competent as Dr. Forsythe.”

Apparently the cool reception of yesterday's clients hadn't caused the girl sufficient concern yet. Of course she had no way of knowing how widely her comment about Arnold's toes had spread. And that bit of gossip wasn't even masked as a prayer request.

“Well, that's certainly one approach to consider.” Millie kept her voice clear of doubt. “But I know most of the people in this town, and I believe they'll be far more likely to come if they think they're getting a bargain.”

Susan's frown deepened. “I can't afford to work for free. I'll have to start paying the bills as soon as the sale is finalized, and beginning next month I'll have loan payments.”

“A discount then?” She smiled brightly. “Just on their first visit. I think it will go a long way toward showing people you're sincere.”

Her head cocked sideways. “Sincere about what?”

“About your concern for their pets. Doc is well known, and
everyone loves him. I'm sure when they get to know you they'll love you too. But sometimes a person has to take the first step toward friendship.” She paused. How to put this delicately? “Especially when they have something to overcome.”

“Something to overcome?” Millie remained silent, and after a moment, realization dawned in Susan's gray eyes. “Is this about that polydactyl cat?”

Millie awarded her an apologetic smile. “Delores has a lot of friends.”

She groaned and sagged against the wall, her hands covering her face. “I didn't say I wanted to cut his toe off.”

“I know, and I'll correct anyone who says otherwise. In the meantime, some sort of goodwill gesture might be in order.”

An expression of abject dismay overtook the girl's features, and sympathy twinged strongly in Millie. Poor Susan. She looked so young, so vulnerable and…well, it must be said. So clueless.

Susan gave a resigned nod. “I'll talk it over with Daddy tonight and let you know tomorrow.”

Though Millie was perfectly willing to talk the matter over with her right then, she confined her reaction to an agreeable nod. Let the girl talk with her father. If the man had any brains at all, he would see the sense of the suggestion.

When Al turned the corner onto Mulberry Avenue and spied the red Camry in his driveway, his mood soured. The realtor was here already. Though Millie informed him earlier that Louise would be here tonight to draw up the paperwork, he assumed he'd at least be allowed the pleasure of dinner before having to deal with her. Talking about real estate on an empty stomach would no doubt upset his digestion. And besides, her car was blocking his side of the garage, which meant he had to park on the street.

He did so, grumbling while he retrieved his wallet from the center
console. If there was one thing he detested more than squirrels, it was paperwork. No doubt he would be faced with a ton of it, since they had two houses to deal with. And for what? The entire evening would be a waste of time. There was no way the Updyke brothers would accept such a pathetic offer. And even if they did, there was even less chance that their house would sell. Not in this economy, and certainly not for the price he intended to ask.

Slamming the car door behind him, he made his way down the walkway, admiring the new growth on his Camellias. He scanned the neat squares of grass on either side of the walkway. Louise would probably want to install a sign. Oh, how he would hate coming home every day and seeing the symmetry of his front yard disturbed with an ugly For Sale sign. Plus, he'd have to mow around it.

With another ill-tempered grumble he entered the house through the front door. Rufus came charging out of the kitchen indulging in his nightly barking fit. Tonight his bark held an unaccustomed intensity, no doubt fussing because Al didn't enter through the garage. Rufus disliked the interruption of their regular routine as much as Al.

“Yes, I know. I'm not happy about it either,” Al told him, giving his head an extra couple of pats to compensate.

Millie's voice called from the kitchen. “We're in here, honey.”

He found them at the kitchen table, a neat stack of papers resting ominously between them. Louise, who had an ink pen protruding from a bun of blonde hair at the back of her head, set her iced tea on the placemat and rose from her chair.

“Nice to see you again, Al.”

He endured a handshake and stooped to brush a kiss on Millie's upturned cheek while the realtor settled herself.

“Would you like some ice water?” his wife asked.

Feeling deprived, he eyed their glasses. Millie could drink tea all day without being affected in the slightest. If he drank tea this late, he'd be up all night.

“No, thanks.” He joined them at the table, folded his hands, and
turned an expectant look on Louise. “Millie told you the conditions of our offer?”

She was cool, he'd give her that. Her smile appeared completely genuine as she patted the stack of papers. “I've got everything written up, ready for your signature.”

He nodded. Maybe this wouldn't take all night after all.

“I've given Louise a tour of the house,” Millie told him, “and she's already done some research to help us figure out what we should ask.”

“You have a beautiful home here, Al.”

“Thank you.” He pasted on a chilly smile and avoided looking in Millie's direction. “We've been very happy here.”

“There weren't many comps to pull.” Her pink manicured fingers flipped over the top three papers and she handed them to him. “The market has been in a slump for a while. Now, if you were in Lexington we'd probably see a lot of action. As it is…” She shrugged.

Of the three homes she identified as comparable, he was familiar with two.

“Hardister's place?” He scanned the page. “It's half the size of ours. Only two bedrooms and one bathroom.”

“We take that into consideration when we put a value on a house.” She picked up her glass. “It sold for sixty-five thousand, which is considerably less than yours is worth.”

“You bet it is.” He glanced at the second paper. He knew something about this house too. “I heard the Kramers had to spend close to ten thousand to make the house livable before they could move in.”

“They redecorated the kitchen and renovated the master bathroom.” Millie gave him a scolding stare. “Both needed to be done, but the home was perfectly livable when they bought it.”

“That's a three-two like yours,” Louise put in. “One forty-five was a good price for that property.”

“It's also ten years older than ours.” Al picked up the third sheet and examined the address. “This is that place over on Cottage Grove Drive. I thought that was still for sale.”

“It is, technically, but it's under contract. A retired couple from Danville is buying it for one sixty-two.”

“It has almost a thousand square feet less than this place.”

“But it's on a half-acre corner lot,” she pointed out. “With a privacy fence.”

Al tossed the paper on the table and it fluttered to rest on the others. From the corner of his eye he saw Millie's lips tighten. He folded his hands again and fixed a look on the realtor. “What do you think our asking price should be?”

“After looking at these, and analyzing the homes in the area that have been on the market but haven't sold, I think a good starting place is one seventy-two. That leaves a bit of room for negotiating, and we may have to drop the price if we don't get enough activity within the first couple of weeks, but—”

“One eighty-five.”

Millie sucked in a noisy breath, and the first crack in the realtor's professional mask appeared. Her penciled-on eyebrows arched. She folded her hands in an imitation of his. “I think that's an overly optimistic price, Al.”

“I agree,” added Millie, her tone tinged with anger.

“We paid one thirty-five seventeen years ago,” he replied calmly. “Surely in seventeen years the value of real estate has increased.”

Louise matched his tone. “I'm sure it has, but not thirty-seven percent. Certainly not in Goose Creek.”

Al was mildly impressed that she'd done the calculation in her head so quickly. “I'm not going to give this house away. My price is one eighty-five.”