The Room with the Second-Best View, page 18
Lisa selected a bright red pillar. “Can you tell us where the Goose Creek B&B is?”
Millie nearly dropped her purse. “Excuse me?”
“The Goose Creek B&B,” she repeated. “We wanted to go by and see if Mrs. Richardson would give us a tour of the house.”
Lulu piped up from the corner. “Why don’t you ask her right now? You’re talking to her.”
Both ladies eyed Millie with obvious delight. “You’re Mrs. Richardson?”
“I am.” The conversation was approaching the surreal. Who were these people? “I’d be happy to show you the house, but I can’t imagine where you heard about it. The B&B isn’t scheduled to open for another two years.”
Now they looked confused. “But don’t you have people staying there now?” Beth asked.
She could explain, but she wasn’t sure she should. Coming on the heels of Susan’s mysterious Uncle Mark, she was inclined to be a little suspicious. “How do you know that?”
“From an article on the Internet,” Beth said.
Millie must have looked confused because Lisa offered an explanation.
“Now that the weather’s finally nice, we were looking for someplace to take a day trip, maybe do some shopping and have lunch. So last night we Googled small towns in Kentucky and Ohio, and found a blog that has several articles about Goose Creek.”
“The author said he was staying at the Goose Creek B&B,” Beth added.
Relieved, Millie relaxed. Ross had been working hard on his blogs, but she’d no idea he’d already written several.
“What fun,” Tuesday exclaimed. “We’re famous on the Internet.”
“He described the town perfectly,” Lisa said. “And he mentioned this Day Spa, and the drugstore, and the quirky shop across the street.”
“We’re heading there next.” Beth gave a little laugh. “Imagine a store called the Freckled Frog.”
“It’s a fun place,” Lulu said. “Packed to the rafters with stuff you won’t see anywhere else.”
The image of Chester rose in Millie’s mind. That was certainly true.
“Do you think it would be possible to take a tour of your B&B?” Lisa held the cinnamon candle in both hands up to her nose, peering at Millie over the top. “We don’t want to be a bother, of course.”
She opened her mouth to tell them she’d be happy to show them around, but never got the opportunity. The door flew open, and Albert burst through.
“It’s Uncle Mark. He’s across the street.”
She rushed to the front window, joined by Violet and the two curious visitors from Cincinnati.
“Who’s Uncle Mark?” Violet asked.
“Susan’s uncle.” Millie unzipped her purse and rummaged inside for her cell phone. “He showed up at the B&B yesterday and checked in but then disappeared. We thought he’d gone to the races in Louisville.” She dialed Susan’s cell phone number, and when the young woman answered, spoke in a rush. “Can you get away? Your uncle is on Main Street next to the Frog.”
“I’m on my way,” Susan said.
“We’re at Tuesday’s.” Millie dropped the phone back in her purse.
Her pedicure apparently finished, Lulu joined them at the window, doing an awkward duckwalk in disposable foam shoes. Tuesday slid in beside Violet to form a line of seven spectators, all watching as the man across the street bent for a close examination of the corner of the crumbling building next to Frieda’s.
Violet lifted a finger and stabbed at the glass. “Hey, that’s the guy we saw yesterday.”
Millie had just come to the same realization. “And he’s still taking pictures.”
The stranger pulled out his cell phone and snapped a shot of the corner.
“The guy’s a weirdo. I want to know what he’s up to.” Al reached for the door, but Millie snatched his arm back.
“We should wait for Susan. We don’t want to offend her uncle a week before her wedding.”
Beth turned to Lisa with a giggle. “How exciting! I’m so glad we drove down.”
Exciting was not the term Millie would have chosen.
They didn’t have long to wait. Susan had apparently drawn on her skills as a high school track sprinter, for she rounded the corner a moment later.
Al opened the door. “In here,” he said in a stage whisper.
Susan entered, her gaze circling the room. “Where’s Uncle Mark?”
“Over there.” Millie pointed at the man, who now stood in front of the Freckled Frog, making a study of the doorposts.
Susan studied the man. “That’s not Uncle Mark.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life.”
Spider legs crept up Millie’s spine. “Then why was he at my house yesterday pretending to be your uncle?”
“Enough.” Albert stiffened his spine, his expression as stern as Millie had ever seen it. “I’m going to confront him.”
He stomped out the door, and Millie called after him, “Albert, be careful.”
“He ought not approach a stranger alone,” Lulu said. “I wish my Honey Bun was here.”
“You’re right,” Violet agreed. “The man might be a lunatic or something.”
Millie opened the door and ran after her husband, Violet close on her heels.
“There’s safety in numbers, girlies,” came Lulu’s voice.
Millie glanced back and found herself at the head of a parade of women, Lulu bringing up the rear with her odd, mincing step and her toes arched high.
“Not a lot of support in these things,” she said as she stepped carefully over the railroad tracks.
“Somebody better record this,” Beth suggested. “If a fight breaks out, we’ll want to be able to prove to the police whose fault it was.”
“We can do it on our cell phones.” An excited giggle sounded from Lisa’s direction. “Who knows? It might go viral on YouTube.”
“You there.” Albert called to the man from several yards away. “What are you doing?”
The fake Uncle Mark swiveled, eyes going wide when he found himself confronted by seven people. “Just taking a few pictures of the buildings.”
Susan marched up to stand beside Albert. “You’re not my Uncle Mark.”
A shamefaced expression crept over his face. “My name’s Mark Logan, but I’m nobody’s uncle.”
“You deliberately misrepresented yourself yesterday at my home.” Albert drew himself up. “Perhaps we need to call the police to get to the bottom of this.”
Cell phones held aloft, Lisa and Beth stepped to one side so they could get a clear shot of the confrontation.
“I did no such thing.” He lowered his head a touch but still looked Albert in the eye. “You made an assumption, and it’s true I didn’t correct you. To be honest, I was reeling from shock.”
The door to the Freckled Frog opened, and Frieda stuck her head out. “Is there a problem out here?”
Mark Logan whirled on her. “There certainly is. Mr. and Mrs. Richardson have destroyed the integrity of an historic building.”
Millie gasped and then marched up to stand beside Albert. “What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Richardson?” When she nodded, he straightened. “I’m from the Heritage Council. I’m following up on your application to become a part of the Main Street Program.”
Words failed her. Lulu duckwalked forward to stand beside her.
“You’re an inspector?” Violet asked.
“I’m a freelance preservationist.” Head held high enough to give haughty Lorna a run for her money, he fixed a contemptuous glare on Millie. “The Council enlisted my assistance since you requested that your application be expedited, and they’re shorthanded. When I arrived at that lovely Victorian-era home yesterday and saw the way you’ve defiled it, I was appalled.”
The Cincinnati tourists, their delight apparent, swung their cell phones toward her.
Millie drew herself upright. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The house was in terrible shape when we bought it. We’re restoring it a bit at a time.”
“No, madam, you are not restoring it. You’re desecrating it.” He speared her with a sharp gaze. “You put asphalt shingles on the roof.”
Millie risked a glance at Albert. The use of less expensive roofing material had been at his insistence.
With jerky motions, Mark Logan held his notepad aloft and flipped several pages. “The home was built in 1892. Asphalt shingles did not come into use until the early 1900s.” He rounded on Albert. “And you, sir, want to continue ravaging the house by tearing up vintage poplar flooring to install laminate.”
“Albert!” Millie turned a stern look his way. “I thought we’d agreed to nix that idea.”
He shoved a hand in his pocket and started to speak, but Mark cut him off.
“After witnessing the horrors being done to that beautiful home, I knew I’d better take a closer look at the downtown historic district.” He waved his pen around, encompassing the buildings up and down Main Street. “Precious historic resources here are in serious decline. Just look at that.” He pointed toward the sagging awning over the used bookstore and then at the crumbling facade of the vacant building next to the Frog. “Disgraceful.”
“It costs money to do all those repairs,” Tuesday said. “I had to take out a loan to fix up the Day Spa.”
Mark rounded on her, eyes bulging. “You’re responsible for that…that…sacrilege?”
“Hey,” Susan said. “My fiancé did the work on that building, and he did a great job.”
“While I will admit the restoration work is acceptable, the color is entirely unacceptable.”
Tuesday’s lower lip protruded as she glanced toward her building. “You don’t like what I’ve done with it?”
“Madam, it’s purple. Structures built in the 1800s were not purple.”
Frieda folded her arms and gave a prim smile. “If you’ll remember, I advised against purple from the outset.”
“And take this building, for instance.” Mark waved at the Freckled Frog. “The trim is all wrong for that era. And where did you get that door? From the Penney’s catalog?”
Frieda went statue-still.
“Now hold up there a minute, cowboy.” Shuffling on the lilac-colored pedicure slippers, Lulu planted herself in front of the man. “That’s what the Main Street Program is all about. It’s us committing to do the fixing-up, and you to do the helping.”
He eyed her. “The Main Street Program’s goal is economic development through historic preservation. What we have here isn’t preservation.”
“Well, now, that’s where we disagree.” Lulu cocked her head on her long neck. “I seem to remember a couple of different definitions in the research I did.” She held up a hand and raised a finger with each point. “We can conserve a building, which means we won’t let it get any worse than it already is. We can restore it back to the way it looked when it was first built. We can preserve it, which means do repairs but update it to today’s standards. Or we can rehabilitate it, which means it’s gonna be used for something different than it was intended to be.”
Caution stole over the man’s expression, and Frieda looked openly impressed.
Lulu continued. “What we’ve done here in Goose Creek is preserving, and that’s okay.” She held up a hand. “I’m not saying we don’t have more work to do. That’s where the Main Street Program’s gonna help. But there’s not a rule anywhere saying we have to match paint colors and such.”
A crooked vein appeared in Mark’s temple, and his face darkened. “I’ve been asked by the Heritage Council for my opinion, and that’s what I will report. I’m a historical preservationist who happens to believe that the purist approach is best.”
Lulu planted a lanky arm on her hip. “Well excuse me for saying so, mister, but I think you’re a hysterical preservationist who happens to be wrong. And I’m darn well gonna share that opinion with the director of the Heritage Council.”
While the man sputtered, Frieda and Tuesday applauded. The delighted Cincinnati tourists, their phones pointed at Lulu, grinned ear to ear. Millie slipped an arm around Lulu’s waist and squeezed. Sometimes one must throw diplomacy to the wind, as her friend had just done.
Apparently at a loss for words, Mark Logan turned on his heel and marched away. The little group on the sidewalk watched him get into a car and leave. Beth punched a button on her cell phone and beamed at her friend. “I got every bit of that. I wonder if Mr. Mayfield would want to use it on his blog.”
“I’m posting mine on Facebook,” Lisa said.
The two pocketed their phones and, with a wave, entered the Freckled Frog.
Violet turned to Lulu and stuck out a hand. “I was wrong. You’re the best Main Street Manager Goose Creek could have.”
“You sure are.” Tuesday smiled widely.
“I concur.” Frieda glanced in the direction Mark Logan had gone. “If our application is approved, that is.”
“Oh, it will be approved.” Millie gave Lulu’s waist another squeeze. “The director of the Heritage Council is a reasonable man. We’ll talk to him.” She turned a scowl on Albert. “We are not installing laminate in our house.”
“Okay, okay.” Holding up both hands in a gesture of submission, he backed away. “I’m going to Cardwell’s for coffee now. And I’m not getting decaf,” he added with a touch of defiance.
Millie didn’t argue. After that encounter, she could use a shot of caffeine herself.
Chapter Nineteen
The moment Susan opened her eyes, an electric thrill shot from her head to her toes.
It’s my wedding day!
She sat up on the foldout sofa that had been her bed for the past two years and glanced around the empty apartment. The last of her things had been packed off to her new home last night after a quiet dinner with Justin, Daddy, and Uncle Mark—the real Uncle Mark. Ross had opted for a sandwich in his room while he worked on another blog post about Goose Creek. Susan had been surprised when Aunt Lorna declined to join them, claiming that she needed a good night’s rest before the big event. Susan raised her arms and stretched. The euphemism might not be true in terms of size, but was certainly appropriate in terms of impact. At eleven-thirty this morning she would become Mrs. Justin Hinkle. Truly the biggest and best event of her life.
Her phone rang. Probably Justin, calling to wish her a happy wedding day. She grabbed the charger cable, pulled the phone toward her, and glanced at the screen.
Not Justin. Millie.
“Hello?”
“You’d better get over here,” Millie said with no preamble, her tone tight with tension.
Alarm pinged in Susan’s brain. “Is something wrong?”
“She’s done something you’re not going to like.”
The she could only mean one person. Aunt Lorna.
She leaped out of bed. “I’m on my way.”
Millie stood in the center of the backyard while a pair of delivery men marched past her carrying an eight-foot wedding arch.
“Right over there,” Lorna directed, pointing toward the gazebo. “Set it right up against the opening.”
They did as directed, and she stepped back to inspect it, a finger across her lips. “Millie, what do you think?”
“I think Susan is going to throw a fit.”
“Leave Susan to me. Does it look centered to you?”
Aware that she tread a dangerous path, Millie considered not answering.
She and Albert had been awakened at six thirty by the loud thump-thump of a carton being dragged down the stairs. They’d thrown on their robes and exited their bedroom to find Lorna dragging a box through the kitchen door onto the veranda.
Millie glanced in that direction, where no less than eight good-sized boxes had been piled. Would Susan think her complicit in the blatant hijacking of her wedding?
Albert appeared at her side and pressed a coffee mug into her hands. “Want me to toast you a bagel for breakfast?”
“No thanks.” She took the coffee, grateful for something to help clear her mind, but a mass of knots had lodged in her stomach, and she didn’t think she could eat a bite.
“A little to the left,” Lorna directed, and the men obeyed. “Perfect. Now, the flower stands will go on each side.”
“What in the world is happening here?”
Millie and Albert turned to find Susan approaching from around the delivery truck, her jaw dangling.
Millie rushed to her side. “I had nothing to do with it. I promise.”
Susan passed her as though in a daze, her gaze fixed on the arch and the two white pillars nearby.
“There you are, Susan dear.” Lorna gathered the stunned young woman into a hug. “Nature has certainly smiled on your big day. The Weather Channel says sunshine all day, hardly any wind, and low seventies. Perfect for an outdoor wedding.”
“I can’t believe it. Justin said I’d slide down a slippery slope, but I didn’t. I conceded a few things, true, but I held firm. Not a wedding. Nothing elaborate. Just a simple ceremony.” She turned a bewildered gaze on Lorna. “You did it anyway.”
“Now, my dear.” Lorna took her hand and held it between both of hers. “It’s only a few decorations. Just wait until you see the tulle draped across the arch and the flowers sprayed ar—”
“Flowers?” Susan took a backward step. “You ordered flowers?”
“Not real flowers. Silk ones. A wide variety, so you can choose the colors. We’ll return the ones we don’t use.”
Now Millie understood the multitude of boxes in the Bo Peep room. “You said all those deliveries were wedding gifts.”
“They are.” Lorna patted the hand she still held. “I’m gifting them with a wedding. Oh, and I’ve got several things to decorate the table as well. Darling little crystal vases and a lace runner.”
Susan whirled on Millie with an accusation. “You said we were having finger food.”
“We are! Little sandwiches and fruit and a relish tray. And I made the wedding cake myself.” Dismayed, Millie looked toward the archway. Her homemade cake would appear pitiful flanked by crystal vases.
