The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (23 page)

Millie caught sight of a couple approaching at high speed, the man's attention fixed on Albert. It must be the Thackers.
I hope he keeps quiet about our little arrangement.
She glanced at Albert. If he caught wind of their bargain, it would spoil her surprise.

“Look who's here, Sugar Plum. It's my buddy Bert.” He pounded Albert on the back, eliciting a pained wince, and then turned on Violet. “And you're Mrs. R. Nice to meet you finally.” He shoved an elbow into Albert's ribs, eliciting a wince. “No wonder you keep her hidden. Wouldn't want to let a Hot Mama like her out in public too often. Somebody'll steal her out from under your nose.”

Violet's eyebrows disappeared beneath her carefully arranged curls while nearby onlookers cast curious glances in their direction.

Albert seemed to have swallowed his tongue. Vowing to send a framed picture of herself for his cubicle on Monday morning, Millie cleared her voice. “Actually, I'm Millie.” She extended a hand toward the woman, whose grin revealed a set of horse teeth that appeared ready to gallop out from her cherry red lips when the starting gun fired. “You must be Mrs. Thacker.”

“This isn't my
mother.
She's my wife.” Franklin's hee-haw ended in a snort.

“I'm Lulu.” The thin woman's frame belied her strength. Millie's hand was crushed and pummeled. “The birth certificate says Luella, but everybody calls me Lulu.”

“Except me,” put in Franklin. “I call her Sugar Buns.” He slapped his wife's behind and they both indulged in a loud chortle.

“Lulu,” repeated Millie, struggling to maintain a pleasant expression. “A pleasure to meet you. This is Violet Alcorn. She's your new next-door neighbor.”

Millie cast an apologetic look toward her friend, who looked faintly stunned while her hand was similarly abused.

“Violet.” Franklin tapped his lips with a finger, eyes skyward while he made a show of contemplating the name. “Reminds me of my favorite fruit. Can I call you Plum?”

Violet turned a blizzardy smile his way. “Not if you expect me to answer.”

Both Thackers found that uproariously funny, which drew more stares. Albert's glower had assumed an unmistakable
I told you so
expression. Millie ignored him.

“I'm so glad we got to meet you.” She uttered the fib without a qualm, slipping one hand through Albert's arm and grabbing Violet's sleeve with the other. “But we were just heading to lunch, so we'll see—”

“Great idea.” Franklin clapped his hands with a noise like a minor explosion. “We'll join you. Maybe you can do some more intros. You know, show off the new geese to the flock.”

Millie cast about for an appropriate lie to rescue them from lunch
with the Thackers. She had yet to come up with a plausible excuse when a commotion erupted at the far end of Main Street.

A metallic clang reverberated in the air, rendering the onlookers silent. All heads turned toward the end of the block, where a sizable crowd had assembled. The noise turned out to be Junior Watson in possession of a metal trash can lid and a crowbar, which he applied with enthusiasm until Norman stopped him by capturing his arm. Norman whipped a bullhorn from behind his back.

“Attention, Creekers. We'uns are sick to death of bein' ignored. Selbo ain't no more special than the next feller. Now he's set up in a fancy office, he's plumb forgot who put him there. We aim to march around this here street 'til our voices is heard.”

The crowd of thirty or so protesters surrounding him gave a cheer. He advanced, flanked by Little Norm and Junior. The others formed a loose line behind them, three or four deep. Some waved signs announcing
Down with Government Tyranny, Our Voices Will Be Heard,
and even
Impeach Mayor Selbo.

“Look, Sugar Plum.” Excitement pitched Franklin's voice high enough to be piercing. “It's a parade!”

Albert turned a disgusted look his way. “It's a protest march.”

“I wonder if they'll throw out candy.”

Millie instantly forgave Albert for all the negative things he'd ever uttered about Franklin Thacker.

“I'm calling Louise Gaitskill as soon as I get home,” muttered Violet.

As the picketers neared, Millie scanned the group. Hazel paced proudly behind Norman, her towering height put to full use in order to hold aloft a sign proclaiming,
Power to the People!
Sharon and Chuck Geddes marched with their heads held high. Edith Boling, her hand wrapped around Boomer's leash, stomped with a militant step heavy enough that Millie half expected the ground to tremble. Even sweet old Delores Brown had joined the protest, scuttling along the perimeter with a stack of flyers which she pressed into the hands
of the onlookers. The picketer's combined voices became audible in an off-tune rendition of “We Shall Overcome.”

“That must be what they were doing in the barn,” Millie told Violet. “Painting signs and rehearsing their song.”

“They should have practiced longer.”

Overhearing Violet's comment, Franklin let out a guffaw and slapped her on the back. “Good one, Plum! I like you.”

Millie shuddered, while Violet's face took on a shade that came close to demonstrating her name. What had she done to her best friend by selling her house to such an odious man?

Shop doors opened on both sides of the street and people spilled out to line the sidewalk. Voices shouted toward the protesters.

“Why don't you go on home, Norman? You aren't accomplishing anything here.”

Millie identified Pete Lawson as the heckler. Beside him, his wife, Cheryl, looked mortified.

Junior interrupted their song to shout a reply. “You capitalist pig!” He looked extremely proud of himself for the snappy comeback.

Violet shook her head. “Does he even know what a capitalist is?”

“Probably not,” Millie answered.

A grumble stirred among the onlookers while Pete turned as purple as Violet. “Yeah? Well, there's two sides to this issue.”

To the obvious amazement of his wife, he whirled and elbowed his way through the crowd to disappear inside Cardwell's. The picketers resumed their song and continued their advance. They had not gotten far before Pete returned, holding a poster board above his head. The message, hastily scrawled in black marker, read
Council Supporter
above a downward pointing arrow. He held the sign high and ran into the street shouting, “Who's with me?”

A surprising number of people rushed to join him. They crossed to the northbound side of Main Street and began their own march in the opposite direction, keeping equal distance as they circled the railroad tracks.

Franklin clapped with glee. “This is great. Which side are you on, Bert?”

Albert's jowls sagged even further, weighed down by disapproval. “Neither. I'm neutral.”

The forerunners of Norman's group approached, and Hazel caught sight of them. She pointed a finger in their direction. “Al Richardson, I told you to take a stand. The time has come. What side are you on?”

Every eye in the vicinity swiveled to fix on poor Albert, who looked like he'd just choked on a hornet. Oh, how he hated being the object of attention. Millie's protective hackles rose, and she slipped forward to stand at his side. If he collapsed she doubted if she could catch him, but at least she could break his fall. She leveled a glare at Hazel.

“I…I…” Face draining of blood, Albert teetered, and Millie slipped an arm around his waist.

From the middle of the procession, Woody shouted, “He supports the Council, and I'll tell you why. He's done the same thing himself. Just hired an out-of-towner to fix up that falling-down old house he's buying, when he shoulda supported Creeker families instead.”

A space opened up around them as the surrounding people edged away. Only Violet and the Thackers remained at their sides.

Millie replied with heat and more volume than she intended. “If you mean your brother-in-law, he didn't even bother to look at the house.”

Albert turned a horrified gaze her way and hissed, “Don't engage them.”

“Probably didn't want anything to do with that catastrophe,” Woody called back. “Didn't wanna get killed when the roof collapses.”

How dare he! Anger boiling through her veins, Millie's breast heaved and fell as she tried to suck in a calming breath. If people gave his words credence, their bed and breakfast was doomed before it even opened. Nobody would visit a place with a reputation of being unsafe. She shouted a fiery rebuttal. “It's more likely he didn't want to get sued for sloppy workmanship.”

Albert stepped in front of her, forcing her to look away from the odious man. “Mildred Richardson, what are you doing?”

Pulse pounding, Millie drew herself to her full height, which brought her head roughly level with his chin. “I am choosing sides.”

Her shout was loud enough to be heard up and down Main Street. Aware that her husband stood gaping after her, she strode forward and stomped through the center of the picketers to the other side of the street.

Chapter Fifteen

C
ome on, Rufus.” Susan waved the dog cookie in front of the hound's nose. “Your mommy made them, so I'm sure they're yummy.”

He turned his head away, expression full of misery. Didn't even sniff the treat, poor thing. Some dogs were like that, terrified of the vet's office. Millie had mentioned that Rufus was a stray, abandoned here and boarded for several weeks before she decided to adopt him. The place probably held frightening memories for him.

Straightening, she returned the cookie to the jar. If she were going to win him over, she'd have to get him out of this place, at least until he relaxed enough to accept her.

“Feel like going for a walk?”

His ears twitched ever so slightly at the word.

“You like walks, huh?” She removed the keys from the pocket of her lab coat and wrapped the end of his leash around her fingers. “We'll just take a quick one up and down the street. Maybe that'll loosen you up a bit.”

Sensing his impending departure from the clinic, Rufus perked up. She opened the door, pleased when he trotted obediently outside with her. Key in hand, she lifted it toward the deadbolt.

“Now, give me a second to lo—”

With a jolt that nearly jerked her shoulder out of its socket, Rufus
took a flying leap from the porch. The leash flew out of her nerveless fingers while he filled the air with furious barking.

“Come back here!” she shouted.

She might as well have saved her breath. The dog dove toward the lone tree that shaded the parking lot while the object of his pursuit flashed a bushy gray tail as it scampered up the trunk. Rufus screeched to a halt at the base of the tree to deliver a canine bellow. Thank goodness. If she hurried, she could catch him. Leaving her keys dangling from the lock, she bounded off the porch with a leap that would make a long-jumper proud.

Startled, Rufus cast a quick glance at her and then deserted the squirrel. He tore down the sidewalk at top speed.

“
Nooo
!”

In the past week she could count her patients on two hands. Now one of them was escaping.
Unacceptable
. At least she'd chosen casual shoes over dress pumps this morning. She dug in her heels and sprinted after him.