The room with the second.., p.11
The Room with the Second-Best View, page 11
“Thank you for letting us know about the Internet.” She pasted on a genuine smile but instilled her voice with a purposeful edge of steel. “My husband is a computer specialist, so I’m sure he’ll be able to address your concerns tomorrow.”
“A specialist?” The woman gave a haughty sniff. “One would think he’d anticipate this problem, then.”
If we’d known you were coming, he might have. Millie left the snarky thought unsaid. Albert probably wouldn’t have thought about the Internet connection any more than she’d thought about televisions in the rooms.
Instead, she firmed up her smile. One issue needed to be cleared up immediately. “Miss Hinkle, you’re free to enjoy any part of the house or the grounds except our personal rooms. In the future, please knock before entering.”
“I see.” The thin lips twisted, and the skin surrounding her mouth settled into deep crevices that bore witness to the fact that the expression was a common one. With a slight nod, she said, “A reasonable request.”
“Thank you.”
She turned to go but then stopped. “I’m accustomed to having breakfast at ten. I assume I’ll be served in the dining room?”
Until that moment Millie had not thought of breakfast. She felt like slapping her forehead. Of course she would need to serve breakfast. That was what the second B in B&B stood for. She took a quick mental inventory of the fridge. The remnants of the cheese tray, a few of Violet’s country ham biscuits, and she was fairly sure she had at least a half-dozen eggs. She could easily whip up an acceptable omelet.
“Of course.” She nodded. “But tomorrow is Sunday, so breakfast will be at nine o’clock. You’re welcome to come to church with us.”
“Nine o’clock?” A curling lip told Millie what she thought of the change in her routine, but she heaved a loud sigh. “I suppose I must be accommodating.” Her gaze slid to the closed door behind Millie. “About a great many things, it appears.”
Her head high, she turned and marched away.
Millie let herself into the bedroom to find that Albert had not moved from his previous pose. If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have laughed at his indignant expression.
“Don’t worry,” she told him before he could complain. “I’ve told her our rooms are off-limits.”
“Hmm.” He relaxed enough to lower the comforter, though he cast a suspicious glance toward the ceiling. “Tomorrow I’m putting a lock on our door.”
Considering Miss Hinkle’s demanding nature, Millie thought that an excellent idea.
Showered and refreshed, Al entered the kitchen with an attitude as bright as the morning sky. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a bad attitude. An enjoyable day stretched before him, without the presence of Miss Hinkle to spoil it. Today she would be Justin’s headache.
Millie stood at the counter, her back toward him.
“Good morning, Mildred Richardson,” he chirped.
She whirled, and in a flash Al revised his opinion of the day’s prospects. Stress lines marred the usually smooth skin of his wife’s forehead, and the corners of her mouth plunged downward. Something gooey dripped from her left hand, and in her right hand she held a blood-stained paper towel in the fingers that protruded from the brace on her right.
“Millie!” Al rushed across the room and gently took the injured appendage, pulling aside the paper towel to assess the damage. “What happened?”
Though her eyes remained dry, tears choked her words. “Have you ever tried to dice onions with your left hand? Or crack eggs, for that matter?”
Another drop of goo, which Al now identified as uncooked egg, dripped to the floor. An eggy mess covered the countertop around a bowl into which she had managed to get most of the eggs.
He inspected the cut on her forefinger. Only a shallow nick that had already stopped bleeding. Judging by the condition of the paper towel, he’d feared worse.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” He tore off another paper towel and used it to clean her left hand.
“I thought I could handle it myself.” Her downcast expression tugged at his heart. “How many omelets have I made over the years?”
“Hundreds.”
“At least. And the one I serve to my first guest is going to be awful.” She sniffled. “We don’t even have any mushrooms.”
“I saw some out behind the gazebo yesterday. Want me to get them?”
A hint of his Millie appeared in the beginnings of a grin. “Don’t be silly. They’re probably poisonous toadstools.”
He cast a meaningful glance toward the ceiling and their guest’s bedroom. “And that would be a bad thing because…?”
“Oh, you.” Grinning openly, she pointed toward the bowl of raw eggs. “See if you can fish the shells out of there, please.” Her gaze took in his dress slacks and shirt. “Here. You’d better put on an apron first.”
He did as instructed, donning the apron she removed from a drawer. Normally he would have balked at the frills, but he’d seen Millie frown too often recently. If wearing a fancy apron kept her happy, he’d do it.
She opened the back door to let Rufus in. The creature bounded toward him to prance at his side, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Yes, I see you,” Al told the dog. “Good morning. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite chasing squirrels this morning.”
Satisfied with a word directed his way, Rufus trotted to his bed in the corner and settled in for his first nap of the day.
“Oh!” Millie whirled, eyes wide. “Here she comes. Quick, go serve her coffee. Tell her breakfast will be ready shortly.”
He would have argued that Millie could certainly handle a coffeepot, but then he saw that she’d fixed up a tray with the fancy silver coffee service that had once belonged to her grandmother. She certainly couldn’t carry a tray one-handed, so he swallowed a grumble, picked up the tray, and headed for the dining room.
He arrived at the same time as Miss Hinkle, whose eyebrows arched as she caught sight of him.
“This operation is smaller than I thought,” she commented. “You not only act as butler and porter, you wait on the customers as well.” She approached the table to stand beside the high-backed chair where Millie had laid a beautiful setting of china, shining silver, and an embroidered napkin. Miss Hinkle stood beside the chair and gave him an expectant look.
Jaws clamped tight, Al set the tray down and slid the chair out for her. For an instant, he considered jerking the chair backward as she lowered her considerable bulk into it. An uncharitable impulse reminiscent of his sons when they were adolescents. He slid it neatly beneath her.
Another pointed glance, this time toward the coffee urn. Al stiffened. Was he to pour for her as well? Did the woman expect him to spoon-feed her too?
Silent, he filled her coffee cup and returned the silver urn to the tray, which he slid close enough to be within her reach.
“I hope this is real cream.” She pursed her lips, lifting the small silver pitcher. “Not that imitation stuff.”
Though he had no idea what Millie had provided, he matched her haughty tone. “Of course it is. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
As he turned to go, Rufus trotted into the room, his tail wagging in a friendly manner. He sauntered past Al, liquid brown eyes fixed on the visitor at the table.
“Ack!” A screech pierced the air, and Rufus skidded to a halt. “What is that?”
Al inspected the creature at his feet. “It’s a dog.”
Her gaze snapped to his face. “I know it’s a dog. But what is it doing here?”
“It lives here.”
Millie hurried into the room. “Is everything okay?”
Miss Hinkle extended an arm and pointed at Rufus, who for once was demonstrating a bit of sense and had remained statue-like at Al’s side. “Mrs. Richardson, I trust you’ve taken precautions to keep the food preparation area clean and free of animal dander. I can’t imagine what the health inspector said when he discovered that you have a creature given free run of the guest areas of the house.”
Al risked a glance at Millie. From her expression, he knew the same thought had occurred to both of them. They hadn’t considered contacting a health inspector.
Millie answered smoothly. “Miss Hinkle, I assure you my kitchen is completely sanitary. After all, Justin has been my guest for the past nine months, and has eaten countless meals in this house. I’m sure he’ll vouch for the cleanliness of the facilities.”
Brilliant move on her part to bring up the beloved nephew. Al awarded Millie an approving nod.
“Well.” She fixed a withering gaze on Rufus. “I really must insist that you keep that canine out of the dining room. Its presence will quite ruin my appetite.”
Though he may not have comprehended the words, the poor dog obviously picked up on the meaning. He turned and, tail drooping, slunk from the room.
Al followed, wishing that he, too, could be banned from the dining room for the duration of their guest’s stay.
Chapter Twelve
Susan rode in the backseat while Justin drove her car, glad for the space between her and Aunt Lorna. The cab of Justin’s pickup wasn’t big enough for the three of them, and of course his motorcycle wouldn’t work. In fact, during the tour they’d given Aunt Lorna of their house, the sight of the bike in the garage had set off a twenty-minute harangue about the dangers of motorcycles and how she had barely slept a wink for three years since Justin bought his.
Their home had been declared, “Charming, if a bit cramped. When the children come along, you’ll need to look for a more suitable place, of course.” She had fixed Susan with a knowing glance. “And you shouldn’t wait too long. You never know if you might experience difficulties.” Which had sent heat flooding into Susan’s face.
Since Aunt Lorna opted against attending church—“I’m far too exhausted to be put on display before the whole town my first day here”—they took her on a driving tour of Goose Creek. When they turned onto the northbound side of Main Street, Justin pointed out the Whistlestop Café on the corner.
“That’s where we thought we’d go out for lunch after the ceremony. It’s our favorite place in town to eat.” He pulled into the parking lot and leaned slightly over the steering wheel, peering at the deep, rough-wooded front porch.
“It doesn’t appear to be very well attended,” Aunt Lorna said.
Seated behind her, Susan leaned toward the center of the seat to speak. “It’s closed on Sundays. Most places in Goose Creek are.”
The elderly woman twisted around to give her a stunned look. “Closed on Sundays? But think of the business they’re losing.”
“That’s one thing I like about this place,” Justin said. “The town rolls up the sidewalks on Sundays. People take their day of rest seriously. It’s not like Boston.”
“It certainly is not.” Judging from her dry tone, Goose Creek compared unfavorably to Aunt Lorna’s hometown.
Susan felt the need to defend her adoptive home. “But most of the people are so caring. My afternoon receptionist’s little girl spiked a fever late one Sunday night. She called Mr. Cardwell, who opened his drugstore and brought her some medicine.”
Her thin, overplucked eyebrows rose high. “The druggist made a home delivery?”
“Sure he did.” Grinning, Justin put the car in reverse. “He knew Alice wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving a sick child at home, even for a few minutes. So he did the neighborly thing and took it to her.”
Aunt Lorna considered that in silence a moment, and then a frown appeared. “This place isn’t at all suitable for a wedding reception. It’s far too rustic.”
Justin, who was turned in the driver’s seat to watch out the rear windshield as he backed up, caught Susan’s eye. She hadn’t known her aunt-to-be long enough to contradict her, so the task fell to Justin. She told him so in a meaningful look.
“You’re probably right,” he told Aunt Lorna in his easygoing manner. “But we’re not having a wedding reception. In fact, we’re not really even having a wedding. We just want to go out for lunch with our family after a small, private ceremony.”
From her vantage point in the backseat, Susan could only see Aunt Lorna’s face in profile. Disapproval radiated from her clenched jaw, and Susan was grateful not to be on the receiving end of her direct stare. Feeling cowardly, she planted her face against the glass and left Justin to deal with his formidable aunt.
They drove up Main Street, executed a U-turn at the intersection of Walnut, and headed down the opposite side. Justin paused to point out Tuesday’s Day Spa, which he had worked so hard to update and remodel.
“An unusual shade for a storefront,” his aunt commented. A rather mild reaction, considering the source. Justin laughed. “It fits the owner perfectly. You should stop in while you’re here and let her give you a massage.”
“Or a pedicure,” Susan added. It would be impolite to sit in the backseat and let Justin shoulder the entire responsibility of conversation.
“Perhaps I will. And that reminds me, I need to do some shopping.” A biting tone invaded her voice. “Obviously there’s no suitable place in this town, Sunday or not.”
“There’s a Walmart in Frankfort,” Justin suggested.
Laughter pealed through the car’s interior. “Oh, dear boy, the very idea. I need a sturdy pair of shoes, not a toilet plunger. Apparently there’s no public transportation system here, so I expect I’ll be doing quite a bit of walking.”
Susan bit her tongue before a ready comment escaped. Walmart has shoes too. Aunt Lorna appeared to be the kind of woman who paid more for a pair of shoes than Susan spent on her entire wardrobe.
“There are a several shoes stores in Fayette Mall,” she suggested.
Aunt Lorna brightened. “There’s a shopping mall nearby?”
“It’s in Lexington, about a forty-minute drive,” Justin warned.
“But it’s huge,” Susan said. “It’s the biggest mall in the state of Kentucky.”
An actual giggle bubbled in the woman’s throat, and she rubbed her hands. “Forty minutes is perfect.” She half-turned in her seat and settled her back against the door to peer at Susan around the headrest. “It will give me time to get to know my new niece better. And to discuss a few simple ideas I have about the wedding.”
She gave a broad smile, which Susan managed to return.
By the time they parked the car in front of Millie’s house, Susan’s feet hurt so badly she half considered putting in a call to Tuesday for an emergency foot massage. Aunt Lorna leaped out of the car and bounded up the porch steps with the energy of a six-year-old hyped up on Halloween candy.
Alone in the car for a moment, Justin turned around and looked at Susan. Though it did not seem possible, the love of her life had aged ten years in the span of six hours. The skin around his eyes sagged, his shoulders stooped, and he appeared to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. Even his hair seemed to have lost the strength to hold a curl and lay flat against his ears.
“What was so fascinating in that one store to keep her inside for an hour?”
“Cookware.” With an effort, she filtered the sharp edge of resentment out of her voice. At least he’d been able to rest after he collapsed on a bench in the center of the mall and refused to budge. Aunt Lorna wouldn’t hear of Susan failing to accompany her while she inspected every single item in the nearly one hundred stores they visited.
“You mean like pots and pans?”
“Yes.” Susan gave into an open-mouthed yawn. “And cookie sheets and spatulas and canister sets and…” She flipped her fingers in the air. “Who knows what else? My eyes glazed over halfway through. I think she bought us one of everything in there. We’re going to have to build an addition on the kitchen to hold all that stuff. Only don’t tell her that, or she’ll hire an architect to draw up blueprints.”
“She’s generous. I’ll give her that.”
“A bit too generous, don’t you think?” She cast a glance toward the B&B’s door, which stood open. “It’s kind of embarrassing to have someone buy so many gifts for us.”
“She’s finally getting a niece, another girl in the family. Let her spoil you if it makes her happy.” Justin extended a hand, and she placed hers into it, reveling in the warmth of his touch. “If I were rich, I’d do the same.”
Which reminded her of a question she’d pondered throughout the day. “All that stuff she bought today must have cost a fortune. Where did she get her money?”
“She worked as an executive assistant for some big corporation up in Boston until she retired. Never married, and she still lives in the house my great-grandfather built when she was a girl. It was paid for decades ago, I’m sure. No mortgage, no car, no family to spend her money on. I’ll bet she still has the first dime she ever made.”
“Well, she won’t have it long if she keeps buying everything in sight.” A movement caught her eye. Aunt Lorna and Al descended the porch while Millie stood watching from the doorway. “There they are. Pop the trunk.”
Justin did, and then exited the car. Susan rifled through the shopping bags filling the backseat beside her until she found the one from the first department store they’d visited. What would Millie think about Aunt Lorna’s gift? Grabbing one of the bags by the handles, she opened her door and stood, wincing when her feet took the burden of her weight.
“Carefully, please.” Aunt Lorna stood off to one side, watching Al and Justin lift the heavy carton out of the trunk. “Seven years is a long time to suffer for one clumsy mistake.”
“Yikes.” Al adjusted his grip on the edges of the large, flat box. “What’s in here? Bricks?”
“It’s a mirror.” Justin swung so they could both walk forward up the stairs. “A big, heavy one.”
Aunt Lorna turned toward Millie, who had exited the house and stood watching the procedure from the covered porch. “My dear Mrs. Richardson, you will simply adore it. It’s a regent’s mirror based on an eighteenth century English antique, beautifully beveled and in such a gorgeous bronze that I knew the moment I saw it that it must go in the Bo Peep room. It’s absolutely perfect and far more suitable than the small one hanging there.”
