A Creed in Stone Creek by Linda Lael Miller

and all you can do is laugh?”
    “The name is McKenzie,” Ashley replied cheerfully. “What did you expect me to do, Melissa? Call out the National Guard to restore order?”
    “I didn’t think you’d laugh, that’s all,” Melissa said, miffed and not entirely sure why.
    “Why wouldn’t I laugh?” Ashley asked reasonably. “It’s funny. ”
    “Not to mention illegal.” A belated giggle escaped Melissa. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted, eyeing herfood warily. The microwaved dish looked more like a plastic replica of lasagna than the real thing, the kind that might be sold in a joke shop—assuming there was even a market for stuff like that. “But trust me, it was also a shock. You haven’t lived, my dear, until you’ve seen a pack of bare-ass naked senior citizens engaged in a lively game of croquet.”
    “And you without a fire hose,” Ashley quipped.
    “Ha-ha,” Melissa said, carefully peeling the cellophane cover from her lasagna. Ashley was the one with the cooking talent; Julia Child was her patron saint. Melissa had never really caught the culinary bug; in fact, she’d all but had herself vaccinated against it. “When are you coming home? I miss the pity suppers.”
    Ashley laughed again, but the underlying tone was gentle, and betrayed a slight degree of worry. “‘Pity’ suppers, is it?” she countered. “You know when we’re coming home. I’ve told you nineteen times, it’ll be early next week.” She paused, drew in a breath. “Melissa, what’s going on? Besides the nudist uprising, I mean?”
    “Interesting choice of words,” Melissa commented dryly, giving up on the lasagna and shoving it toward the back of the counter. “And it’s already Friday, so ‘early next week’ might be—”
    “Okay, Tuesday,” Ashley said with a chuckle, then waited stubbornly for an answer to Melissa, what’s going on?
    “Byron Cahill got out of jail this morning,” Melissa told her.
    “Yes,” Ashley prompted, sounding only mildly concerned.
    “He didn’t show up on schedule,” Melissa said. “Velda was upset.”
    “What else is happening?” Ashley pressed. “Velda’s been upset for years, and you knew Byron’s release date all along.”
    I met a man, Melissa imagined herself saying. His name is Steven Creed. He’s all wrong for me, and I think he’s beyond hot.
    While she might well have confided in Ashley in person, she wasn’t ready to talk about Steven over the telephone. And, anyway, what was there to say? It wasn’t as if anything had happened.
    Still, Ashley was an O’Ballivan and, among other things, that meant she wouldn’t give up until she got a story she could buy.
    So Melissa threw something out there. “I was roped into heading up the Parade Committee,” she said.
    “Oh, my,” Ashley replied, sounding taken aback. “How did that happen?”
    “I’m not sure, beyond the fact that Ona Frame can’t serve on the committee this year because her gallbladder exploded.”
    “It— exploded? ”
    “Not literally, Ash. And thank heaven for that, because you can just imagine the fallout—”
    “Melissa,” Ashley groaned.
    “Sorry,” Melissa lied brightly. She had always loved grossing Ashley out.
    Another chuckle came from Ashley’s end. “Not that you deserve this,” she began, “but as soon as Jack and Katie and I get back from Chicago, I’ll see what I can do to help you get the parade—well—rolling.”
    It was Melissa’s turn to groan. “Bad pun,” she complained, but she was grateful—wildly and instantly so—and she wanted Ashley to know it. “You’re merely saving my life,” she said next.
    “How hard can it be?” Ashley asked. “One small-town parade with—what?—fifteen floats, a high-school marching band, Veterans of Foreign Wars and the sheriff’s posse riding their horses?”
    How hard can it be?
    “Don’t tempt fate,” Melissa said. “Just because poor Ona has made it look easy all these years, that doesn’t