Can't Stop the Feeling (Sinclair Sisters 2)

“Chickens?” Donna’s voice went up an octave and her palms began to sweat. She slid them under the table and tried to wipe them on her jeans without Duncan noticing.

Flora came to a stop beside their table, her back was straight, and she wore a peach coloured twinset over a grey skirt. Her grey hair was perfectly styled and her smooth cheeks were rosy. She looked like she’d walked straight off a Christmas card.

“Hello.” She smiled at Duncan. “You must be Mr Stewart. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a wonderful artist. The community is lucky to have you here.”

She held out a hand to Duncan, and Donna held her breath as she waited to see if he’d shake it. She let out a quiet sigh of relief when he did.

“You look familiar,” he said to Flora.

She patted her hair and gave him a benevolent smile. “You’ve probably seen me around the place. I do a lot of volunteer work. It can take me to the strangest places.”

Duncan studied her, and Donna began to panic. The man’s mind was like a vault. He remembered most things he saw.

“So, ladies,” she said a little too loudly. “What about the chickens?”

Joyce glared at Duncan for a minute before narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m Joyce MacDonald. My husband died ten months ago, and I’m over it already.”

Donna lifted her eyes to heaven. Please just hit me with lightning, she prayed.

Flora elbowed Joyce.

“Elbows!” Joyce snapped as she rubbed her side.

This situation was quickly deteriorating. Donna pushed out of the booth, making the women back up. “Duncan and I were just leaving. What did you need to tell me about the chickens?” She cast a glance at Duncan, who was studying the three of them intently.

“Um.” Flora and Joyce shared a look before Flora turned back to Donna. “Well, you know how we ordered eighty chickens?”

Donna nodded, she well remembered that they’d sworn there would be eighty people maximum coming to the ball. The room would hold seventy comfortably. Eighty was pushing it, but they’d make it work.

“Well,” Flora licked her lips. “It seems there was a mix-up with the order. We have almost one hundred and twenty chickens being delivered this Saturday, and we don’t have the fridge space for them. We need your help to squeeze them in.”

Donna felt the blood rush from her head and had to put a hand on the table to steady herself. One hundred and twenty? She tried to stare holes through the heads of the women who were giving her an ulcer. They didn’t notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. She suspected it was the latter.

“Aye,” Joyce nodded, looking at Duncan. “We’ve started a new charity called Chickens for Old People, and Donna’s been helping us with it.” She looked around, obviously searching for something else to say. “Donna likes chicken,” was what she came up with.

“I thought Donna was a vegetarian,” Duncan drawled.

“She likes live chickens,” Joyce amended. “She pets them.”

“You can’t fit live chickens into your fridges?” Duncan said.

“Don’t be daft,” Joyce snapped. “It would be cruel to put live chickens in a fridge. We’ll kill them first. But don’t worry. Donna won’t be around for that part. She’ll just cuddle them first. Flora catches the chickens and I, you know, dispose of them.” She leaned towards Duncan. “You can’t chase a chicken when you’re using a walker—they’re fast wee buggers.”

“Stop talking,” Flora hissed through a fake smile.

“What?” Joyce demanded. “We ordered live instead of frozen because they’re cheaper that way,” she told Duncan. “A charity has to watch its pennies.”

Donna held up a hand. It took all of her self-control not to slap it over Joyce’s mouth to stop the drivel pouring out.

“A hundred and twenty chickens? Really?” She glared at them. “We talked about this, and we agreed you only needed eighty—at most. We can’t fit any more in the fridges, so you need to cut the numbers.”

“But we can’t.” Flora cast a nervous glance Duncan’s way. “People are expecting their chicken. We can’t disappoint them. We just have to figure out how to get the other forty into the fridges.”

“It isn’t possible,” Donna said through clenched teeth. If they had one hundred and twenty in the ballroom, it wouldn’t be a ball, because there would be no space to dance.

“We have an idea for that,” Flora said, casting a glance at Duncan. “That’s why we were looking for you. To talk about the idea.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Joyce reprimanded.