Free The Doctor Makes a Dollhouse Call by Robin Hathaway

schedules to make the trip to Seacrest. Horatio’s help had also been enlisted. He had rolled up the mats and tied them to the luggage rack on top of the van. As a reward, he had been invited to see the performance. As he sat huddled in the backseat, as far away from the cackling women as possible, he had mixed feelings about the invitation. Dr. Fenimore was at the wheel.
    â€œNow, Amelia …” Mrs. Doyle had arranged to sit next to her prize pupil in order to give her some final instructions. “Be careful with your karate chop, we don’t want to hospitalize any of the ladies right before Christmas.”
    â€œI’ve never been to the Shore in December,” said Mabel Parsons.

    â€œYou won’t catch her taking a swim, I’ll bet,” said another octogenarian.
    â€œWhy not?” retorted Amelia. “When my husband and I were younger we belonged to the Polar Bear Club and went in the surf every January.”
    â€œBrrrr,” said Mrs. Doyle. “Better you than me.”
    Fenimore found driving an unfamiliar vehicle arduous, especially to the background noise of the ladies’ endless chatter. Reminding himself that it was for a good cause, he gritted his teeth and concentrated on the road ahead. Fortunately, in December, the road to the Shore had very little traffic.
    â€œOh, look, Kathleen! There’s a scarecrow.”
    Mrs. Doyle looked out her window. Sure enough, a jaunty scarecrow stood guard over a desolate field of withered corn stalks.
    â€œHe looks just like Horatio!” someone cried.
    Shrieks of laughter greeted this pronouncement.
    If the van window had not been sealed shut, Horatio would have jumped out then and there.
    Fenimore sincerely hoped that the Pancoast sisters appreciated the sacrifice he was making on their behalf.
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    As they pulled up to the Victorian mansion, it began to rain. This was a cause of consternation to the party. Mrs. Doyle had planned to present her performance outside on the front lawn.
    â€œWhat on earth shall we do?” she whispered over Fenimore’s shoulder.
    â€œDon’t panic. The Pancoasts’ dining room is big enough to accomodate a Flyers game. With a little shuffling of furniture, we’ll manage.”

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    â€œHere they come, Emily!” Judith called her sister to the front window. Emily, ensconced in a wheelchair, rolled forward. Fenimore had called the night before to alert them to the impending invasion.
    â€œWhat pretty sweat suits,” Judith observed as the ladies descended from the van in varying shades of pastel pink, blue, yellow, and green. “They look like a bunch of Easter eggs.”
    â€œThat would make Dr. Fenimore the Easter Bunny,” commented Emily dryly.
    With Horatio’s help, moving the dining room furniture against the wall was easy. The only problem was the china closet. Mrs. Doyle was afraid one of the performers might strike the glass and shatter its priceless contents. Horatio finally solved this problem by tying two wrestling mats over the front of the closet.
    At last they were ready to begin. Folding chairs had been erected around the periphery of the room for the audience, which consisted of Judith, Emily, Edgar, Marie, Susanne, and Mildred. Adam and the children were expected to join them later, in time for the finale. Carrie and her little charges had also been invited. Mrs. Doyle had even provided a small tape recorder to play music during the program. It alternated between brisk Sousa marches and soothing Strauss waltzes.
    As the music started up, the ladies were all crowded into the kitchen giggling in anticipation of their first performance. They had shed their pastel-colored sweat suits to reveal bright red body suits and leotards, cinched at the waist with their idea of the prestigious “black belt.” As the first group of five ladies
paraded into the dining room to the beat of “The Washington Post March,” Dr.