Rock Bottom (Imogene Museum Mystery #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

haven’t had the chance to show it yet.”
    This time Lindsay ’s blush went deep into her hair. I leaned back and smiled. Good-bye, Angie — maybe.
    Pete reclaimed his spot and handed me a loaded hot dog and a can of Barq ’s root beer. “You don’t like cola, right?”
    “ Right. Thanks.” How did he remember that? Was he paying attention, or was it a fluke?
    Anyway, the hot dog was great. Ambiance is vital for hot dogs. They only taste good when charred over a campfire or at football games when your team is ahead. Smothered in sauerkraut, onions and mustard, this one hit the spot.
    I licked my lips and grinned at the fact that I certainly wouldn’t have kissable breath tonight. Take that, Pete Sills. Not that he’d ever tried. Maybe he didn’t like my freckles. Or how I always acted so ditsy around him. Well, if those were his problems, he was too shallow to waste time thinking about.
    Yeah, right.
    The Senators staged a short-lived rally late in the third, causing a fumble near the goal line and intercepting a line-drive pass, but the Polecats pulled off a 42 to 17 win. The crowd slapped each other on their backs, yawned, stretched and cascaded down the bleachers.
    A man in a blazer, khakis and loafers stood on the sideline, talking to Lindsay ’s boyfriend. He was definitely not a local — not in that get-up. He had to be a college scout. I felt a twinge of pity for Lindsay. The girl was about to be left behind by a boyfriend already two years her junior. She needed a stick of ambition dynamite lit under her. Maybe Greg could do that. Maybe he already had.
    Pete and I moved with the flow toward the parking lot. My behind was numb from the cold, hard bleacher seat and tingly from fresh blood flow. No hip-sashaying motion here. More like a chicken waddle.
    I wrinkled my nose at a whiff of marijuana wafting from the group in front of us — a mix of high-schoolers and parents. Didn’t people have sense enough not to smoke pot at such a public event and in front of kids? Or maybe it was the kids. Then where were their parents?
    I sighed — I was sinking into indignant old woman mode.
    The slapping sound of big, flat feet pounding the pavement rushed up behind me. I side-stepped quickly.
    “Missus Morehouse,” Ford panted.
    “ Hi, Ford.”
    “ Can I get a ride with you? Mac brought me, but he has to stay for a while. I don’t want to wait.”
    “ Sure. Your prediction about the game came true.”
    Ford grinned and tapped his temple. “I know things.”
    Pete chuckled. “Do you predict final scores, too? ‘Cause I know a guy who could set us up if you have that kind of information.”
    “ Pete. Don’t you dare.”
    Pete shrugged and grinned.
    “I don’t gamble,” Ford said. “That’ll get you in trouble. And if you do that, they take things away, like your house and your car and your family. Course, I don’t have those things, but jes’ the same, it’s wicked, and I don’t do it.”
    “ Hear, hear,” I muttered and wondered how Ford had gained this knowledge.
    “ Point taken,” Pete said, quickly serious.
    “ That’s right.” Ford nodded.
    We crammed into the pickup, with Ford in the middle. I turned the heater on full-blast, and gradually became aware that Ford ’s hygiene lacked a little something. Hints of irate raccoon plus the permeating odor of moldy potatoes made my eyes water.
    I really shouldn ’t know what irate raccoon smells like, but thanks to Tuppence, I do.
    After a few miles, I decided the tangy fragrance might not emanate from Ford personally, but rather his clothes. Perhaps they just needed a good scrubbing. The image of the unused avocado washer and dryer in the museum basement popped into my head. I ’d talk to Rupert when he returned, see if they could be installed in Ford’s cabin. But didn’t he already have laundry facilities?
    I turned onto the straight, wide road leading to the port. Ford ’s cabin was closer to the port than to the museum parking lot. It