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

didn’t have an access road, so Ford would have to walk no matter where I dropped him off. I pulled up next to the dock where Pete’s tug was anchored.
    We all climbed out. Ford took off cross-country at a fast clip, waving his hand once. Pete hoisted his bike out of the truck bed.
    “Do you think he’s okay, living by himself in that shack?” he asked.
    “ I don’t know.”
    Pete grunted. “I forgot. We’re not the best people to judge. You live by yourself in an RV. I live alone on a tugboat. We’re probably all a little crazy.” He wheeled the bike down the dock.
    I climbed back into the truck and drove home with the windows down. I resented Pete ’s observation. I couldn’t possibly be crazy because I don’t live alone. I live with Tuppence.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 4
     
     
    Still steamed from Pete ’s comment, I knew I wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. So I decided to focus my restless energy on carrot cake. The day had been productive. If Saturday went just as well, Greg and I could take Sunday off.
    Tuppence hid under the dining table while I whacked pecans into tiny pieces with a butcher knife.
    “What’s wrong with you?”
    She thumped her tail but did not come out. I gave the chopping board another bang, making nuts bounce all over the counter.
    “Oh.” I put the knife down and peered under the table. “It’s not me, is it? Am I making you nervous?”
    Tuppence whined and stuck her cold nose in my face.
    “I see. Sorry, old girl. You know I get worked up about Pete.”
    I grated carrots, drained a can of crushed pineapple and measured out raisins and the other ingredients. After placing the cake in the oven, I sat on the floor and pulled Tuppence onto my lap. The big dog worked her bony knees and hips into a comfortable position and let me stroke her long, silky ears.
    I bent my head down to look in Tuppence’s sad eyes. “I’m not crazy, am I?”
    Not normally a licking dog, she swiped my chin with her tongue.
    “Thank you,” I whispered. I slumped back against the refrigerator and closed my eyes.
    The timer jolted me awake. The RV smelled of cinnamon and a fruity sweetness. My legs had fallen asleep under the hound ’s weight. I slowly rose and pushed my fists into my lower back muscles.
    “ I have to improve my posture,” I groaned. “I cannot be getting old.”
    I set the pans on a rack to cool. After snitching a corner of cake, I tumbled into bed.
    The alarm came too soon, but the lingering spicy scent reminded me of the waiting frosting job. I rolled out of bed and rushed through my morning routine.
    While coffee brewed, I whipped cream cheese with powdered sugar and an overdose of vanilla. A dollop of frosting in my coffee was my splurge for the day. I hummed “Louie, Louie” — still stuck in my head from last night. It was the only song the high school marching band had fully mastered, and they played it with gusto.
    Greg would be driving back to school in Corvallis tomorrow, so I cut the cake into quarters and packaged each section in its own airtight plastic container. Then I collected my things and made the short commute to the museum.
    When Greg arrived, we resurrected a bed frame and mattress from the basement, loaded them into the freight elevator and dragged them into a bedroom on the second floor — the new chamber pot exhibit room. Then Greg ran heavy-duty extension cords for the display cases Mac was building.
    I found an ancient coverlet and a couple down pillows in the stash of family linens still housed in the original servants ’ quarters. I made the bed and slid the enamelware specimen just under the edge so it was still visible.
    “ Perfecto,” Greg said.
    I stood back to survey the effect. “Yeah. I thought it would be a nice touch.”
    “ History isn’t stuffy and boring when it’s interactive.” Greg nodded. “This makes me glad I switched majors.”
    “ I didn’t know that. From what?”
    “