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

You’ll laugh.”
    “ No, I won’t.”
    “ Well, you’ll be amused, anyway. Music — piano performance. I have the hands for it —” he wiggled his long fingers “—but not enough talent.”
    “ That explains your comprehensive knowledge of early jazz.”
    Greg grinned. “Music is an important part of culture, so I guess it wasn’t such a big leap to cultural anthropology.”
    “ I’ve seen how excited you get about research — I think you’ve found a home.”
    “ And you need an oak Victorian throne-style chair with a hole in the seat for holding a chamber pot to round out this collection.”
    “ So — find us a good one on eBay.” I shook my head, grinning. “And remind me never to break into song in your presence. I might offend your musical sensibilities.”
    After lunch we finished the individual descriptions for each chamber pot and printed them on heavy card stock. Greg laminated the ones that would be hung on the wall or tented to stand next to the chamber pots that were out for public handling. I sorted the rest of the cards into order.
    “That’s it. Can’t do anything else until Mac delivers the cases.”
    Greg set the stack of laminated cards on my desk. “I’m bummed I’m going to miss the final set-up.”
    “ I’ll send pictures to your phone. Oh, and these are for you.” I pulled the cake containers out of the mini-fridge under my desk. “Thanks so much. I know the school kids are going to love this exhibit. I couldn’t have had it ready in time without you.”
    Greg cracked a lid open. “Carrot? Meredith, you’re the best.”
    “ Really? I’ve been thinking I might be crazy.”
    Greg scowled. “Something I should know about?”
    “ Overactive imagination, I expect. So, tomorrow, I don’t want to see you, at least not here at the museum. You’ve earned a day off.”
    “ You’re not going to do something desperate, are you?”
    I looked up, startled.
    “Tomorrow, I mean.”
    “ No, of course not. Tomorrow I’m taking your advice, and I’m going to be social. Football potluck at Mac’s tavern.”
    Greg chuckled. “This town is an enigma to me.”
    “ Me too, which is why I love it.”
     
    o0o
     
    On Sunday morning, I slept in until Tuppence’s whining at the door reached the urgent pitch I had learned to take seriously.
    While Tuppence chased squirrels and reestablished her perimeter around the campsite, I prepared ingredients for my signature potluck contribution known as cheesy potatoes. I spooned the whole fattening conglomeration into a casserole dish and set it in the oven for a nice low bake.
    With a sweatshirt pulled on over my pajamas, I strolled to the river’s edge. Large boulders lined the bank and provided a hard but ring-side seat to enjoy the view. Tuppence clambered after me, tongue hanging, the white tip of her tail perked in the air.
    High horsetail cirrus clouds feathered across the sky. Rain would come in a day or two. It was time. The season changes were more dramatic, and somehow both faster and slower than in the city — probably because I couldn’t help but notice them now in my exposed living conditions while they went unheeded amongst the gray concrete barriers of the city.
    Trees go from green to yellow and then to bare in a matter of days, pummeled by stiff gorge winds. If cold nights linger before the rains come, vine maples will highlight the deep blue sky with flickering red-orange leaves — one of my countless favorite sights.
    I inhaled the briny smell of freshwater algae and mud along with recently cut grass. Herb must have been out on the riding mower yesterday. I hoped to have as much energy as he did when I was almost eighty.
    When the rains arrive, Herb and Harriet will turn off the irrigation system. I always miss the nighttime tick-tick white noise of the sprinklers. I’ll wake up in the wee hours because of the silence until I become accustomed to it, a sort of seasonal jet-lag.
    Then the storms come — raging wind