Shift Burn (Imogene Museum Mystery #6) (7 page)

“Ohhhh,” Harriet whimpered and wiped her eyes — for a different reason this time. “Poor dog. Mae Brock’s cooking—” Harriet’s white ponytail swished against her shoulders. “Well, Tuppence has enough sense to never sample it again.”

“I hope so.”

oOo

If possible, the
Surely
’s living quarters were more cramped than the fifth-wheel’s. While Pete jury-rigged suitable sleeping arrangements, I set up shop at the built-in banquet table and bench at one end of the galley kitchen.

I pulled up the website for the freight company handling the Near East artifacts. The shipment was getting white glove treatment, which meant it was scheduled with a dedicated semi-truck and trailer tandem the entire distance. In theory, the trailer had been sealed by the collector and would not be opened again until I signed off on it. Certainly not the most efficient or cost effective method, but the most secure, provided the driving team — a married couple who preferred the nomad lifestyle — was honest and vigilant.

It was the freight company’s job to vet their drivers, and they had an excellent track record. It was the most subtle and protected form of transport we could get without bulletproof plating. I also suspected the drivers were armed, if informally. It’s not at all uncommon for long-haul drivers, regardless of their cargo, to carry a gun or two, just because they see long stretches of lonely road and plenty of sketchy characters on their travels.

My laptop pinged as an alert message popped up. The drive team was making excellent progress, and their estimated time of arrival was bumped up to Tuesday afternoon.

Tomorrow!

I jumped up, banged my knee on the support under the table and sat back down fast. “Ow.” I massaged the sore spot.

“Babe?” Pete stuck his head around the door seal.

“Clumsy.” I grinned at him. “Tomorrow’s the big day.”

“Didn’t we just have the big day?”

I scooted off the bench in proper form this time and went to him. “It was the
best
day—” I stretched up, wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek, “—ever. But the shipment’s arriving tomorrow.”

Pete’s hands found their perfect spot in the small of my back. “We might just beat the odds this time. I haven’t heard a peep around town,” he murmured against my neck.

“Good.” I sighed and relaxed into his chest. “We can’t afford to have anyone know about this shipment, at least not until I’m ready to put it on display — and the foundation’s finished, and we have a security system installed. Rupert’s working on the new insurance policy, but I don’t think he has it finalized yet. This is crazy,” I whispered. “Like walking a high wire tightrope.”

“It’ll boost the number of visitors.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Then maybe the museum can afford to hire more staff and you can take a vacation — with me.” Pete’s hands moved into tickle territory.

“The vacation’s non-negotiable,” I said, wriggling. “Just as soon as the shipment’s reasonably secured, we’re out of here.”

“Amen to that.” Pete laced his fingers through mine. “Want to see your new bedroom?”

Just before I fell asleep, lying in the gently rocking dark, listening to the Columbia’s rolling waves slap against the side of the tug, I murmured, “I’m glad we were here — to be with the Tinsleys — even though we haven’t had a honeymoon yet. If we’d been gone—” I turned my face toward Pete on the pillow we were sharing.

“Yeah, Babe,” he whispered, “we’re home. This is exactly where we belong.”

oOo

The next morning over bacon and mushroom omelets — Pete’s specialty — we discussed who would do what. It was a first for me, this sharing of responsibilities — and decided that we could pick up Tuppence together, but Pete would have to shuttle the Tinsleys by himself since the truck only held three adults in semi-comfortable condition. Besides, I had some preparation to do at the museum before the shipment arrived. I was loving how sweet mundane tasks were turning out to be when done in his company.

Next week, Pete would be back to work as well, with days- or weeks-long trips on the Columbia-Snake river system, and he’d be busy at least until the end of harvest. I’d be on my own a lot then. But he had a great crew, and he’d be able to finagle a three-day weekend for an official honeymoon as soon as I could leave the museum.

It was already another scorcher, and we rode with the windows down. My truck is far too old to have such a modern convenience as air conditioning. Freckles had popped up all over my body, not just across my nose like they usually do in the summer. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was wearing as few clothes as possible in an attempt to not overheat — lots of shorts and skirts and tank tops. I could identify constellations on my forearms by connecting the dots. Good thing my job at the Imogene kept me out of the public eye most of the time.

Doc Corn’s waiting room was only half full but with the same miserable assortment of furry creatures as we’d seen yesterday. We strode up to the unoccupied receptionist’s desk.

I could hear someone — two someones, a man and a woman — having a muffled conversation around the corner. I strained to pick out the voices, but wasn’t sure about either one, except that the man was definitely not Doc Corn.

“I told you it will have to wait, Rhonda,” the male voice hissed.

The woman muttered a few sentences, but I only caught a snatch — “Whatever. I’m sick of it.”

I scrunched my face at Pete, figuring we were inadvertently eavesdropping on a bit of marital unbliss. Then I winked at him. We’d made it two days so far without that kind of unpleasantness.

Maybe a paying customer would give the unseen pair a chance to cool off. I tapped the service bell and cringed as its loud clang echoed off the hard surfaces necessary in a room that has to be sanitized every evening.

Rhonda’s head peeked around the corner. “Oh, Meredith.” She quickly smoothed her long hair with both hands and bustled to her chair. “Tuppence is just great. No complications. She’s ready to go home. If you give me a minute—” she clicked at her keyboard and the printer whirred to life. She slipped the invoice in front of me.

I dug in my purse for my wallet, and when I glanced up, a man stood behind Rhonda. He wore pointy-toed, heavily embossed cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans with creases pressed down the front of each leg, a Western shirt and a bolo tie with a giant turquoise clasp. His dirty blond hair was stick straight and flared a bit over his ears.

“Quincy Nugent.” He stuck out his right hand, aimed toward the gap between Pete and me. “The newlyweds. Have you considered life insurance? Lots of married couples do it, consider it their gift to each other.”

Pete and I froze awkwardly for a second, unsure who should go first in the obligatory return of politeness — if you could call being solicited for life insurance politeness.

I leaned sideways and scribbled my name on Rhonda’s receipt, leaving Pete to tend to the handshake. I frowned and took my time flipping through the care instructions Doc Corn had written for Tuppence. Pete mumbled something about not making important decisions in a hurry.

Quincy
was obviously one of those people who was trying too hard — posturing. Either he was desperate for acceptance in this rural county, or he thought the charade would garner him more business. Only uninitiated people think the bolo tie is cowboy attire. I’m pretty sure the last thing a real cowboy wants to wear is a string around his neck. And the boots — not actually made for walking in, yet Quincy was giving it his best shot.

Rhonda held up a finger, indicating she was going into the back to retrieve Tuppence. She disappeared around the partition.

“It’s nice to meet you folks. ‘Course, Rhonda and I were at your wedding, but I mean to really talk with you, friend to friend.” Quincy scooted around the desk and crowded in. He lowered his voice. “Heard you’re expecting a big shipment up at the Imogene too. Must have quite a bit of money tied up in those collections, yeah? Can never be too careful. May I suggest a custom-written irreplaceable value rider on your policy?”

Pete has an uncanny ability to know when my blood pressure shoots up. Maybe I turn red — I don’t know. He eased in front of me and stared down at the smaller man.

Quincy backed up. “Well, you think about it. Just let me know. I’m happy to be of service.”

Nails clattered on the linoleum and a wet nose collided with my knee. My wiggly, squiggly, absolutely elated hound. Never was a dog so ecstatic to escape confinement. She could hardly hold still long enough for a decent rubdown.

Then it was Pete’s turn to receive a shower of affection. Tuppence adored him long before I did, so his joining the family has never been a problem for her.

Pete held open the door, and Tuppence trotted out, nose angled straight for the pickup. A dry gust spun into a small whirlwind, carrying dead grass and parking lot litter, flapping Tuppence’s ears, and prickling up the back of my neck.

I squinted toward the east and the layer of gray-brown smoke that was built up thick and brought the eastern horizon much closer than it really was. Wind. Exactly what we didn’t need.

Tuppence sneezed, then snorted, her nose quivering toward the east too. No doubt she smelled it as well.

I scooted into the middle so Tuppence could assume her usual shotgun seat. As soon as Pete started the engine, I blurted, “What was he thinking? He has to know that a podunk, two-bit, storefront insurance agency can’t offer the kind of policy the Imogene needs. That’s why Rupert’s working with Lloyd’s of London. How does he know about the shipment?” I ended through gritted teeth.

“Whoa, Babe,” Pete replied. “Maybe he doesn’t realize the magnitude of the shipment. He might have just hit on a lucky guess. Otherwise, he’d know what you know — that he can’t possibly offer insurance for what’s in the shipment. I’d call his offer a general threat of good intentions — not specific.”

“You think?” I blew out a long breath.

“For now. But word will leak. How long until the security system’s in place and operational?”

“Five or six weeks, not allowing for glitches. The security technicians can’t finalize the settings until the foundation repair work is complete because of the motion sensors, and the concrete in the support pillars for the foundation will take twenty-eight days to cure after they’re poured.” I sighed. “I wish the donor hadn’t been in such a hurry to unload this collection.”

Pete shook his head, his face grim. We both knew the timeframe was too long to count on lips not flapping in
Sockeye County.

CHAPTER 8

Pete dodged the construction equipment in the Imogene
’s parking lot and dropped Tuppence and me near the front doors. I leaned into his open window for one last smooch, then he turned around and headed back to Lupine to retrieve the Tinsleys.

Rupert was puttering about the ballroom, our largest exhibit hall and the first one visitors pass through, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped at the plaque beside a case displaying Klickitat beaded pouches, bent forward to peer at the fine print and read every word, muttering to himself. At least eighty percent of his work for the museum is on the road — examining collections, acquiring them in whatever bargain method he can conjure up, and schmoozing with other curiosity seekers and oddity collectors like himself. Essentially marketing on a grand scale. I handle the local marketing and all operations as well as collection preservation and display. In other words, Rupert sets the overall vision while I scurry around after the details.

Since Rupert is certifiably eccentric, you can imagine what sort of vision the Imogene follows, but it’s a fun ride — most of the time. I’m one of the few people on the planet who truly loves her job.

Whenever Rupert’s on the premises, he usually holes up in his tornado-aftermath of an office, a place you enter at your own risk.  I darted a glance into the gift shop and caught Frankie’s eye. She just shrugged and shook her head. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one worried about this shipment.

Tuppence took it upon herself to greet my boss by nudging his knee with her nose and swishing her entire back half from side to side. She was still giddy about being released from medical treatment.

Rupert chuckled and bent even farther to scratch behind her ears. He has the Humpty Dumpty body type but with a dash of debonair flare in professorial tweeds. I didn’t know how he could stand to wear wool pants in this heat, even though inside the Imogene was a good twenty degrees cooler than outside.

Rupert straightened and padded toward me, his face flushed from the exertion. “Meredith, my dear. I do apologize for the unfortunate timing of this delivery. I feel rotten about interfering with your honeymoon.”

“It’s not your fault.” I patted his arm. “Do you know why the donor was in such a hurry to transfer the collection? Seems unusual.”