Doubled Up (Imogene Museum Mystery #2) (22 page)

I walked across the museum lawn to Ford
’s pump house-turned-cabin. I’d never been inside and wasn’t sure if he would welcome the intrusion or be flustered by it. The door was painted glossy forest green. I knocked.

“
Comin’.”

Several thumps and bumps sounded inside.

I turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack. “Ford, it’s just me. Please don’t get up. Is it alright if I let myself in?”

But Ford was already at the door and opened it wide.
“That’s jes’ Tommy. He’s gettin’ spritely.”

A small orange and white cat, purring much too loudly for its size, twined between Ford
’s feet.

I bent and scooped him up, tucking the fur ball under my chin. Tommy
’s purr turned squeaky.

“
Ford, how are you?”

“
Got nothin’ to complain about.”

When you get right down to it, that
’s true of most people, but they don’t realize it. I grinned. Ford’s is the kind of company worth keeping — everyone needs a good dose of cheerful perspective now and then.

“
I expected you’d be on crutches.”

Ford stuck his right leg out at a forty-five degree angle and examined the toe of his boot.
“These’re my lucky boots, Nick said. Not supposed to be bulletproof, but the angle was jes’ right. Deflected.”

“
Are you sore, though? Bruises?”

“
Toes are purple. Nick said to rest.” Ford shrugged. “Seems silly.”

“
Nick’s training to be a medic, so he knows what he’s talking about.”

“
I got prunin’ to do.” Ford’s face was set, determined.

I stroked Tommy for a minute. Nothing like cuddling a contented animal to get the gray cells clicking.
“You know what I’ve wanted for a long time?”

“
Huh?”

“
Tessellation puzzles for the kids who visit the museum. Mac even cut the pieces for me a year ago, and I’ve never had time to paint them.”

“
I could do that,” Ford said.

“
Would you? The littler kids who visit the museum would love to have something special to play with — something just for them.”

Ford grinned.
“I like puzzles.”

“
It’d be nice to have them for the winter months, especially, when the weather’s not good for touring the grounds.”

“
Yep. Winter’s comin’. Froze again last night.”

“
I’ll bring the boxes of pieces over this afternoon. Each shape needs to be painted a different color. Think you could make time for that job in the next few days?”

“
Yep. I’ll clear the kitchen table.” Ford turned and hobbled toward the back of the cabin.

“
And prop your foot up,” I called.

I snuggled my nose into Tommy
’s soft fur for another second, then released the cat. He trotted after Ford. Smiling, I closed the glossy green door behind me.

o0o

I paused at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily. Either last night had wiped me out more than I realized or I was in dire need of exercise. Or both. Shuffling sounds came from my office.

Lindsay squatted, sorting through books. The bookcases were already upright and in place along the walls.

Eyebrows, sans suit jacket, was head and shoulders into a bookcase. He backed out, a couple long screws held between his lips and a screwdriver in hand. He waggled the screwdriver. “Not secure,” he mumbled around the screws and bent back into the bookcase, a few shelves lower.

When he emerged a minute later, lips empty, he said,
“Bookcases are supposed to be affixed to the walls. You know that, right?” His bushy brows plateaued in a straight line across his forehead. “Proper safety measures.” He almost clucked. “If there was an earthquake—”

“
A couple of those doubled as weapons last night — for the good side.” I sighed. “But of course, you’re right.” I didn’t tell him that if there was an earthquake, the bookcases would probably be the least of my worries.

Superman blocked the doorway, holding a tub of spackle and a drywall cutout.
“Best patch I can provide in short order. A little texture and paint, and no one will notice.”

I shook my head.
“You guys go to carpenter school?”

Superman grinned, the first I
’d seen. “On the job training. Attics, crawl spaces, vents, closets with the floorboards removed and replaced. Usually important not to let them know we’ve been there.”

My stomach turned in knots, but I managed a tight smile. I knelt beside Lindsay.

“Any particular order?” she asked.

I pressed the heels of my palms to my forehead.
“Topical, then alphabetical by author within topic. Maybe I’ll draw a quick diagram.” I exhaled, surveying the piles. “Yeah. Give me a few minutes.”

I pulled an atlas over and grabbed a paper scrap from the file cabinet. Using the big book as a lap desk, I sketched a quick outline of each bookcase and its contents.

Lindsay looked over my shoulder. “I already found some geology books.” She scooted to a neat pile, picked it up and slid the stack into place.

By lunchtime, my office was cleaner than it had ever been
— bookcases no longer tipsy, books perfectly aligned, their perpendicular spines flush with the front edge of the shelves, dust vacuumed from every nook, my desk positioned in the square of sunshine filtering through the hazy window.

“
Ugh.” Lindsay pointed to the window and disappeared. She returned with a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels under her arm.

Superman fiddled with the replacement camera in the corner.

Eyebrows returned from stowing the ancient Hoover and smacked his hands together. “Looks good.”

Both men were rumpled and dust-streaked.

“Hungry?” I asked. “I called Dennis Durante, one of the local vintners and caterer. He’ll drop off some of his specialty sandwiches soon.”

“
I could go for that.” Superman rubbed his forearm across his brow. “This is ready to test.” He nodded at Eyebrows.

They ducked into the storage room down the hall.

“Lucky we haven’t had any visitors this morning,” Lindsay said. “But I’d better get back to the gift shop just in case.”

“
You get dibs on the sandwich you want when Dennis stops by.” I wrinkled my nose and sneezed. “I had no idea it was so dirty in here.”

“
That’s ‘cause you’re so focused all the time — and working. Maybe Pete’ll take care of that problem.” Lindsay dodged my playful poke.

“
I’ll come with you. I need to find those wood puzzle pieces Mac cut. They’re in the basement somewhere.”

I plodded down the final set of stairs and flipped on the basement light switch. Long rows light bulbs snapped to life, illuminating the cavernous, low-ceilinged room. One corner was cleared for photographing artifacts, set up with a digital camera, a couple tables, spotlights and transit carts. The rest of the room held a conglomeration of broken furniture, unlabeled collections in dusty boxes, household equipment
— some working, some not. Over a century’s worth of detritus.

But the puzzle pieces were from my era. They should be near the top, or front
— last in, first out, right? Like the accounting method. Those technicalities had always been a little beyond me in business school — why I went into marketing instead of accounting. But standing in the long room with my hands on my hips, they made sense. I was looking for cleaner, newer boxes.

I grabbed a transit cart and pushed it down the semi-clear center aisle, examining the easiest-to-reach boxes. Certain I
’d labeled the puzzle pieces, I looked for black Sharpie lettering. And pounced — three neatly stacked, clean boxes labeled ‘squares & triangles, parallelograms, hexagons.’

While loading the cart, the abandoned avocado green washer and dryer set caught my eye. I still hadn
’t posted them on Craig’s list. They certainly weren’t doing anyone any good in the Imogene’s basement. The mansion had industrial-sized washers and dryers installed in the 1940s, back when Rupert’s ancestors still hoped to produce more progeny and all live together happily in their massive vacation home. The 1970s avocado set was some kind of fluke — maybe the last servants used it.

I wandered into the off-shoot area where the laundry had been. It was directly underneath the servants
’ quarters upstairs — not long enough to be called a wing, just a chunky protrusion to the building. The Imogene was not a model of classical architecture. The mansion was a modern experiment before the idea of modern was fully developed, so from the outside it looked like something a toddler assembled with wood alphabet blocks.

Helpfully, the last person to do laundry here had left one of the big laundry carts directly under the chute
— where Snaggletooth landed with little apparent injury. I jiggled the cart, the wheels squealing in protest.

Snaggletooth had mentioned springs. I pushed on the cart
’s suspended inner bottom. Springs underneath groaned and squeaked as they compressed, all the way to the cart’s real bottom.

I wedged my hand between the inner bottom and the side, lifted and peered at the springs underneath. Clever, really
— it would function somewhat like a trampoline in case a kid fell down the chute.

A black rectangle lay between two coils. I squinted. A cell phone. That wasn
’t from the 1940s, or the 1970s.

I tipped the laundry cart on its side
— a hard task. The cart was much heavier than it looked. The phone slid, and I wiggled it out.

I opened the contact list. The names weren
’t familiar — mostly men’s first names, Mercury Trading, a couple girls’ names, and Mom. There was no Earl on the list.

I handed Superman the phone when we spread out lunch on my freshly scrubbed desk. The statues had their own space on a bookshelf.

Superman flipped through the contact list too, scowling. “Yeah, it’s his. Jeff Reid — that’s his real name. And Mercury Trading — that’s one of the many subsidiaries of the front company the truck is registered to.” He nodded and pocketed the phone. “Hopefully the information Mr. Rittenour provides will be useful in getting Mr. Reid to talk.”

My stomach churned. I set my chicken salad with red onion chutney and arugula on a crusty baguette down on the parchment paper wrapper
— untasted.

Eyebrows talked around a mouthful of pastrami.
“The other guy, Fulmer — Ferris — whatever his name is — well, he sure blabbed. Soon’s the sheriff laid out his charges, he started pointing fingers every which way. If we’re lucky, Rittenour’ll do the same.”

“
I still don’t understand,” I said. “Why was he here?”

“
Ferris? Said he was looking for something to convert into cash ‘cause he hadn’t been paid. Overheard someone talking about secure display cases for valuable items. Heavy, he said. He guessed right about there being gold in the building.”

I leaned back, staring at my sandwich without seeing it. So, between Ford, Mac and myself, we
’d said enough for Ferris to figure it out. How many other people knew? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. It’d be over soon.

I leaned forward abruptly.
“I’d like you to take the gold now.”