Read Online Doubled Up (Imogene Museum Mystery #2) by Jerusha Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Jerusha Jones
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his deadpan face didn’t offer any encouragement. “I mean — well, it’s just that Ham’s a lawyer, and he’s sort of picky about his image. He usually dates women who enhance his reputation.”
“ I understand he dated you.”
“ Yeah, but that was before — and anyway, I dumped him.”
“ Uh-huh.”
“ He was two-timing, three-timing — I don’t know how many of us he had going. I got out as fast as I could when I figured that out.”
“ Know why he’s here?”
“ He stopped by the museum today and talked for a while. Honestly, I didn’t listen very much — you know, with everything else that’s been going on.”
“ Did you know he was coming to see you?”
“ No. And I really wish he hadn’t.”
Sheriff Marge pushed up her Stratton hat brim and tucked the notebook back into her chest pocket. “Okay. That’s enough for now.”
“ What about the incident at the Randalls’?” I asked.
Sheriff Marge exhaled. “My deputies are wrapping up the scene.”
“ What does that mean?”
“ It means, fortunately, we didn’t have to shoot him. In the end, he did it himself.”
I wanted to fling my arms around Sheriff Marge and squeeze. No wonder she seemed zapped of her usual vitality. She must live with a load of heartache for the people she protects. But she ’s not the type of woman you hug.
“ And his wife?”
“ Hysterical. But she’ll get over it. Doesn’t take long to figure out life is better when you’re not married to a man like that.” Sheriff Marge rubbed her forehead. “Back to the matter at hand, I’m arresting Ms. Brown for assault and battery and destruction of property. Mr. Wexler is free to go and seek medical attention if he wants. I had to cuff them both since I’m dealing with this incident by myself and couldn’t trust them to leave each other alone.” She sighed. “I hate domestic disturbances.”
“ Would you like to come for Thanksgiving dinner?” Pete asked.
My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, although I thought his timing could have been a little better. Sheriff Marge is a widow, and her grown sons are scattered across the country — too far away to come for weekend holidays.
“ That’s kind of you. But I think I’ll be doing paperwork tomorrow.” Sheriff Marge shrugged and turned toward her prisoner.
o0o
The next day, Tuppence and I strolled around the campground while the yams baked. I assumed Pete’s oven would be full, so I wanted to have all my assigned dishes ready to serve when I arrived. And it didn’t hurt to get in a little exercise before the big meal.
Dark clouds hung low, their bottoms dropping away in filmy mist layers. I shivered and hunched into my coat. Usually thick clouds offered protection from extreme temperatures, but it was bitingly cold. The weather was about to change, for the worse.
Tuppence felt it too. She sniffed with her nose high in the air and stuck close to my leg.
I caught a whiff of smoke — campfire smoke. A thin plume rose above the Russian olive grove where the unimproved tent sites are. Tenting in winter in the Columbia Gorge meant the camper was either a diehard with all the necessary equipment or dangerously ignorant.
I strode through the wet grass with Tuppence on my heels. Spots of pale blue and old lumber appeared between the olive trees ’ low branches. I squinted and sped up.
“ Haloo,” I called before pushing through the brush into the clearing. I didn’t want to startle the occupant.
He leapt out of his lawn chair anyway and crouched slightly. His right hand slid inside the open front of his down vest, his lips pressed into a tight line.
I held out my empty hands instinctively. My heart thumped fast. The driver of the Datsun pickup who had tailgated me on the way to the hospital. Was it coincidence to encounter him twice in as many days?
“ Sorry to startle you. There just aren’t that many campers here in November, so I thought I’d say hi.”
The man glared at
“ I understand he dated you.”
“ Yeah, but that was before — and anyway, I dumped him.”
“ Uh-huh.”
“ He was two-timing, three-timing — I don’t know how many of us he had going. I got out as fast as I could when I figured that out.”
“ Know why he’s here?”
“ He stopped by the museum today and talked for a while. Honestly, I didn’t listen very much — you know, with everything else that’s been going on.”
“ Did you know he was coming to see you?”
“ No. And I really wish he hadn’t.”
Sheriff Marge pushed up her Stratton hat brim and tucked the notebook back into her chest pocket. “Okay. That’s enough for now.”
“ What about the incident at the Randalls’?” I asked.
Sheriff Marge exhaled. “My deputies are wrapping up the scene.”
“ What does that mean?”
“ It means, fortunately, we didn’t have to shoot him. In the end, he did it himself.”
I wanted to fling my arms around Sheriff Marge and squeeze. No wonder she seemed zapped of her usual vitality. She must live with a load of heartache for the people she protects. But she ’s not the type of woman you hug.
“ And his wife?”
“ Hysterical. But she’ll get over it. Doesn’t take long to figure out life is better when you’re not married to a man like that.” Sheriff Marge rubbed her forehead. “Back to the matter at hand, I’m arresting Ms. Brown for assault and battery and destruction of property. Mr. Wexler is free to go and seek medical attention if he wants. I had to cuff them both since I’m dealing with this incident by myself and couldn’t trust them to leave each other alone.” She sighed. “I hate domestic disturbances.”
“ Would you like to come for Thanksgiving dinner?” Pete asked.
My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, although I thought his timing could have been a little better. Sheriff Marge is a widow, and her grown sons are scattered across the country — too far away to come for weekend holidays.
“ That’s kind of you. But I think I’ll be doing paperwork tomorrow.” Sheriff Marge shrugged and turned toward her prisoner.
o0o
The next day, Tuppence and I strolled around the campground while the yams baked. I assumed Pete’s oven would be full, so I wanted to have all my assigned dishes ready to serve when I arrived. And it didn’t hurt to get in a little exercise before the big meal.
Dark clouds hung low, their bottoms dropping away in filmy mist layers. I shivered and hunched into my coat. Usually thick clouds offered protection from extreme temperatures, but it was bitingly cold. The weather was about to change, for the worse.
Tuppence felt it too. She sniffed with her nose high in the air and stuck close to my leg.
I caught a whiff of smoke — campfire smoke. A thin plume rose above the Russian olive grove where the unimproved tent sites are. Tenting in winter in the Columbia Gorge meant the camper was either a diehard with all the necessary equipment or dangerously ignorant.
I strode through the wet grass with Tuppence on my heels. Spots of pale blue and old lumber appeared between the olive trees ’ low branches. I squinted and sped up.
“ Haloo,” I called before pushing through the brush into the clearing. I didn’t want to startle the occupant.
He leapt out of his lawn chair anyway and crouched slightly. His right hand slid inside the open front of his down vest, his lips pressed into a tight line.
I held out my empty hands instinctively. My heart thumped fast. The driver of the Datsun pickup who had tailgated me on the way to the hospital. Was it coincidence to encounter him twice in as many days?
“ Sorry to startle you. There just aren’t that many campers here in November, so I thought I’d say hi.”
The man glared at
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