Faux Reel (Imogene Museum Mystery #5) by Jones Jerusha

Author:Jones, Jerusha [Jones, Jerusha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jerusha Jones
Published: 2013-09-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Mom and I established an efficient rhythm and emptied enough boxes of Bakelite that I needed to assign identification numbers in order to not confuse the pieces with each other. Mom manned the digital camera while I checked in each image and arranged the basic documentation information in folders on my laptop.

The lights in our improvised photo studio create a lot of heat, and I was starting to wilt when a yoohoo came from the stairs.

I blinked toward the dark end of the basement, and two forms — one tall and lanky and one curvy and blonde — appeared.

“Frankie said you’d be down here. Isn’t she a sweetheart?” Tiffany gushed.

I groaned inwardly at the sight of them, but I had promised my assistance when I met Melvin at the fundraiser.

“Ooooo, Bakelite.” Tiffany snatched up a cherry charm bracelet and slipped it on her wrist.

“Don’t touch,” Mom snapped. “These are official museum pieces.”

Tiffany hastily pulled off the bracelet and dropped it back on the transit cart. “Sorry.” She retreated a couple steps and clung to Melvin’s arm.

Melvin cleared his throat.

I wondered if Mom knew something I didn’t about Tiffany’s habits. Maybe she’d gathered a few hints the other day during their bonding session in the motorcoach.

Melvin cleared his throat again, and I decided to take pity on him. “How can I help?” I asked.

“Oh just perusing the museum for old times’ sake Tiffany’s that is from her school days seeing what she remembers and—” He shrugged and pursed his lips. The action raised his glasses on his ears, making him look uncannily like an academic, beatnik weasel. Like a malignant creature from The Wind in the Willows.

I took a deep breath. I had to stop my personal dislike of these two from interfering with professional courtesy. “I’m afraid we don’t have any exhibits relating to food. Well, other than this jewelry—” I jabbed a finger at the transit carts, “—or locavore culture. We should. It would certainly be appropriate, but it’s an area the museum’s lacking in.”

“What about salmon?” Tiffany asked. “I remember this really huge, horrible painting that had a fish on it and used to hang in the ballroom. We always started with that painting when we had school tours even though everyone hated looking at it.”

A stab of surprised worry made me inhale too fast, too obviously — but I tried to recover and appear nonchalant. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a lot has changed at the Imogene since you were in grade school. We try to rotate through exhibits to keep things fresh.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but was technically true in the case of Cosmo’s ‘Salmon Cache.’ I guess you could say the painting was out on involuntary loan. I just didn’t know who to. And I really, really hoped its ‘loaning’ wasn’t going to have negative repercussions for Rupert.

“Have you been to Willow Oaks yet?” I continued. “I’d be happy to call the owner, Dennis Durante, and introduce you if you’d like. He’s produced several award-winning wines from his vineyard, and he has a farm-fresh menu at the attached bistro.

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