Doubled Up (Imogene Museum Mystery #2) Read Online Free

beyond a maze of hallways to the freight elevator tucked next to the servants ’ stairwell.
    We rode in silence, listening to the groan and rattle of the old cables. The elevator ’s original to the mansion and was quite a novelty for a private residence at the time.
    At the top floor, the doors creaked open. I unlocked my office door. I sidled to the other side of my desk and stacked piles of books and papers together to clear some space. Ford lifted the statues off the cart and stood them on my desk as though he was placing bone china teacups.
    One of the male figures fell over with a loud clunk.
    Ford cringed. “Sorry.” He tried to right it.
    “ Not your fault. They’re lopsided.” I patted his arm. “Let’s lay them on their sides.”
    “ Thanks, and don’t forget your raincoat,” I called as Ford trundled the cart back to the elevator.
    I quickly made copies of the bills of lading from Terry ’s clipboard. Then I sped down the stairs to make a detour on the first floor and, I hoped, catch the end of Terry’s interview with Sheriff Marge.
     
    o0o
     
    Terry turned out to be shorter than I expected. I hadn’t noticed when he was prone, but now that he was perched like a gray leprechaun — knees splayed, heels hooked on the high rungs of a barstool, paunchy belly tipped over his low beltline — my first thought was that it wouldn’t have taken much to conk him on the back of the head. I probably could have managed it myself under cover of dark. Given the possible value of the shipment, it seemed odd it was in the care of this little man. He probably didn’t know anything about the contents of his trailer, though.
    His eyebrows scowled into a unibrow, and his chin jutted forward. His arms crossed over his chest and rested lightly on his belly shelf. Sheriff Marge, still ensconced in rain gear, leaned against the counter next to the coffee maker, periodically smacking the base of an empty mug she held in one hand into her other palm.
    I’ve known Sheriff Marge for over two years, and this was the first time I’d seen her look fierce. Stern, in-charge, no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-me-mister? Yes. But fierce? No. Not until today.
    I fought a rising urge to laugh. Here were two stocky, gray-haired adults well into the experienced years of their lives, and they might as well have been toddlers in a tugging match over a toy: Sheriff Marge ‘you have to share’ vs. Terry ‘you can’t make me.’
    I slid into a folding chair next to the lunch table. If there ’d been a bookie on the premises, I’d have placed all my pocket money on Sheriff Marge in this battle of the wills. Terry didn’t stand a chance.
    Terry finally burst the silence. “What do you expect me to do, sit here until you catch the guys who attacked me? At the rate you’re going, I’ll be Rip Van Winkle.”
    “ The more you tell me, the faster I’ll move. Why do you think I’m still standing here?” Sheriff Marge replied.
    “ I got a job to do, or I’ll get fired.”
    “ Which is why I’d like to see your CDL. No doubt your employer requires you to have a commercial license.”
    “ They must’ve taken it.”
    “ They?”
    “ The guys who attacked me.”
    “ There’s a bulge in your back right pocket. I presume that’s your wallet. Let’s have a look.”
    “ It ain’t in there.”
    “ So you’re saying these guys stole your license but not your wallet?”
    “ Yeah.”
    I wrinkled my nose. Terry was a terrible liar.
    “Where do you keep your license?” Sheriff Marge asked.
    “ With my paperwork.”
    "You mean this? ” I held up the clipboard.
    Terry ’s jutting angles — elbows and knees — slumped, and he lifted a hand to feel the bandage on the back of his head. He grunted.
    “ This is all really tidy. Everything looks in order,” I continued. “You keep a permanent document like your license with the paperwork that changes from load to load? I can’t imagine how you keep from losing it.”
    Sheriff