Rock Bottom (Imogene Museum Mystery #1) (11 page)

CH
APTER 10

"Tell me what I can do,
” I begged.

“
Nothing,” Sheriff Marge replied.

Tuppence watched me pace from the kitchen island to the fireplace, back and forth.

“What about his cell phone? Does it have a GPS locater?”

“
We tried that first thing. It didn’t respond to pings, and the phone company can’t triangulate it. Either the battery’s dead or it’s somewhere the signals can’t reach.”

“
What kind of places?”

“
Bank vaults, wells and the bottom of rivers if the battery shorted out.”

“
Do you think —”

“
No. I shouldn’t have said that. Look, Meredith, there just haven’t been any valid tips, no confirmed sightings, no CCTV video — nothing. I can’t think of when we’ve had an adult missing person case with so little to go on. Usually the car turns up, stolen or something.”

“
The search yesterday? Dale said —”

“
Nothing. I figured that going in, but, since we had the manpower, we checked it out anyway. Clearly, the car wasn’t there, and we really need to find Greg’s car. That would give us clues at least. It was busywork, Meredith. Sorry.”

I sighed. It was hard to be angry. We were all looking for something to do, some way to feel useful
— some way not to go crazy with worry. Besides, anger wasted precious gray cells. Greg hadn’t left clues, so I was going to have to figure out what he had been planning. From nothing. And fast. I just needed something — a spark, a flash of creative inspiration, a sudden psychological insight — something.

“
Go to the museum. Do your job. And don’t you dare hole up in your RV. You need to be around people right now. Tuppence doesn’t count.”

I looked at the dog stretched out on the floor.
“She’d beg to differ. Anyway, I have school tours today, so you needn’t worry. Take care.” I hung up.

Tuppence raised her head.

“Yeah, yeah. Breakfast. I didn’t forget.”

I let Tuppence out then followed and filled her bowl with kibbles. I dumped out the ice-skimmed puddle in her water dish and refilled it.

Every grass blade was coated with white frost, sparkling in the weak sunlight. A wisp of fog along the river bank was quickly burning off. Cold, but it would be beautiful today. I tipped my head back and let out puffs of breath steam like smoke signals.

If Greg was exposed, last night would have been hard to live through. He was so skinny, no built-in insulation. I hugged myself and rubbed my upper arms.

Tuppence stood on the steps and waited for me to open the door and let her back into the warm trailer.

“
Right behind you, old girl.”

o0o

At the museum, I strolled through the quiet halls, planning the route I’d take with the kids. This would be the five-year-olds’ first school visit to the museum. They would tour each year through the sixth grade. I tried to spread out what I showed each grade so the tours wouldn’t be an exact repeat of the prior year.

Kindergartners were always fun
— spunky, inquisitive and easily bored. They also tended to bump into things, climb on things and get lost in the odd nooks and crannies of the old building. Sally would perform many head counts during their visit.

I went to my office and stared out the window. A square of sunshine fell over my shoulders. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the warmth as it slowly sank in. I wanted to fall asleep and not wake up unless a happy ending was guaranteed. The pinprick nap that lasted a thousand years. I didn
’t need true love’s kiss — I’d be satisfied with Greg’s safe return.

The single buzz of an internal call interrupted my reverie.

“A school bus just pulled into the parking lot,” Lindsay said.

“
Be right down.”

I indulged in the luxury of descending the grand staircase then waded into the tide of little people surging through the front doors. Pink-cheeked kids in primary-colored puffy coats bounced off each other like pinballs. A few hats were already off and getting trampled on the floor. Static-y hair recently released from the hats stood on end.

I thought Fisher-Price got it right when they designed the little pull-along bus with indentations for toy people inside. I’d dragged that bus everywhere as a toddler — upstairs, downstairs, and cried when I wasn’t allowed to read to my friends at nap time. This was better. I grinned at my living swarm of miniature people.

A few adults ringed the periphery
— chaperon parents. I waved to the graphic designer mom I’d met at the potluck. She had the baby strapped into a carrier on her back.

Sally bustled over.
“Well, here we are.” She gave me a quick hug and whispered, “I’m so sorry about Greg. Mort told me you were out helping search last night. We’re sure praying he’ll be found — soon and safe.”

I squeezed her back.
“I know. Thank you.”

Sally clapped her hands.
“Find your partner. Line up right here in front of me.” The children shuffled into a crooked line, holding hands, and looked up expectantly. “This is Ms. Morehouse, and she is the curator here at the museum. Who knows what a curator does?”

Several hands shot up. Sally pointed to a runny-nosed boy.

“You know how old stuff is and where it came from.”

I grinned.
“That’s right. I make sure all the really neat things are on display so people can learn about them. Do you want to know what it was like to live one hundred years ago?”

While most nodded, one stubborn child in the back shook her head in an emphatic
‘no.’ I ignored her.

“
How about two hundred years ago?” More vigorous nodding except the dissenter in the back.

“
My grandpa is really old,” another little girl offered.

“
Well, we have some things that are even older than he is. Ready to go find them?” A hand waved mid-pack.

“
Yes, Quentin,” Sally said.

“
I have to go to the bathroom.”

“
Oh dear. Maybe that should be our first stop?” She raised her eyebrows in my direction.

“
Of course.” I chuckled and led the way.

After all the kindergartners gained expert knowledge of the museum
’s restroom facilities, I walked them through the more tactile exhibits, keeping the pace up and encouraging questions. The early appliances room was a hit, especially when the kids took turns cranking the handle on the British mangle. The rug room was appropriately vilified for its musty odor, complete with nose pinching.

The taxidermy room with moth-eaten specimens of black bear, elk, cougar, mountain goat, beaver, opossum, golden eagle and one sadly flaking rattlesnake generated awe and perhaps a little apprehension. Sally liked to have her class go through the exhibit because it prompted energetic discussion later, once the kids had a chance to recover.

I saved the chamber pot display for last. I stopped at the door to the bedroom and waited for the stragglers to catch up.

“
This room used to be a bedroom, back when the Hagg family lived here. It was probably Bernice Hagg’s room. She was the sister of the man who built the house, and she lived here for many years.” She had also died during a grand mal seizure in the kitchen where she’d been instructing the cook how to make floating islands, but I didn’t tell the kids that. “Do you remember the bathroom downstairs?”

Lots of nodding.

“This house is fancy, so it always had bathrooms. But not everyone had a bathroom in their house back then. And if they didn’t have a bathroom, they would dig a big hole in the ground and put a little building over the hole for privacy, and use that to go to the bathroom. Has anyone used an outhouse before?”

A sea of waving hands. I pointed at one of them.

“When we go camping, we use an outhouse,” the boy said. “It’s smelly and there are bugs and spiders in there.”

“
You don’t have to flush,” another kid announced.

“
Yep, they’re not always very nice, are they? What happens if you live in a house that doesn’t have a bathroom — and it’s the middle of the night — and it’s snowing outside — and you have to go to the bathroom? What do you do?” I had their full attention.

“
You hold it?” a girl said, her eyes wide.

“
What if you can’t hold it?”

“
Then you wet your bed,” the first boy said matter-of-factly. “Or wear a diaper.”

This was met with guffaws.

“Diapers are for babies,” said another voice.

“
That’s right.” I tried to grab control. “How many of you have younger brothers or sisters who are being potty trained?”

About half of them raised their hands.

“That’s so gross.”

“
He gets M&Ms if he goes.”

“
Eeeww. My brother still wears diapers.”

“
Do any of them use a potty chair?” I shouted over the melee.

“
Oh, yeah.”

“
One time it tipped over in the car.”

“
Well, guess what people used at night when they didn’t have a bathroom in their house?” I said.

Their eyes swiveled back to me, riveted.

“Potty chairs. Except they were called chamber pots. Some were big, some were small.” I moved my hands with the sizes. “Some were fancy, some were plain. And everybody used them, even grown-ups. Do you want to see them?”

There was a general pushing and elbowing as they crowded into the room.

Sally caught up with me just outside the door. “This is so great,” she murmured. “They’re fascinated by the basics of life, especially bodily functions.”

“
I can’t believe we paid good money to look at potty chairs,” Quentin said as he craned his neck to see over the kid in front of him.

Sally whirled away, shoulders quaking. When she came back, she said in a strangled voice,
“His father’s the mayor. I’ll have to tell him admission is free for school groups.”

Giggling erupted in the bedroom.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” a child announced indignantly.

“
I just wanted to see.” The little voice ended in a whimper.

Sally frowned.
“That —”

But I didn
’t wait for her to finish. I moved children out of the way and headed toward the two girls and one boy who were bent over the bedside chamber pot. I peered through the space between their heads to find that one of the girls was actually sitting in the chamber pot — fully clothed, but stuck.

She wriggled, her rubber-toed sneakers skidding on the floor without gaining traction. Her brown eyes filled with tears, and they dribbled down her flushed cheeks. She started shifting from side to side, rocking the chamber pot
— the Dutch windmill chamber pot.