Shift Burn (Imogene Museum Mystery #6) by Jerusha Jones

probably using the Mercedes to run errands on her lunch break.
    “Back to her normal self,” I replied.
    “How’s the Imogene’s foundation repair going?”
    “Fine,” I said warily. Apparently nosiness is a Nugent family trait.
    “My brother heads the concrete crew. He said they’re scheduled to start building the new pillar forms tomorrow.”
    “Right.” I sighed again. I sure was getting jumpy about stuff that turned out to be innocent. Of course people would be talking about the Imogene’s renovations. The construction contract had provided quite a few jobs, something that was desperately needed in Sockeye County. “What’s his name? I’ve probably met him.”
    “Will Bremer.” Rhonda swatted a strand of her sleek dark hair over her shoulder.
    “Oh, sure. I know Will.” He had the same glossy brown hair, just shorter and usually hidden under a hard hat.
    “ Quincy might stop by the museum in the next day or two. He has dreams of selling you a policy.” Rhonda’s tone had turned scornful.
    “I already saw him today. He needn’t bother. The Imogene’s so unusual, no standard insurance company will cover us.”
    “That’s what I tried to tell him, but will he listen to me?” Rhonda scowled and shook her head, sending shivers through her long tresses. “Head in the clouds.”
    I had no desire to add fuel to what sounded like a reoccurring spat between the Nugents, especially since I was hardly unbiased in my own opinion on the matter. I also didn’t consider myself qualified to offer marital advice based on my two-and-a-half days of experience.
    I had my mouth open, thinking I’d change the subject to the hot and dry weather, always a favorite topic of conversation, when Ralph stepped up to the pass-through window and leaned over the counter, making my attempt at politeness unnecessary.
    “Now you know you shouldn’t drive after taking these, right?” he said. “You need to allow at least four hours after you wake up to do anything that requires your full attention. You might sleepwalk, sleeptalk, have no recollection the next day of things you did or said. Best to go straight to bed and stay there.”
    “And how many times have you filled this prescription for me?” Rhonda muttered while she signed the electronic consent pad.
    “I just like to make sure,” Ralph said patiently. “It’s habit-forming, so only take a pill if you absolutely need it.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Rhonda dropped the bottle into her shopping basket, then she nudged my elbow. “If Quincy bothers you, just send him packing. He’s getting enough rejections, he should have a thicker skin by now.”
    Ralph and I watched her go, following her with our eyes as she wound through the racks of merchandise until only the top of her glossy head was visible as she paused near the cash registers up front.
    “How’s my favorite curator? Besides happily married, I mean, not like those two—” Ralph flicked the edge of his glasses, knocking them back down onto his nose. “Sure enjoyed the ceremony and the potluck reception. Good to catch up with folks I hadn’t seen in a while. Sorry to hear about the Tinsleys’ barn though.” He clucked and reached under the counter. “I’m guessing you’ve come for these.” He pushed a heavy box of cotton gloves over to me.
    I grinned. “You read my mind.”
    “My specialty. Birthdays, retirement parties, old geezer get-togethers, I’m your man.” Ralph twirled a pen over the back of his fingers, and it disappeared.
    I was pretty sure the writing instrument ended up inside the cuff of his starched, long-sleeved shirt, but I chuckled appreciatively.
    Ralph winked. “The ladies love it.” 
    It was my turn to be nosy. “Any particular lady?”
    Ralph pressed his palms on the counter and leaned closer. “Got my sights on Betty Jenkins. You might put in a good word for me,” he whispered.
    “Consider it done.” I flashed him a parting smile.
    Sockeye County has more than its