Chapter One — Murder in the Museum
“David Reese!” A voice called across the hall.
I had just opened the door to Gadsby’s Tavern Museum and stuffed my dripping umbrella into a stand already crammed with large beach umbrellas, green-and-white-striped golf umbrellas, umbrellas with broken ribs, plastic bags, drenched newspapers, towels, you name it. People had obviously grabbed anything within reach before making a mad dash from their cars to the museum. I shook off my sopping jacket and handed it to the coat checker.
It was dreadful outside. Sheets of rain were falling on Old Town and throughout the Washington, D.C. area. Lower King Street was going to be submerged once again, just like it always is when there’s a torrential downpour.
If this monsoon had been forecast, I doubt anyone would be here tonight. But this storm sneaked up without warning. Hopefully it will dissipate by the time the evening’s performance is over.
A few years ago, I discounted flash flooding as something that only happens in places like West Virginia. Not anymore. A friend of mine nearly drowned along the George Washington Parkway under the 14th Street Bridge during an unexpected downpour just the other week. She had to climb through the roof of her BMW and swim to safety. On the parkway, mind you!*Edits Key
Pink Highlight = Spelling error Teal Highlight = WC (Word Choice)
Gray Highlight = Spacing Green Highlight = Awkward Phrasing