June poured hot coffee from a percolator that was sat on her desk into three logo bearing mugs that were no doubt available to buy in the gift shop. The aroma of the ground beans now brewed in the scalding hot water had cast away the slightly musty smell that all museums seemed to hold, replacing it with something warm and homely.
“Milk and sugar?” she asked both Tara and Scotty with a smile, she waved a silver teaspoon back and forth in front of her.
“Just milk for me,” Tara said.
The office was reasonably sized, files and lever-arch folders of paperwork lined the walls on black Formica shelving that ran along the side and back wall. A small fan was clipped onto the edge of the furthest shelf, its power cord trailed down to a plug socket. The fan issued a monotonal creak-creak-creak as
