Christmas in Stilwater Ch 4
Rather than a normal fishing trip,Gibbs and Booth had planned to introduce their families to a Stillwater PA tradition—ice fishing. Only possible when the meandering local waterway not only froze over, but froze solid, this method of obtaining sustenance and protein had been practiced by settlers since their 1847 arrival. The two cousins arose before dawn and started their coffee brewing. Gibbs filled two mugs as Booth took a seat at the chrome Formica-topped kitchen table.
"Gram and Pops had one almost like this in Philly but the top was red, not pale gray," Booth chuckled.
"Did you hear the sleet start up around 2:30 this morning?" he asked, stirring a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee.
"Sleet?" Gibbs asked. "Nope, I slept like a log; too much house-cleaning the last few days getting this place ready for all of you. Those bedrooms upstairs hadn't been vacuumed in awhile."
He walked over the sink and peered out the kitchen window. "Hmmm, maybe we won't be doing any ice fishing after all. Looks like the whole world's been doused in ice water. Power lines are coated and the trees out back may lose a few limbs before things thaw out."
Flipping on the small countertop television confirmed his comments. The morning weather forecast scrolling across the bottom of the screen indicated icy roads and discouraged travel. He turned up the sound slightly to hear the broadcaster's narrative.
"Flights in and out of Scranton are cancelled until conditions improve."
"Apparently Mother Nature didn't want the fish disturbed this morning," Booth remarked. "Guess we'll have to find another way to keep this crew occupied later today when they wake up. No point rousing them yet, though."
"Dad had plenty of board games stashed in the basement. They might be dusty but that won't take long to remedy."
Gibbs' phone chimed softly, and glancing at it, he smiled at Booth. "That was Malcolm Hester, the coroner. He checked our victim's DNA against Joe Clendenning's health records at Fishing Creek Clinic and got a match. The poor old guy is finally reunited with his Minne, and our possible crime isn't one."
"Well, that's good to hear. For once Bones doesn't end up working during a leisure trip. Can't tell you how many times our short vacations have been cut short due to a crime victim's need for identification and justice."
Just then something thumped against the front door. Gibbs smiled. "Harry Partiere is more reliable than the USPS. Come hail, high water, or snow; he always gets the weekly newspaper delivered to everyone."
Booth yawned. "I'm gonna claim your dad's sofa and catch some more sleep. Don't want to wake Bones trying to crawl back into bed."
"That's good, because if you wanted his recliner, I'd have to wrestle you for it. I'm gonna read the paper, and probably doze off too. I guess you guys will be staying a few more days til the weather clears. Might as well take it easy until then."