Capacity for Murder (Professor Bradshaw Mysteries) by Bernadette Pajer

thought of you. Your reputation has spread even down to our little neck of the woods. And I know a friend of yours, Detective O’Brien? I told Hornsby that you could find answers so he would summon you.”
    “Why didn’t you summon me yourself?”
    “I want the cooperation of everyone here. If they all believe you’re working for Dr. Hornsby, they’ll be more willing to talk to you.”
    “Are you saying you want me to work for you?”
    “I’ve heard you work for the truth. Does it matter who’s paying you?”
    “No one’s paying me.”
    “Maybe not directly, but how many guests did you bring with you? Their stay couldn’t be cheap.”
    “Except for the cost of my accommodations for the duration of my investigation, I intend to reimburse Dr. Hornsby for all else.”
    “Mighty noble of you. I must admit, I respect your integrity.”
    “And I respect yours.”
    The sheriff grinned. “Based on what?”
    “You wiped your boots.”
    “You noticed that, did you? Felt slippers undermine the authority of the badge, but I didn’t want to be a complete ass.”
    Bradshaw decided he liked Sheriff Graham.
    “The truth is Professor, I’m damned short-handed. Deputy Mitchell has no experience, and I’ve got five other places I ought to be right now. I’d appreciate it if you’d continue investigating the case. I could deputize you, but how about if we just call you a contractor? That way we can keep the illusion you’re working for Hornsby.”
    “How about I continue working for Hornsby and report my findings to you?”
    “O’Brien warned me you were a stickler for the high road. That’ll do.”
    “Doctor Hornsby’s having difficulty believing someone here at Healing Sands deliberately sabotaged the machine.”
    “He’s an intelligent man but one who’s never experienced evil, Professor. I knew that much the minute I met him.”
    “What alerted you this was more than an accident?”
    “Hornsby himself. His shock, his self-blame, his bewilderment, his reputation for competence. When he came to me and told me what happened, I knew I needed an electrical expert.”
    “Who are our suspects?”
    “That’s the trouble, there are damned few of them. Who’ve you met?”
    “Only Doctor and Mrs. Hornsby. My assistant spoke with Mr. Moss, but I haven’t yet.”
    “The staff consists of Hornsby’s own family, and there were only four patients here at the time. Besides Moss, there’s a married couple, the Thompsons, and Arnold Loomis, representative of the Loomis Long Life Machine that killed David, though he tells me he didn’t design or manufacture it.”
    “No, he did not. Do you have any theories, Sheriff?”
    “Not a one. But you’ve got evidence of either involuntary manslaughter or murder, or so you tell me. The difference between a buzz and a hiss hardly seems like concrete evidence.”
    “If you knew electricity as I do, Sheriff, you’d feel differently. Can you tell the difference in sound between the firing of a cannon and a pistol?”
    “That obvious?”
    “To me, yes.”
    “Point taken. That sound means somebody is going to jail. I don’t want to arrest Dr. Hornsby, but I will have to if no other person can be found responsible for that machine killing David.”
    “Why didn’t you allow Loomis to examine the machine?”
    “Seemed prudent to get an outside opinion. From someone less involved.” The Sheriff smiled.
    Bradshaw cleared his throat. The opportune moment to reveal his involvement was at hand, but he let it slip away with a small pang of guilt. “Did Loomis have a motive to kill David Hollister?”
    “Maybe you’ll tell me. Was that machine tampered with to kill? Or to frighten? Or to improve results? I once was called to the scene of a woman’s death in a bathtub. She’d filled it with a face wash that claimed to beautify the complexion, but she didn’t bother reading the label to see the active ingredient was arsenic. There’s no accounting for stupidity. I don’t