Capacity for Murder (Professor Bradshaw Mysteries) by Bernadette Pajer Page A

know what happened in that electrotherapy room, that’s why you’re here. Loomis’ machine has been involved in a death, and as far as I’m concerned, that means Loomis is implicated. If he’s peddling a machine that’s improperly designed, I want it off the market, the inventor prosecuted, and Loomis duly punished.” The sheriff got to his booted feet.
    Bradshaw rose more slowly, weighing his duty to disclose fully to this man of authority. He knew he would eventually have to explain that he’d built the machine. But he wanted to know more, first. He wanted to confront Loomis.
    He asked the sheriff, “Do any of the others here, besides Mr. Loomis, know anything about electricity?”
    “No one has claimed any knowledge. I suppose that limits your suspects?”
    “Possibly.” But he never limited his investigations with assumptions. “Are you at all concerned that the guilty party might flee the sanitarium? Your deputy has little experience.”
    The sheriff grunted. “He’s got none, that’s why I could spare him to stay here. But if someone attempts to flee, we’ll know our culprit, won’t we? And Healing Sands isn’t so easy to escape from. The only road’s the beach. The forest? Even I wouldn’t like that hike, and I don’t think anyone here could paddle a canoe up the coast.” The sheriff got to his feet. “It’s time to see our suspects. I told the doc to round them up.”
    Bradshaw’s heart skipped a beat. He’d be facing Loomis for the first time in the sheriff’s presence, and he would likely undo the camaraderie they’d just established.
    ***
    The sheriff’s boots announced their approach like a drum roll, and Bradshaw sensed all eyes upon them as they entered the library. Dr. and Mrs. Hornsby sat in the middle of the room with two young women dressed in simple white attire and a young woman dressed in black. A man and woman, whom Bradshaw took to be the married couple, sat in the upholstered chairs by the cold hearth. Zebediah Moss stood by a window, feet braced, arms crossed. And Mr. Arnold Loomis looked just as Bradshaw remembered him only slightly paunchier, his hair a bit more receded. Otherwise, he had the same apparently open and honest face with unfortunate crooked buck teeth. He lounged comfortably in a back corner, his expression innocent, his eyes focused with studious attention on Sheriff Graham.
    “I’ve called you all in here to meet Professor Benjamin Bradshaw of the University of Washington in Seattle. He’s also a professional investigator of electrical incidents, and I’ve allowed Dr. Hornsby to bring him here so there will be no doubt as to what happened that brought about Mr. David Hollister’s death. I’m giving him a few days to complete his investigation. You will all cooperate with him. The sooner we have answers, the sooner you may leave. Am I making myself completely understood?”
    Dr. Hornsby said, “Yes, yes,” but otherwise, the question was met with silence. The roar of the ocean and the cry of a few seagulls drifted in through an open window, and Bradshaw was struck with the incongruity of examining a death in such a peaceful place.
    “Professor, you’ve met Dr. Hornsby and his wife, Miriam. Dolley and Abigail, their daughters, are housemaids.” The young women nodded gravely.
    “Their daughter Martha Hollister is the cook and the deceased’s widow.”
    Bradshaw dipped his head. “My sincere condolences.”
    Martha gave him a tight smile that trembled into a grimace. She looked away, a hand over her mouth.
    Sheriff Graham nodded toward the married couple. “The Thompsons, Frederick and Ingrid.”
    Frederick Thompson said, “How do,” in a weak voice. He was thin to the point of emaciation, his mustache too bold for his skeletal, jaundiced face.
    Ingrid Thompson didn’t speak. She tilted her head, lifted her chin, and studied Bradshaw. Her dark hair was swept up in the latest fashion, with one long tail of hair falling over her shoulder. Her