Capacity for Murder (Professor Bradshaw Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

In a few wind-tattered treetops, bald eagles gathered, occasionally spreading their expanse of wings and announcing their domain with piercing cries. In the distance, the smokestack of a steamship puffed steadily, and nearer shore, a native paddled in a cedar longboat.
    The sun had just begun to warm the sand when Justin and Paul came running out of their cabin in their blue-and-white striped flannel suits. Mrs. Prouty followed at a more decorous pace, wearing a decade-old ballooning sunbathing costume. He waved to them, and Justin made a detour to say good morning.
    “What’s on your agenda today, son?”
    “We’re going to rebuild the castle and have the moat lead to a holding pool that we’ll fill with crabs so they’ll be able to crawl over and attack it. Will you come see it when it’s done?”
    “I’ll try. I’ll be working today.”
    “You’ve got until high tide, that’ll be after lunch sometime.”
    Justin ran off, and Bradshaw made his habitual pat-down before leaving the cabin, checking that his pockets contained his notebook, pencil, tool pouch, and the vial of sand grains. He put on his hat and picked up his investigation kit, a second-hand leather doctor’s bag with a hard bottom and inner compartments that held his instruments snugly.
    He found Deputy Mitchell on the porch with a mug of herbal tea that he took as an omen of the absence of coffee. He asked anyway, but was resigned when his fear was confirmed.
    “Doc Hornsby isn’t keen on stimulating beverages. Or intoxicating ones. The tea is quite good, though.”
    Bradshaw said he’d pass for now. “I’d like to talk to you about your observations. Can you give me a tour of the house?”
    “Sure, I’ll show you around.”
    Both of them changed into slippers, and after disposing of his kit upstairs in Hornsby’s office, they returned to the foyer to begin the tour.
    From the entry, a hallway split the house in two. The first room on the left held an impressive library, walled with shelves, leather-bound books, a selection of dime novels, and stacks of medical journals. Wingback chairs and polished tables invited readers and writers. All was picture-perfect. Even the hearth in the stone fireplace had been laid with care, the crisscrossed twigs sprinkled with matchstick-sized kindling, ready to light should the weather turn cool.
    Next came Dr. Hornsby’s Osteopathic Room, a bright airy space with white plaster walls, a gleaming hemlock floor, a manipulation table, pulleys, hanging bars, several contraptions designed for self-realignment, and a device best described as a medieval torture rack.
    “That one,” said the deputy, pointing to the rack, “takes out all the kinks. You just strap yourself in and lay back and it pulls you in four directions at once.” He shrugged his shoulders and wiggled his neck as if to demonstrate the flexibility of his joints.
    They came next to a bathing room that had been divided into three private baths with claw-footed tubs and overhead shower faucets and shelves of white towels.
    “Are these showers for guests to use? Or part of a therapy?”
    “Both. Oh, you’re in for a treat, Professor. First you soak in a hot mineral bath, then shower in pure creek water. You do that right before bed, you’ll sleep like a baby. I followed that routine last night, and I can’t recall ever having a better night’s sleep. Here, feel this.”
    The deputy plucked a towel from the pile and pressed it to Bradshaw’s cheek.
    “Ever feel anything so soft?”
    Unsure of the proper reaction to a deputy stroking his cheek with a towel, he said, “No.”
    “Wait until it’s wrapped around you. And they don’t mind how many towels you use, because of that laundry house, you know.”
    The deputy continued to wax poetic over the relaxing bathing experience, and Bradshaw wondered how much the man had missed since his arrival while making use of the facilities.
    At the back of the house were the kitchen, pantry, and