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

larder. Bradshaw had seen the kitchen and the adjacent dining room on the south side of the hall the previous evening, but now he took more time looking around.
    “What are you looking for, Professor?”
    “Nothing. Everything.”
    The deputy snorted. “I get you. Just getting the lay of the land.”
    “Indeed.” While in the kitchen, he stepped into the larder, looking for meat. A slab of beef, a chicken breast, a pork roast. Anything with a good bit of moist flesh. But there was not a scrap of meat. Only stores of fruits, grains, vegetables, and large crocks of things fermenting. He settled for a round patty pan squash the size of his palm, slipping it into his pocket when the deputy wasn’t looking.
    He was led next to a large airy room with polished floors, outfitted solely with the latest Victor Talking Machine sprouting a gleaming black horn beside a collection of Victor and Columbia disc records.
    “Dr. Hornsby calls this the Dance Therapy room. It’s for foul weather, mostly. He says the next best thing to walking outdoors is to dance indoors.”
    “What sort of dancing?”
    The deputy turned pink. He cleared his throat and said, “He calls it Free Movement. You just do whatever you feel like doing. Sway, waltz, twirl.”
    “Good God.”
    “It’s really very liberating, once you get over being self-conscious.” The deputy whistled a lively version of “Beautiful Dreamer” and began to bounce.
    “I get the idea. It seems you spent a great deal of time yesterday making use of the facilities, Deputy.”
    “Oh, Doc Hornsby said I was free to try it all out. He has several Stephen Foster’s in his collection, and some of the latest songs, ‘Bill Bailey’, and ‘In the Good Old Summertime’, and the like. You’d have thought he would only have classical, but he’s a modern man, our Hornsby.”
    “Shall we move on?”
    The deputy shrugged, reluctantly abandoning his bouncing rhythms and the lure of Free Movement.
    “There’s just one more room on this floor.”
    They entered the room for which the entire sanitarium was named, Healing Sands. This room featured green potted ferns, much sunlight filtering through French doors, and several sand beds tucked discreetly behind white cloth screens.
    “And how do you find the sand therapy, Deputy?”
    “Cured my hip, I kid you not. I’ve had this pain on and off for years. Doc Hornsby said it was sciatica and that I was out of alignment. I didn’t want to bother him about it, because of the circumstances, but he said there was never a bad time to help someone heal. Nice fellow. He did something he called an osteopathic adjustment to get my bones lined up proper, then buried me in the warm sand. I’m a new man, I tell you.”
    Bradshaw cocked his head. “How long have you been with the sheriff’s department, Deputy Mitchell?”
    “Two months. I didn’t much care for it until I got this assignment.”
    “Aah. Upstairs?”
    “Upstairs? Oh, yes. The tour continues.” He grinned happily.
    The next floor consisted mostly of bedrooms. He wasn’t shown those that were occupied, although he told the deputy he might later need to see them.
    “Is that allowed? I’ll have to ask the sheriff. I mean, don’t you need some sort of warrant to poke around in someone’s private room?”
    “I don’t yet know what I’m looking for. Don’t worry. I’m certain everyone will give me permission if my investigation leads beyond the electrotherapy room.”
    “But it was an accident. All that stuff Hornsby was saying last night, he was just upset.”
    Bradshaw studied Deputy Mitchell’s earnest, trusting face, and predicted a short career for him in law enforcement.
    Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had separate rooms; it was apparently part of the healing regime that spouses sleep apart.
    The deputy gave Bradshaw a knowing grin. “I dare say it makes for some late night visits down the hall. Reminds me of a joke about this feller—”
    Bradshaw raised an eyebrow, and