Read Online Edison Effect, The: A Professor Bradshaw Mystery (The Edison Effect) by Bernadette Pajer - Free Book Online
Authors: Bernadette Pajer
Ads: Link
the physique of a logger, the speech of a miner, and the education of a scholar. He could, if he disciplined himself, fit in with the highest echelons of society, but he preferred the dives of the lower regions where, he said, it was easier to spot the liars and cheats.
He’d begun two projects recently. He was lifting weights in order to prevent a back injury from crippling him, and he was learning the art of the telegrapher. The exercise program was going exceedingly well, as was the academic portion of the telegraphy. But the dots and dashes were proving unexpectedly difficult for him.
“At our age,” Bradshaw said, “it’s more difficult to learn a new language, and that’s what Morse is. Keep at it, and one day it will suddenly seem clear.”
“You wanna bet? What are you doing here, anyway? Thought you had a class to teach this afternoon.”
“We’ve got a new case.”
“That fire in Ballard?”
“I’d almost forgotten about that. No, that was a burned-out transformer, no one hurt, though the building’s a total loss. The new case is complicated, usual terms with the SPD, and I’ll need both you and Squirrel.” Squirrel was the nickname of the fact-finder they used to gather background information on persons of interest. “Do you know anyone who works at the Bon?”
“I know a few. Fellow in shipping, one of the drivers. I’m friendly with a gal in Notions, but I can’t say as I know her. She knows me, though, and hides in the back room when I come in.”
The grin on Henry’s face told Bradshaw his friend enjoyed his game of cat and mouse with the Notions girl.
Bradshaw hung his damp coat on the rack. “See what you can find out from the gossip at the Bon, then we’ll compare notes.” He gave the facts of Vernon Doyle’s death and what he’d learned from interviews thus far. Like O’Brien, Henry cringed at the shoe salesman’s use of “overly fond” and “smitten” in regards to Mr. Olafson’s feelings toward the boys and Billy Creasle.
A cursory knock came simultaneously with the door’s opening. A smiling young man stepped in, looking windblown but congenial, and he handed Bradshaw a thick, plain, rain-spattered manila envelope. The young man spun on his heel and left, and the door clapped closed behind him.
Bradshaw had no need to look. Without opening it, he handed the envelope to Henry, who grunted his disgust and tossed it in the wastebasket. It struck with a thunk and the basket tipped over.
“My sentiments exactly, Henry. Now, fish it out and take it to my attorney.”
Henry uprighted the can and kicked the envelope toward his desk, a workspace as clean and tidy as Maddock’s had been cluttered. Henry was a minimalist, even with paperwork. The things he liked to collect were friends. Physical possessions mattered to him only in the moment, to use or enjoy, then dispose of or pass on to someone else. When he’d hunted gold in Alaska, it was the hunt that excited him. He’d never given much thought to what he’d do if he ever struck big, although he could tell a good tale of the life he truly didn’t want to lead. “You really think this could be about Daulton’s invention? Would Maddock have sent his man around with these papers if last night he offed Doyle at the Bon? Wouldn’t he be trying to play nice instead?”
“The best defense is a strong offense. And if he’s our man, he’d know it would look suspicious if he didn’t follow through with the suit. No, we can’t read anything into his proceeding. And as yet I have only the coincidence linking them. There are several other equally plausible explanations and therefore suspects, so keep an open mind when you ask around.”
“You ought to put in a few hours in your basement tinkering, Ben. Figure out what Daulton did and put an end to it.”
“It’s not that simple, Henry.”
“If it were simple, the Wizard would have hired someone to figure it out by now and not sent Maddock to town to harass
He’d begun two projects recently. He was lifting weights in order to prevent a back injury from crippling him, and he was learning the art of the telegrapher. The exercise program was going exceedingly well, as was the academic portion of the telegraphy. But the dots and dashes were proving unexpectedly difficult for him.
“At our age,” Bradshaw said, “it’s more difficult to learn a new language, and that’s what Morse is. Keep at it, and one day it will suddenly seem clear.”
“You wanna bet? What are you doing here, anyway? Thought you had a class to teach this afternoon.”
“We’ve got a new case.”
“That fire in Ballard?”
“I’d almost forgotten about that. No, that was a burned-out transformer, no one hurt, though the building’s a total loss. The new case is complicated, usual terms with the SPD, and I’ll need both you and Squirrel.” Squirrel was the nickname of the fact-finder they used to gather background information on persons of interest. “Do you know anyone who works at the Bon?”
“I know a few. Fellow in shipping, one of the drivers. I’m friendly with a gal in Notions, but I can’t say as I know her. She knows me, though, and hides in the back room when I come in.”
The grin on Henry’s face told Bradshaw his friend enjoyed his game of cat and mouse with the Notions girl.
Bradshaw hung his damp coat on the rack. “See what you can find out from the gossip at the Bon, then we’ll compare notes.” He gave the facts of Vernon Doyle’s death and what he’d learned from interviews thus far. Like O’Brien, Henry cringed at the shoe salesman’s use of “overly fond” and “smitten” in regards to Mr. Olafson’s feelings toward the boys and Billy Creasle.
A cursory knock came simultaneously with the door’s opening. A smiling young man stepped in, looking windblown but congenial, and he handed Bradshaw a thick, plain, rain-spattered manila envelope. The young man spun on his heel and left, and the door clapped closed behind him.
Bradshaw had no need to look. Without opening it, he handed the envelope to Henry, who grunted his disgust and tossed it in the wastebasket. It struck with a thunk and the basket tipped over.
“My sentiments exactly, Henry. Now, fish it out and take it to my attorney.”
Henry uprighted the can and kicked the envelope toward his desk, a workspace as clean and tidy as Maddock’s had been cluttered. Henry was a minimalist, even with paperwork. The things he liked to collect were friends. Physical possessions mattered to him only in the moment, to use or enjoy, then dispose of or pass on to someone else. When he’d hunted gold in Alaska, it was the hunt that excited him. He’d never given much thought to what he’d do if he ever struck big, although he could tell a good tale of the life he truly didn’t want to lead. “You really think this could be about Daulton’s invention? Would Maddock have sent his man around with these papers if last night he offed Doyle at the Bon? Wouldn’t he be trying to play nice instead?”
“The best defense is a strong offense. And if he’s our man, he’d know it would look suspicious if he didn’t follow through with the suit. No, we can’t read anything into his proceeding. And as yet I have only the coincidence linking them. There are several other equally plausible explanations and therefore suspects, so keep an open mind when you ask around.”
“You ought to put in a few hours in your basement tinkering, Ben. Figure out what Daulton did and put an end to it.”
“It’s not that simple, Henry.”
“If it were simple, the Wizard would have hired someone to figure it out by now and not sent Maddock to town to harass
Similar Books
