Read Online Edison Effect, The: A Professor Bradshaw Mystery (The Edison Effect) by Bernadette Pajer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bernadette Pajer
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you.”
Bradshaw crossed to the window and looked down on the blustery bustling street, but his vision was turned inward. Even more than the puzzle of Oscar Daulton’s invention was the moral dilemma tainting it. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing to the world an invention birthed through anger and stained with blood. Neither did he want Edison to profit from it.
He took a deep breath and turned away from the window. “Who else is searching for Daulton’s invention, Henry? And which of them knew Vernon Doyle?”
“Good question. A visit to the docks and the diving outfits ought to give us something. They were all fishing for the thing when it first went overboard, and I know I read something about some recent dives.”
“Who do we try first?”
“Oh, Jake Galloway of Galloway Diving. He’s the best. No question about that. The man’s got skill and nerve. Holds the record for deep diving, in these parts anyway.”
Bradshaw didn’t doubt Henry’s assessment. With his gregarious manner and enjoyment of a good chat over coffee or anything stronger, he made friends wherever he went and gathered details of Seattle life that often proved useful in investigations.
“I’ll begin at Galloway’s tomorrow.”
“You don’t sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m not. Doyle had a cocksure manner, and he bragged about knowing Daulton when it was to his advantage. That tendency to feel connected to something of perceived importance wasn’t likely limited to lost inventions. He might have annoyed someone for an entirely different matter.”
“Well, the chief hired you to look into this angle, right? And O’Brien is poking around the Bon and Doyle’s private life. So with me and Squirrel digging, we’re sure to catch a scent of the right trail soon. Don’t worry, at least not yet. Say, maybe Jake Galloway will take you for a dive. Cheese and crackers, Ben, I’ve never seen a man turn green so fast. You want me to go?”
“I can handle the docks. If diving is necessary, I’ll leave that to you.”
“Nah, they weigh you down something fierce to get you to sink, and I don’t think my back could take it. So when’s my niece due home?”
“Five days.”
“Ha! That brought your color back. That reminds me, I got her a present. Can’t wait ’til Christmas. I’ll show you.” Bradshaw followed Henry into the small storage room where they kept records on closed cases and an array of handy tools of their trade, including several of Bradshaw’s detective microphones. A cot against the wall was neatly made with a wool blanket and white-cased pillow. Henry often slept there when an investigation went late, or whenever he was in the mood for solitude. It had been a few days since Henry had slept at Bradshaw’s house, in the bedroom that had been his ever since Bradshaw moved to Seattle. There were a few times over the years when Henry had gone off to find adventure, including the spring and summer of ’01 when he’d been in Alaska and his niece, Missouri Fremont, had temporarily moved into his room.
Bradshaw thought back to that spring evening two years ago when he’d opened his front door to find her standing there, skinny and pale, her amber eyes warm and wise and looking deep into his soul. He’d known then that his life would never be the same, but he denied it. For a very long time, he denied it to everyone, even himself.
“It’s full of homeopathic remedies.” Henry interrupted Bradshaw’s drifting thoughts. “Ain’t it the prettiest box you’ve ever seen?”
It was indeed a fine wooden case of polished cherry. Inside, lift-out trays were divided into small felt-lined compartments, perfect for glass vials to travel safely. On the outside of the case, a blank copper tag awaited an inscription.
“I was gonna have her name engraved, but I didn’t know what to put.”
Henry caught Bradshaw’s eye, and they both looked quickly away. Henry cleared his throat, and a
Bradshaw crossed to the window and looked down on the blustery bustling street, but his vision was turned inward. Even more than the puzzle of Oscar Daulton’s invention was the moral dilemma tainting it. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing to the world an invention birthed through anger and stained with blood. Neither did he want Edison to profit from it.
He took a deep breath and turned away from the window. “Who else is searching for Daulton’s invention, Henry? And which of them knew Vernon Doyle?”
“Good question. A visit to the docks and the diving outfits ought to give us something. They were all fishing for the thing when it first went overboard, and I know I read something about some recent dives.”
“Who do we try first?”
“Oh, Jake Galloway of Galloway Diving. He’s the best. No question about that. The man’s got skill and nerve. Holds the record for deep diving, in these parts anyway.”
Bradshaw didn’t doubt Henry’s assessment. With his gregarious manner and enjoyment of a good chat over coffee or anything stronger, he made friends wherever he went and gathered details of Seattle life that often proved useful in investigations.
“I’ll begin at Galloway’s tomorrow.”
“You don’t sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m not. Doyle had a cocksure manner, and he bragged about knowing Daulton when it was to his advantage. That tendency to feel connected to something of perceived importance wasn’t likely limited to lost inventions. He might have annoyed someone for an entirely different matter.”
“Well, the chief hired you to look into this angle, right? And O’Brien is poking around the Bon and Doyle’s private life. So with me and Squirrel digging, we’re sure to catch a scent of the right trail soon. Don’t worry, at least not yet. Say, maybe Jake Galloway will take you for a dive. Cheese and crackers, Ben, I’ve never seen a man turn green so fast. You want me to go?”
“I can handle the docks. If diving is necessary, I’ll leave that to you.”
“Nah, they weigh you down something fierce to get you to sink, and I don’t think my back could take it. So when’s my niece due home?”
“Five days.”
“Ha! That brought your color back. That reminds me, I got her a present. Can’t wait ’til Christmas. I’ll show you.” Bradshaw followed Henry into the small storage room where they kept records on closed cases and an array of handy tools of their trade, including several of Bradshaw’s detective microphones. A cot against the wall was neatly made with a wool blanket and white-cased pillow. Henry often slept there when an investigation went late, or whenever he was in the mood for solitude. It had been a few days since Henry had slept at Bradshaw’s house, in the bedroom that had been his ever since Bradshaw moved to Seattle. There were a few times over the years when Henry had gone off to find adventure, including the spring and summer of ’01 when he’d been in Alaska and his niece, Missouri Fremont, had temporarily moved into his room.
Bradshaw thought back to that spring evening two years ago when he’d opened his front door to find her standing there, skinny and pale, her amber eyes warm and wise and looking deep into his soul. He’d known then that his life would never be the same, but he denied it. For a very long time, he denied it to everyone, even himself.
“It’s full of homeopathic remedies.” Henry interrupted Bradshaw’s drifting thoughts. “Ain’t it the prettiest box you’ve ever seen?”
It was indeed a fine wooden case of polished cherry. Inside, lift-out trays were divided into small felt-lined compartments, perfect for glass vials to travel safely. On the outside of the case, a blank copper tag awaited an inscription.
“I was gonna have her name engraved, but I didn’t know what to put.”
Henry caught Bradshaw’s eye, and they both looked quickly away. Henry cleared his throat, and a
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