Capacity for Murder (Professor Bradshaw Mysteries) by Bernadette Pajer

one to ask. It doesn’t seem possible that we can’t ask him.”
    She looked at David’s machines, biting her lip, then steadying herself with a deep breath. “He wasn’t what you’d call a social man, my David. He was quiet, like I told you, so I don’t think the guests made a habit of coming to speak with him, although he was always happy to answer questions about how his system works. He did mention he spoke to Mrs. Thompson once, not long after she and her husband arrived. She reminded him of someone he once knew in Hoquiam, but it turns out she was no relation. She has that sort of face that seems familiar. Those sleepy eyes.”
    Bradshaw thought it interesting that women often called such eyes sleepy while men called them sultry.
    She said, “I know enough about how it all works to keep doing laundry, but without David, if something breaks, we won’t know how to fix it.”
    It was a problem without an easy answer. There weren’t many with the skills to maintain and repair a modern laundry, and those who could weren’t likely to want to move to this remote location.
    “Does the creek flow all year?”
    “Yes, it’s fed from an underground spring. Even on the coldest days, we have lights and laundry.” She smiled sadly. “Did you ever read the book, The Time Machine , Professor? I can’t say I much liked it. Very strange. But right now I’d love one of those machines. I’d go back just two months and wait for the mail to arrive with that first letter Mr. Loomis sent to my father, and I’d burn it. Then Loomis would never have come and David would still be here.”
    Bradshaw wondered how far back in time he’d go. He couldn’t undo his marriage to Rachel without losing Justin. After his birth then? And what would he do differently? Have Rachel committed to an asylum to protect her from herself? Who would have believed him? To everyone but him and her parents, she appeared so normal. Could he have prevented her suicide? If he’d stopped her from drinking poison that awful night, would he now still be married to her, living in fear each day of what she might do next?
    “Professor?” Martha was looking at him with concern.
    He told her what he’d told her father. “What-ifs come unbidden after tragedies, Mrs. Hollister. But they do us no good, and can even do us harm by dwelling on them.”
    She took a long breath. “I know you’re right. But it’s so hard now to look back at all that happened and not want to scream about our blindness. It’s more than the fact that Mr. Loomis brought that dreadful machine—oh, I’m sorry.”
    “I understand, and I agree. What more is there to your regrets?”
    “Well, Mr. Loomis was impressed with David, you see, and at first David was flattered by his praise and attention. We both were.”
    “Something changed?”
    “Mr. Loomis wanted David to draw up plans for the washhouse, put it all down in diagrams and such and include everything, even the special drive belts and water motor and heated dryer.”
    “Did he?”
    “He wanted to, only he didn’t know how. He’s never had formal schooling on anything, and as handy as he is—was—with a hammer, he’s that clumsy with a pencil. So Mr. Loomis said he’d draw it up for him.”
    “Did he complete the plans?”
    “Oh, yes. They’re lovely. I didn’t know diagrams could be lovely, but they are. So neat and tidy, with little symbols and elegant script. Made me even more proud to think they represented what my David had built.”
    “Where are those plans now?”
    Her face grew hard. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Loomis. He wouldn’t let David have them.”
    “Why ever not?”
    “He said that as he’d drawn them, they belonged to him, and he thought David understood that when he agreed to it. He was very pleasant and apologetic about it, but he refused all the same. Is that true, Professor? Does Mr. Loomis own those plans?”
    “It depends on what was agreed upon. Did your husband put his name to