Strange Medicine (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #1)(29)

“Really? Like what?”

His cheeks seemed pink. “Just stuff.”

“What do you keep in your drawer that could leak?”

He gave me a pointed look. “Use your imagination.”

It occurred to me what he must mean. “Lube?”

“Bingo.” He sighed, still looking embarrassed. “Look, I was distracted thinking someone was in my house, and I just assumed the lube had leaked in the drawer. I wasn’t expecting anyone to get murdered or plant things in my nightstand.”

“How would anyone know you had a flashlight in there?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. Planting it in your nightstand would do enough damage even if you hadn’t grabbed it and wandered around with it.” I scribbled some more notes. “Could someone have put it back in the drawer after you got in bed?”

He shivered. “No. I told you I didn’t fall asleep. I’d definitely have noticed someone creeping around my room.”

“Okay.” I shifted gears slightly. “You described the intruder from your first 911 call as tall and thin. That certainly describes Ned.” He nodded but didn’t speak, so I continued. “It’s possible he was the person digging at the base of your house.”

He looked confused. “Why would he?”

“That I don’t know.” I pursed my lips. “You told me Ned had poison ivy. Are you sure of your diagnosis?”

“Positive.” He squinted. “Why?”

“Because the night I checked out your first intruder call, I noticed there was poison ivy all along the foundation of your house.” I watched his reaction. “That’s why I’m now wondering if Ned was the intruder that night. Maybe digging around he got exposed to the poison ivy.”

“I’ve never noticed that was growing there.”

“This time of year the leaves are dark green. It’s not as obvious, especially since you have a lot of other foliage there.”

“I find it a little hard to believe that Ned Tinkerson was the person shoveling around my house at night.” He looked disbelieving. “That makes no sense. The guy sells insurance.”

“I don’t have proof yet. But it is a strong possibility he’s your trespasser. We’ll search his house for the shovel. If we find one, it shouldn't be too hard to match soil samples, etc.”

He paled and swallowed. “And you’re pretty sure the flashlight was the murder weapon?”

“It’s just a guess for now. Forensics will figure that out.”

“How long till we know if the blood on the flashlight is Ned’s?”

“We should know by tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He stared at his hands. “What if it isn’t Ned’s?”

I shifted in my chair. “I’d be surprised.”

“Would that be better for me though?” He frowned.

I chuffed. “Not if we find another body in your yard.”

He rubbed his face roughly and then dropped his hands to his lap. “Why would someone try and frame me for murder?”

“No idea.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I’ve only been here a few weeks. I know I can be off-putting, but to set me up like this someone would really have to hate me.” He looked nonplussed.

“Or want you out of the way.”

“But why?” He scowled. “The position I took was open for over two months before I came along. It’s not like there was a rush of applicants and I snagged this great prize.”

“My experience teaches me most murders are either for love or money.”

“Well, you’re the only person in town I’ve been involved with on a more… personal level.” He avoided my gaze. “And as for money, I don’t see how that would be a motive.”

“I don’t see how either. But someone murdered Ned. And, assuming you’re innocent, it wasn’t simply a crime of passion or they wouldn’t have bothered planting the bloody flashlight back in your nightstand.”

He finished off his water, and he crushed the bottle. “This is a nightmare.”

“I know,” I said softly. It was hard not to feel bad for him. He looked demoralized and scared. He was usually so confident and sure of himself; this version of him hurt my stomach. My gut told me he wasn’t a murderer. But I didn’t get to do my job based solely on my gut. The evidence would either exonerate him or convict him, and that was a fact.

“I’ve seen shows about people being wrongly accused and convicted of stuff they didn’t do.” He pulled his brows together. “I always just assumed they must have done it. I guess I was a judgmental ass.”

“We’re a long way from convicting you. We’re just talking, Maxwell. Trying to get an understanding of where you were and things like that.”

His eyes darkened. “We both know this is how it starts.”

I leaned toward him. “I don’t feel like you’re guilty.” Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that. I suppose I should have kept my emotions out of it, but I couldn’t seem to.

He exhaled harshly. “You considered it for a minute there though.” His mouth turned down, and I had a fleeting glimpse of hurt feelings. “By the pool… for just a second, I saw it go through your mind I might have done it.”