Strange Medicine (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #1)(38)

“Well, to each their own.”

I had to hold my tongue because I felt weirdly defensive of Maxwell. I knew he could come off like a jerk, but he really wasn’t. However, I was mature enough to realize he would have to convince the town of that himself. No amount of me talking him up would help if he kept insulting people left and right.

I went to my office and worked on some stuff while I impatiently awaited information from the ISP company. I called the owners of the house Maxwell lived in, and I had to agree with Mrs. Numi—they seemed like nice people. I found it hard to believe they’d come all the way here and murdered Ned. They’d explained that their reticence to sell was because the home had belonged to their grandparents and they’d spent summer vacations in Rainy Dale as children. They hoped one day their own grandchildren could have the same experience. Everything sounded aboveboard, and I put them on the Probably Not list of suspects.

It was almost five in the evening before the ISP finally got back to Steve and gave him the physical address of where Bandito57 had sent their emails from. I knew the stretch of buildings as commercially zoned. There were some small clothing shops over there and a gas station too. I decided to drive over just to check it out first. After all, the only thing I had on this person was they’d emailed Ned. The emails hadn’t directly linked them to Ned’s murder, but they were certainly intriguing.

When I climbed out of my car, I found that the space in question was a mostly empty storefront with no business sign above on the facade. I tugged on the door, but it was locked. Peering through the dirty windows, I saw a desk with a folding chair against the far wall and a dead potted plant next to it. It definitely wasn’t a thriving retail shop. I noticed a half-torn sign plastered on the window with a leasing agency number. I dialed the number and asked to speak with the leasing agent for the building.

A cheerful voice came over the line. “This is Carson McBride, how can I make your real estate dreams come true?”

I had to squelch my laugh. “This is Sheriff Callum.”

“Hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?” His slick salesman tone disappeared.

“I’m looking for information about the person who leases suite 403 over here on Horseshoe Lane. It looks like this is your listing.”

“Oh, um…” There was the sound of computer keys clicking. “Yes, I did lease that out about thirty days ago on a month-to-month basis. Is there a problem?”

“I need to know who the lessee is.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know that I can just hand out that sort of personal information, Sheriff.”

“I’m conducting a murder investigation, Carson.”

“Is this about Ned Tinkerson’s death?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Oh, God. That was just awful.” He fell silent.

“So can I get that name, please?”

“Don’t you need a court order?”

Irritation stabbed at me. “If you want me to get a warrant, I can do that. But if I go to all that trouble, I might just decide to look into a couple of your other properties too. Like maybe your lot over on Desert Rose Lane where I know you’ve let the kids use that land for raves.”

He gasped. “Well, I’m sure I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.”

I chuffed. “Come on, Carson. Everybody knows you take 20 percent of the entrance fees for the use of the empty lot. I’ve turned a blind eye for years, but maybe I don’t need to give you that courtesy anymore.”

“Okay. Okay.” More clicking of his computer keyboard came across the line. “I don’t think this information is going to be much help.”

“Why?”

“I only met the guy once. We rendezvoused in front of the space, and it was obvious he didn’t want to be recognized. He paid cash up front for three months, and he was all bundled up. I couldn’t see his face because he had on sunglasses and a big scarf. It was kind of comical to be honest. He didn’t want me to recognize him, so I didn’t push it. The space is small and not easy to rent. I wasn’t going to complain when someone shoved three months’ rent on me.”

“What’s his name?”

“John Smith.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “Are you kidding me with that name?”

He laughed nervously. “Sheriff, I assumed it wasn’t his real name, but it seemed harmless.”

“I see a light on in the back. So they have electric in there.”

“That light’s always on. I have no idea why.”

“Did you get their social when you signed the lease?”

“Yes. I assume it’s fake. But like I said, they paid in cash and the spot is impossible to rent out. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’ll need everything you have on the person. Even if it’s fake, I want to try and follow up.”

“Okay.” He hesitated. “Are we cool about that other lot?”

“For now. But you better be damn sure no underage drinking is going on at those raves, or I will come down on you.” He didn’t need to know that I’d already sent several police explorers to his little parties to make sure nothing illegal was going on. I liked to look lenient on the surface, but behind the scenes I always had an eye on people like Carson.