Strange Medicine (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #1)(45)

“Good Lord. Why must everyone be so coddled?” He scowled and then straightened. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Expelling a long breath, I said, “Okay.” I pulled away and watched Maxwell in my rearview mirror. He stood there staring after me for a while before he strode into his clinic. I worried that if he didn’t start to loosen up a little, he wasn’t going to make it here in Rainy Dale. The thought of him leaving disappointed me more than I’d have liked.

I decided to drive by Horseshoe Lane to see if it looked like anyone had been to that space recently. As I pulled my car in front, I noticed Becky Windsome opening her dress shop next door. I climbed out of my vehicle and approached her.

“Morning, Becky,” I said.

She smiled. “I thought that was you, Sheriff.” She pushed her door open and flicked on the lights.

I followed her in, glancing around at the mannequins decked in the latest fashions, and jewelry racks that peppered the store. “I wondered if you knew anything about the tenant next door?”

“You mean Bob?” She opened her cash register and began counting bills, moving her lips silently.

I waited until she tucked the money back in the cash drawer. “No. On the other side.”

She pulled her brows together. “Hmmm. Can’t say I’ve had much interaction with them. They’re rarely there.”

“Do you have any idea what they do in there?”

“No,” she grumbled. “The guy looks like a Russian spy. No matter what the weather’s like, he’s all bundled up.”

“Darn. That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Is there a problem with them?” She looked worried.

“I don’t know enough about them to tell you one way or the other.” I shrugged. “Even the leasing agent doesn’t know anything.”

She chuffed. “You mean Carson?” She shook her head. “He’d rent a space to the leader of Isis if he thought he could get the cash up front. It makes me kind of mad, truth be told. I mean, I worked hard to get my customer base, and he goes and rents to someone who doesn’t even bother to keep his store clean. The place has no sign. People come and go at all hours of the night and day. It’s a disgrace.”

My ears pricked. “People come and go?”

“Well, not often but at odd hours.”

“Like when? Is there a pattern?” I leaned closer, trying to contain my excitement.

“Well, I stayed open until midnight twice this last month doing special invitation-only VIP sales. I serve my clients champagne and give them huge discounts. You should come sometime, Sheriff.”

I stuffed down my irritation that she seemed to be getting sidetracked. “Did you get a good look at the people?”

“It was just one person, but they were sitting at the desk both times. I think they were on a laptop or something.”

“Do you remember the exact dates?”

“Of course. What kind of business person doesn’t remember her sale dates?” She shook her head and opened a drawer. She pulled out a flier and handed it to me. “August the tenth and the twentieth. I had a nice turnout both times.”

“That’s great,” I muttered distractedly. I wondered if the flier dates would coincide with when those cryptic emails had been sent to Ned. I had trouble remembering the exact dates of the emails off the top of my head. “And both times the person was here around midnight?”

“Yes. I get the feeling they come here on purpose when no one else is around.” She looked about nervously. “They kind of creep me out to be honest. But I try not to think about it too much. Maybe they do business in China or something and they have to interact with their business associates at ungodly hours.”

“Maybe. Have you just seen them the two times?”

She squinted as if deep in thought. “It might have been more. Sometimes I drop by the shop at night if I forget something. It’s possible someone was in there then too. But those two dates stick out in my mind the clearest.”

“Okay.” I held up the flier. “Thanks so much for the info, Becky.”

“You betcha, Sheriff.” She smiled.

I left her shop and headed straight for the station. Starting tonight, I was gonna park my ass in front of this shop around midnight until I had the chance to meet the lessee face-to-face. When I got to the station, my fingerprint guy, Lloyd, had left me a message saying they’d had a hit on a partial print from the sledgehammer. I felt jazzed and like my luck had finally begun to turn with this case. Lloyd had sent me all the details about the ID, and I booted my computer to take a closer look.

Rocky Gray was the owner of the fingerprint. He had no criminal record and was an ex-marine who lived in Arizona. “Now how the hell did your print get on a sledgehammer all the way over here in Texas, Rocky?” I muttered, pulling up his photo. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. He was a tough-looking dude. His neck was thick and muscular, his hair thinning but spiked, and he had a tattoo of a grenade on his left cheek.

Next I checked the dates on the emails that someone had sent to Ned from the Horseshoe Lane address. One of them matched the date on the flier. I was thrilled that things were moving in a positive direction now. I just needed to meet John Smith, talk to this Rocky guy and see if he’d been in Texas recently, and figure out what the heck was so special about Maxwell’s house that it had got Ned murdered.