Murder by the Book by Frances and Richard Lockridge Page B

as if they were out of it.
    â€œYou hadn’t heard?” Jefferson said. “Mrs. Tucker Upton. She was a guest there, too. Found dead this morning. Husband found her. He’d been in Miami. Only, it was just a heart attack in her case.”

5
    The Norths went the long way round from downtown Key West to The Coral Isles—went up Truman Avenue until it was Roosevelt Boulevard, went around the island’s upper tip and down, still on Roosevelt, beside the ocean. The sandy public beach was wide there and people were scattered over it; children ran over it. Now and then, from it, people waded into the Atlantic. It looked, Pam said, very hot, but the Norths are not baskers in the sun. It was, Pam said, too bad about Mrs. Upton, whoever she might be.
    Jerry parked the rented car and they walked up the curving drive to the entrance of The Coral Isles. Paul Grogan was just inside, talking to a gray-haired man of medium height, who wore a dark business suit. Grogan’s usually animated face was subdued. He nodded sadly to the Norths; even his hair, Pam thought, looked less than usually optimistic. The Norths went to the newsstand and that morning’s New York Times had arrived. They turned from the stand, Jerry sagging a little under the weight of the Times , and Mr. Grogan walked toward them. He said, “Glad to see you got back all right.”
    It sounded a little as if they had, fortunately but unexpectedly, returned from survived perils. Jerry shifted the Times to the other arm. He said, “Back?”
    â€œUnderstood the deputy sheriff …” Grogan said. “That is, that you—er.”
    â€œNo,” Pam North said, “we haven’t been arrested yet, Mr. Grogan.”
    â€œI didn’t for a moment—” Grogan said.
    Pam said, “Of course not. He just wanted to ask a few questions. For the record. They always do, you know.”
    â€œEr,” Mr. Grogan said. “Does he seem to be getting any place?”
    â€œThere’s a Mr. Worthington,” Pam said. “Only his name’s Bradley. One of the men you—chased out yesterday. The men Jerry was about to bet with. On a sure thing at Hialeah. Mr. Jefferson seemed quite hopeful about him. It seems Dr. Piersal once put him in jail. For killing somebody else with a knife.”
    â€œI hope he’s right,” Grogan said. “Although the pier’s supposed to be used only by—” He stopped. “Of course,” he said, “people can just wander in. I don’t deny that.”
    â€œMurder,” Pam said, “compounded by trespass. But it’s better than if it was a guest, isn’t it? I mean, for the hotel?”
    â€œI guess so,” Grogan said. His spirits did not seem to rise appreciably. “Of course, people get the notion we let just anybody wander around the grounds—”
    â€œEspecially,” Pam said, “with knives.”
    Jerry sighed. He put the Times under the other arm.
    â€œWe were sorry to hear,” Pam said, “that somebody else had died. A Mrs. Upton.”
    Grogan looked at her.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Pam said. “The sheriff told us.”
    â€œIt discourages people,” Grogan said. “They come down here to—er—play in the sun. They don’t like unpleasant things to happen. They—er—check out.”
    â€œWe won’t mention it to anybody,” Pam said. “It was her heart, the deputy sheriff said.”
    â€œThat’s what her husband says, and he’s a doctor. He’s the one I was talking to when you came in. Broken up about it, of course. Especially since he wasn’t here at the time. Keeps feeling that he might have done something—says there wasn’t anything anybody could have done but still—Well, you know how people are. Told him Piersal had looked in on her and—” He stopped again, this time as if his own words had startled