It came out between gestures that Coley, besides being a bartender every other night at the Hotel Coronado taproom, was a full-time student at Cibola City College, in the School of Business Administration.
“What are you studying?” asked Prin, secretly relieved, although she really had nothing against bartenders.
“Embezzlement,” Coley said sincerely.
“I beg pardon?”
“They’re devious — they call it accounting. You know, you keep financial records and stuff for business firms. The opportunities in this field, as I see it, are simply staggering.”
“Yes?” said Prin doubtfully. She had nothing against accountants, either, but she had committed herself to thinking of Coley Collins in terms of vagabond adventure, and it was hard to fit accountancy into the picaresque life. “I suppose they are.”
Coley’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “You bet they are! What I have in mind is to work myself into some big firm in a position of trust and then divert a horse-choking bankroll into my own pocket and take off. This is all in the future, of course — I’m hardly out of double entries — but you’ll have to be prepared when the time comes to move on a moment’s notice. We’d better go separately, I think. We can meet at the Cannibal Bar in the Bum-Bum in Acapulco.”
That was better, much better; it really topped the evening off.
In their next ten meetings Coley changed their rendezvous ten times. The one Prin liked best was his last choice.
“Papeete’s out,” Coley said positively. “It’s one of the first places they’d come looking for me. You know what, sweet Princess?”
“What?” Prin had mumbled, for they were conversing with their lips in juxtaposition at Coley’s suggestion.
“We’ll meet in the last place they’ll think of looking.”
“Where’s that?”
“In the Coronado taproom.”
That was the way things stood when Uncle Slater took the joy out of living by dying.
5
So there across the threshold stood Coley Collins; and Prin felt instantly better. With Coley there, everything that had looked so much like being wrong would now be surely right.
“Coley! Darling!” Prin cried. “You’ll never know how glad I am to see you.”
“Why not?” said Coley, coming in and shutting the door. “A girl is supposed to be glad to see the man she loves, especially when she has a date with him.”
“Oh, my gosh,” wailed Prin. “I completely forgot you were coming tonight.”
“If so,” said Coley stiffishly, “it would have been more ladylike not to mention it.”
“Oh, Coley, I’m sorry. But when you hear what’s happened, I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”
By this time Dr. Appleton, who had lingered over the phone, had gone back into the living room, glancing suspiciously at Coley on the way. The moment he was out of sight Coley seized Prin and kissed her all over her face — eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, chin — and he was heading for her neck when Prin whispered, “Coley. Don’t. I mean — don’t you want to know what’s happened?”
“All right,” said Coley sulkily. “What?”
“Uncle Slater is dead.”
Coley stood quietly, his head cocked as if he were repeating to himself what Prin had just said. “Did you say Mr. O’Shea is dead?”
“Oh, Coley. I was the one who found him.” And she told him all about Slater O’Shea’s return home at two o’clock, and the rest of it.
“You poor, poor kid,” muttered Coley. “Mr. O’Shea dead... Somehow, I assumed he would be around the Coronado taproom slugging it down to age eighty, at least.”
“We all did. The shock is bad enough, but Dr. Appleton’s making things worse.”
“From all I hear about Dr. Appleton behind my bar, he’s been making things worse in this town for years, especially the life expectancy of his patients. Though I can’t see how he could do much harm to a dead man.”
“No, but he can make a lot of trouble for the rest of us, and he seems determined to do it. He claims there was nothing wrong with Uncle Slater to cause him to die so suddenly. Dr. Appleton is insisting on an autopsy.”
“He can’t get an autopsy done without the consent of the next of kin.”
“He’s making a case out of it, Coley. He just called the police.”
Coley whistled soundlessly. “You mean to tell me old Appleton actually suspects that somebody gave your uncle a nudge?”
“He didn’t say so in so many words, but he certainly can’t think Uncle Slater committed suicide. Nobody who knew Uncle Slater could think that. Besides, he had no reason.”
“Hmm,” said Coley, frowning. He looked around and lowered his voice. “You say you found the body. How did you happen to do that?”
“Mrs. Dolan insists on the family eating dinner promptly, and it was ready, so I went upstairs to see why Uncle Slater hadn’t come down, and there he was, lying dead on the floor.”
“I wonder why Appleton thinks he may have been nudged. Was there anything to indicate it?”
“Not that I could see. But then I’ve never seen a dead person before, so I wouldn’t know. Maybe it’s the way Uncle Slater looked, or something. He looked awful.”
Coley was silent again. Then he said, “Prin. The flics won’t be here for a while yet, if I know Cibola City. Let’s slip upstairs while they’re all in the other room. I’d like to take a look at the scene of the crime.”
Prin whispered, “Coley, no!”
“Look,” Coley said incisively. “Maybe Dr. Appleton has more to go on than he’s telling. If it should turn out that your Uncle Slater is full of rat poison or something, the heat’s going to be turned on the family. That includes you, and anything that threatens you threatens me. Come on, we’re wasting precious time.”
“I don’t know, I...” Prin stopped miserably. Then she said, “Anyway, Dr. Appleton locked the door after he examined Uncle Slater. And he put the key in his pocket.”
“Key to a bedroom door? Then it’s probably one of those ordinary big keys that will unlock any bedroom door. Is it?”
“Well, yes—”
“Is there another key like it in the house?”
“My bedroom door has one.”
“Then let’s get it, Prin. I’m not going to leave you to the mercy of a senile sawbones and some village idiots in blue uniforms!”
Put this way, the proposal became irresistible. So Prin led the way swiftly and softly upstairs and went for her bedroom door key while Coley waited outside Uncle Slater’s door intently listening, as if he expected to hear Uncle Slater moving around inside. There was something darkly thrilling about the whole project.
Prin rejoined him on tiptoe, and Coley slipped her key into the lock and turned it — rather noisily, Prin thought — and the thingumajig inside snicked back. Coley opened the door and there was something darkly thrilling in Uncle Slater’s room, too. For the room itself was dark by this time, and Prin could not see a thing, anything at all, not even Coley, after she shut the door, which was thrilling enough for anybody.
Prin set her back against the door, telling herself that this was the kind of darkly thrilling experience she could live very nicely without. She had to fight her breath to keep it from whooshing. She could hear Coley breathing rather gustily himself a step or two away, and all of a sudden it was a matter of life or death to turn on the light. The trouble was, Prin could not remember exactly where the light switch was, and this was ridiculous. It was a little mercury switch beside the door that made no sound when it was moved, but whether it was on the left side or the right side of the door was blotted out. Then she jumped. But it was only Coley, whispering sharply.