Free The Weekend Was Murder by Joan Lowery Nixon

to think about.”
    “Moonlight over the swimming pool?” he asked and took my hand.
    I hesitated at the doorway. It was a tempting idea. “Not yet,” I told him reluctantly. “I have to talk to Mrs. Bandini first.”
    “Why Mrs. Bandini?”
    “Because,” I said, “the more I think about it, the more I wonder if the two of us might have seen the murderer.”

The moment we arrived in the lobby I headed for the registration desk, passing some people with television cameras and notebooks who were on their way to the elevators.
    “Isn’t this all too, too authentic!” I heard someone squeal.
    Since Fran had spotted Mrs. Bandini and was moving in the opposite direction, I almost pulled him off his feet.
    “I thought you wanted to talk to Mrs. Bandini,” he complained as he staggered into me.
    “I do, but I need to find out something first,” I said.
    At this hour the desk wasn’t busy, so I motioned to Phyllis and asked, “Wasn’t there a special registration line for the people coming to the murder-mystery weekend?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Ask me if any of the suspects were particularly demanding when they registered. I’ve got my answer down pat.”
    “No, thanks,” I told her. “I’d rather ask if there were any add-ons to the list.”
    Phyllis shrugged. “I can check it. The list is right over here somewhere.” She quickly found it and came back with it in her hand. “No add-ons,” she said. “All one hundred and fifty in place. Make that one forty-nine. A man’s wife couldn’t come at the last minute.”
    That ruined the theory I was working on. “Thanks,” I said and began to turn away. But I had another thought. “Who was handling this special registration?”
    “Andy,” she said. “He’s still here. Do you want to talk to him?”
    “Oh, yes!” I answered.
    Phyllis brought Andy over, and I asked him, “Did any of the mystery-weekend sleuths register late, like after the party began?”
    Andy nodded. He took the list and went over the names. “Mr. And Mrs. Gruin,” he said. “They flew in from Dallas, and their flight was late. They came just as everybody was going into the ballroom.” He ran a finger down the list and looked up. “Mr. Walters arrived even later. He was the last on the list.”
    “He told you his name and said he was on the list?”
    “Sure.” Andy looked puzzled. “Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. He came up to the desk and said he was here for the mystery weekend. Since there was only one name not checked off, I said, ‘Then you must be Mr. Jay Walters, but you canceled for you and your wife this morning.’ And he said, ‘Somebody made a mistake. I canceled for my wife but not for myself.’ So I made aname tag for him and told him where he could join the mystery-weekend party.”
    I was beginning to get excited. “Do you remember, Andy, was this before or after I screamed?”
    “After,” he said. “What a racket!”
    Now I was sure. I was practically jumping up and down. “Tell me, Andy. What does Mr. Walters look like?”
    Andy frowned as he thought, then he shrugged. “I dunno. He’s sort of average height. Kind of light hair. Had on a white sport shirt, I think.”
    “Thanks,” I told Andy. “I know the guy you mean.”
    Fran and I had no sooner turned away from the desk than Mrs. Bandini jogged up to us, her friend, Mrs. Larabee, trailing in her wake.
    “Liz!” Mrs. Bandini cried. “We heard about how you jumped to conclusions and thought Randolph Hamilton had been murdered. Don’t let it bother you. Anyone could have made the same mistake.”
    “Unless they were sensible enough to feel for a pulse,” Mrs. Larabee added. “Did that thought occur to you?”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I panicked.”
    “Next time, remember,” she told me.
    Fran shook his head sorrowfully. “Don’t count on it,” he said. “Liz sometimes gets flaky in moments of stress.”
    Mrs. Bandini patted my arm. “Never mind. She’s a