ended to any<br >ONE<br >T<br >he city was beginning to look deserted. Everybody who<br >could afford to go to Florida was in Florida. My mother<br >and father were in Florida， my brother Sam， the<br >surgeon， was in Florida， my cousin Melvyn， the lawyer， was in<br >Florida. Even the radio announcer who usually reads the local<br >weather was in Florida. I can remember a time when Melvyn<br >couldn t even read the time. I taught him. Now he was in<br >Florida， sitting by a swimming pool getting a tan all over his<br >hairy body while I， Benny Cooperman， was here in Grantham.<br >No matter how I examined it， I couldn t make it come out<br >looking fair. The coldest part of the winter， with starlings and<br >sparrows falling stiff from the trees， frost creeping under my<br >door and climbing the stairs two at a time， and I sat here，<br >waiting for a client to read my sign: "Benjamin Cooperman，<br >Licensed Private Investigator"， and come in asking me to<br >solve the sudden disappearance of a long-lost rich uncle.<br >Nothing easier， in the middle of February: he s gone to<br >Florida.<br > From the window I could look down on St. Andrew<br >Street. The black pavement was chilled white， the frosty breath<br >of the manholes rose straight up. Not a drop of snow as far as<br >the eye could see; somehow that made it look even colder. I<br >triedto find the evidence for cold without snow， just to kill the<br ><br >
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