“You can say that again. I was all ready for a good old roll in the hay. Dying for one, you might say. And with a body like his?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Georgie, do you think there may be a chance that I’m losing my touch? Am I destined for a life of spinsterhood and crochet and keeping cats?”

In spite of everything I did laugh now. “No, Belinda. I really don’t think that will happen to you.”

“So where is everybody else? Where’s Darcy? Not out searching for the murderer alone, I hope.”

“He and Algie went to wake Juan. Remember he went to bed right after dinner and he’ll need to be here when the police arrive.”

We looked up as we heard the sound of high heels tapping on the tiled floor. Mrs. Goldman was coming down the stairs, holding on to Barbara Kindell’s arm as if it were a lifeline.

“Where is my husband’s body?” she demanded. “I have to see my husband’s body.”

“Honey, do you really think you should? It will only distress you even more,” Barbara said to her.

“I have to see him. He was actually killed with one of those damned candlesticks, was he? I told him his stupid obsession with antiques would be the death of him one day, but I didn’t mean . . . I never meant . . .” She gave a big wrenching sob that was quite unexpected.

“He’s in the library, honey. I’ll come with you.”

“No, I want to go alone,” she said. “I need to say good-bye to my husband alone.”

“Make sure you don’t touch anything,” Ronnie said.

Mrs. Goldman turned to glare at him.

“This is my house. I’ll touch what I want.”

“Instructions from the sheriff, Mrs. Goldman.”

“Oh God,” she said and turned on her heel. I wondered if someone should follow her to make sure she didn’t touch anything, but I realized it wasn’t my place to interfere. But it did start me thinking: What if she had killed him and wanted to make doubly sure that she had left no telltale evidence?

“I think I’ll pop to the nearest lavatory before we have to face the police,” I said casually.

“There’s one in the last alcove on the right,” Stella said.