Barbara shook her head. “She had one miscarriage and the doctor said she shouldn’t have any more pregnancies. I think that was a blow to both of them. But he’s always lived for his work—like a maniac, never taking a moment to rest, as you’ve seen. I don’t think he even noticed that Helen wasn’t there.”

She broke off as Mrs. Goldman came back into the room. She was white-faced but one could no longer see that she had been crying. Her makeup had been repaired and she looked ready to address a meeting of volunteer ladies back in New York. Had she ever gone to bed? I wondered. If so, she had dressed again and put on her makeup very quickly. I studied her, wondering if her grief was a little overdone. Of everybody she had the best opportunity for murdering her husband. I now knew she could have crept around the rim of the foyer without being seen from the rotunda. She also had several good motives for murdering her husband—jealousy of his mistress, being excluded from his life, and who knew what kind of financial restraints he was trying to put on her. Someone would have to talk to Mr. Goldman’s lawyer and tax accountant to see if he’d planned to cut off his wife’s allowance, or at least trim it back. And then there might be a large life insurance policy, recently taken out. . . .

“Come and sit by me, honey,” Barbara said, patting the sofa beside her as Mrs. Goldman came into the rotunda. “Would you like a drink? Charlie will fix you one.”

Mrs. Goldman shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing will ever matter again.” Then she looked up at us. “Who could have done this to him?”

Nobody answered her.

“The sheriff is on his way,” Mummy said. “I’m sure everything will be sorted out in good time.” She was the only one who seemed unaffected by what had happened, other than being a little annoyed that it had disrupted her own schedule for the evening. But then that was typical of her. If it didn’t concern her personally, it didn’t matter. Just like a cat.

Feet crunched on the gravel outside.

“You see. There he is now,” Mummy said, but instead a draft of cold air wafted in as Darcy returned with Algie and a disheveled Juan, who stood blinking in the light. He was wearing striped pajamas and had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was shivering and looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“The sheriff not here yet?” Darcy asked.

“No,” I replied. “Did you see anything suspicious out there?”

“Not a thing. Of course it’s quite foggy so anybody could be hidden within a few feet of us. And it would be very easy to escape into the parkland without leaving any kind of trail.”