“Do you want me to come with you?”

He shook his head. “I think you’d be more use staying on here. Frankly I don’t believe the bumbling sheriff will find out anything useful. He certainly won’t arrive at the truth without a lot of luck or maybe someone breaking down and confessing.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll stay. But don’t be gone too long, will you? I feel much safer with you here.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Darcy said. “This wasn’t some random homicidal maniac. It was someone who wanted Mr. Goldman dead. Now he or she has achieved their purpose and it’s just a matter of seeing if they can keep their composure and not lose their nerve. That’s where you might come in. You’re a good judge of character.”

“Unfortunately I’ve seen murderers who are as cool as cucumbers,” I said. “And the person who did this must have nerves of steel to start with. Knowing that we were all within earshot if Mr. Goldman had cried out—knowing that he or she could have got blood on their clothing . . . someone took a terrible risk.”

“That’s a good point,” Darcy said. “Did we notice anyone whose clothing might have been sponged clean?”

I shook my head. “Certainly not Stella. I noticed how lovely she looked when she was standing by the window. Not a hair out of place. Just perfect.”

“Speaking of looking lovely, do you know how delightful you look when you are asleep? Like an angel with blonde hair spilling over your pillow. When we’re married I shall sit and watch you every morning.”

“Oh, Darcy,” I said, giggling with embarrassment because I’m not very good at accepting compliments, certainly not from handsome men and certainly not when I’m in my night attire. “Won’t that be lovely? I just wish I knew how long we’d have to wait.”

“Maybe we’ll have to run off to Argentina or Australia and make our fortune there,” he said.

“I wouldn’t mind. Anywhere would be fun with you.”

“Come here,” he said and pulled me up into his arms. “Do you know how adorable you are?” And he kissed me. Properly this time.

“Cor blimey, miss. At it again?” said Queenie’s disapproving voice from my doorway.

“Queenie, did I not teach you that you have to knock?” I said, feeling my cheeks burning.

“I don’t knock when I bring in yer morning tea, do I? I tiptoe in and wake you gently. Well, I ain’t got no tea, but I was going to lay out yer clothes for you, but I can tell I’m not wanted.”

“It’s all right, Queenie,” I said. “Mr. O’Mara and I were just about to go up to the main house for breakfast and then he has to go back to Los Angeles.”