CHAPTER 18
Mischa had just told (actually, retold) a boring anecdote he’d thought slightly amusing, when, such was the desire to relieve tension, the entire table burst into raucous laughter.
“Excuse me, Mr. Brockett.” Farley, the butler, had entered the room. “You have a phone call. It’s Detective Welles, sir.”
When A.J. returned minutes later to the dining room, everyone observed his now chalkier-than-usual pallor and the slight tremor to his slow, shuffling walk, appearing older than when he’d left a moment ago.
“Elvira’s dead.”
Robin gasped, and no doubt might have fainted, if Valerie hadn’t done so first. A moment later, Valerie, recovered, but her face now drained of color, excused herself to go to her suite.
Valerie unsteadily weaved her way to her room, as if her body now
