“Luther, I was told that Black Oaks is a perfect replica of the original Black Oaks in Sexton, England.”
“That is correct.”
“Wasn’t there a dungeon in the original manor house?”
“Yes.”
“Does this Black Oaks have a lower floor?”
Luther nodded.
“I assume that it’s no longer used as a dungeon,” Robin said.
“It’s the wine cellar, the meat locker, and storage,” Janet said. “I was in it when I got the wine and provisions for the dinner.”
“Let’s have a look,” Robin said.
Butterflies flitted through Robin’s stomach as she studied the door. She leaned against the wall so she wouldn’t be a target when it opened.
“Stand back from the entrance,” Robin said. Luther, Janet, and Milo got out of the line of fire.
“Okay, Luther. Open the door.”
Luther twisted the doorknob and pulled. Robin moved her head forward until she was looking into the cellar. She could seethe top of a flight of well-worn wooden steps, but it was pitch black, and she could not see the bottom.
“Are there lights?” she asked.
Luther flipped up a switch on the wall next to the door, and light flooded the staircase and the concrete floor at its bottom. Robin took a deep breath and started down the stairs in a crouch.
On her right was the furnace, discarded furniture, piles of boxes, and several large framed oil paintings. On her left were shelves filled with wine bottles, a steel door, and a floor with traces of blood.
Robin made a quick inspection of the stored items. They were stacked too close together to provide a hiding place. Then she walked to the other side of the cellar, careful to steer clear of the blood, and opened the steel door to the food locker. Icy air greeted her when she stepped inside. Provisions were stacked on floor-to-ceiling shelves along the locker walls, sides of beef hung from hooks in the ceiling, and sprawled on the floor beneath the raw meat was Justin Trent.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Robin sent Luther to tell the other search parties to come to the kitchen. Then she waited at the top of the stairs until everyone arrived.
“What’s going on?” Rockwell asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Robin said. “Ken, please come with me. Max, stay here and guard the stairs. I don’t want Zelko trapping us in the cellar. The rest of you stay with Max.”
Robin ignored the shouted questions and led her investigator down to the basement. Ken stopped when he saw the blood. Robin opened the door to the food locker and stood back to let Ken inside.
Trent was lying on his back, his sightless eyes staring at the frost-covered ceiling. Sticking out of his chest was a knife. Ken squatted next to Trent and examined the body.
“From the blood outside the locker, I’d guess Trent was killed outside the locker and dragged inside.”
Ken studied Trent’s hands.
“There aren’t any defensive wounds, so he may have been taken by surprise by someone he trusted.”
“Someone he believed was a detective,” Robin said.
“The way he was killed is very similar to the way Frank Melville was killed. We have a single thrust into the heart. Quick, efficient, and instantly deadly.”
Ken stood up. “Let’s get upstairs.”
“I think there was something going on between Trent and Nelly,” Robin said as they climbed up. “I’m not looking forward to telling her he’s dead.”