Ken shook his head. “It’s going to be rough. Losing a father and a boyfriend in one night.”
When Robin and Ken climbed out of the basement, everyone was crowded around the top of the stairs. Ken held up his hand to ward off the questions that started to come.
“Robin and I have more bad news,” Ken said. He looked grim. “It’s Justin Trent. He’s dead.”
“What do you mean, Trent’s dead?” Rockwell asked with a quivering voice.
It was clear to Robin that the actor was nothing like the tough guys he played in his films.
Nelly stared at Ken as if she had not understood what he said. Then her knees buckled. Sheila Monroe caught her and helped her to a chair. Emily Raskin rushed to fill a glass with water.
Nelly looked shell-shocked. Mrs. Raskin helped her drink some water, and Sheila held her hand. After a few sips, Nelly’s eyes focused, and she turned toward Ken.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Mr. Trent was stabbed, Nelly,” Robin answered. “He would have gone instantly without pain.”
Nelly started to sob, and Mrs. Raskin wrapped an arm around her shoulder and let her cry against her chest.
“I don’t want anyone going downstairs,” Ken said. “The basement is another crime scene, so I’m closing this door to preserve it for the authorities.”
Robin realized that Jose hadn’t said anything all morning.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
Jose shrugged. “As well as everyone else.”
“What do you want the rest of us to do?” Max asked.
“Good question,” Ken said. “The sun should be coming up soon. How would you feel about trying to get to a spot where there’s cell service and calling the police?”
“I can do that.”
“If you can’t get through, you can walk down until you meet one of the crews that are trying to clear the road.”
“Okay,” Max agreed.
“Meanwhile, do you think you can rustle up some food for everyone?”
Max smiled. “That’s what caterers do.”
“Everyone else should go into the dining room. You’ll be safe there until the police arrive.”
Robin turned to Nelly.
“Ken and I need to look in Justin’s room to see if there’s anything in it that can tell us why he was murdered.”
Justin Trent’s room looked like a photo shoot that had been staged for aHouse & Gardenmagazine. The pillows on the bed were perfectly spaced, the covers were straight and tight, and thesheets were tucked in. His clothing was either hung up in the closet or neatly folded in a drawer.
“You can tell this guy works in a corporate law firm,” Ken said as he wandered around the room.
“Are you implying that criminal defense lawyers aren’t neat?”
“I’m sure you’re very tidy.”
“There’s something wrong,” Robin said when she’d finished pulling out drawers and checking under the bed.
“What’s bothering you?”