Black Moonlight

by Amy Patricia Meade

  “Why was your husband so angry? Because he had been cut from the will?”

  The question sent Marjorie into a tailspin. If she told Jackson that Creighton was now the sole inheritor of his father’s estate, it would cast suspicion in his direction. No, she decided. They’ll find the new will and discover the truth soon enough. Until then, it’s best to let Jackson think I know nothing about it.

  “Mr. Ashcroft never revealed the identity of his solitary heir; therefore, it was premature for anyone to be upset about having been ‘cut.’ No, Creighton was infuriated by his father’s machinations. It was apparent the old man was taking perverse pleasure in deriding his dinner guests. He enjoyed making them miserable.”

  “Sounds like the life of the party,” Jackson commented. “So when you left the dining room to look for your husband, where did you go?”

  “I went outside through the back door. It’s the exit closest to the dining room, so it seemed logical that Creighton may have gone that way. But he wasn’t there. I even checked all the outbuildings and the grounds: no one.”

  “No one as in no Creighton, or—?”

  “No one as in nobody. So I came back inside and gave a quick peek in the kitchen and dining room. Again, there was no one,” Marjorie stated.

  “Your father-in-law was no longer in the dining room?”

  “I didn’t see him, no …”

  “Go on,” Jackson prodded.

  “After the dining room and kitchen I decided to go upstairs. Edward, my brother-in-law, and his wife, Prudence, were in their room. I could hear them talking through the closed door as I passed on the way to our bedroom, which is next to theirs.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  Marjorie took a deep breath; as much as she liked Pru, she knew the conversation might be valuable to the case. “They were talking about what had transpired during dinner. Prudence was telling Edward that something needed to be done about Mr. Ashcroft.”

  “Is that how she phrased it? That ‘something needed to be done?’”

  “No,” Marjorie denied as the words came flooding back into her memory. “She said that she wanted him out of their lives forever. At which point, Edward promised that he would take care of him. Those were the exact words he used: ‘take care of him.’ Prudence responded by saying that if he didn’t, she would.” Marjorie frowned. “That was all I heard.”

  “I see,” Jackson remarked. “Where did you go then?”

  “Into our bedroom. Creighton wasn’t there, but I got the idea to check the verandah. That’s when I saw Cassandra. She was on the verandah, but closer to the other end of the house. It was a full moon so I could see her clearly. She looked very different from when she was in the study and the dining room. Something about her was harder … colder. And, I know this sounds silly, but she kicked the cat.”

  Jackson stared at her. “Beg pardon?”

  “The cat I was talking about earlier, well it approached Cassandra and she kicked it. She had no reason for doing so; the cat wasn’t harming anyone. And she—she seemed to smile afterwards. It was very disturbing.” Marjorie punctuated the statement with a long pause. “After I snatched up the cat, I went back downstairs. It must have been past nine o’clock by the time, because it was completely dark. I noticed a light coming in from the office; it was Mr. Miller.”

  “Did Mr. Miller appear angry?” Jackson quizzed.

  “No, not at all,” she replied. “If anything, he seemed to be relieved. And after seeing how my father-in-law treated him, I can’t say I blame him. He was readying his list of references to put in the post. He and I spoke for a brief while—chit-chat really—before I went outside again, this time to the front of the house.”

  “Where you finally found Creighton?” Jackson assumed.

  “Not before finding Griselda. She was sitting on the steps, crying her eyes out. I nearly fell over her. But I didn’t, instead I helped her up and she, and her overnight bag, got into the speedster and set off to spend the night in Hamilton.”

  “What time did she get back?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” Marjorie noted. “The next time I saw her was this morning, in the dining room, after Selina’s screaming had garnered the attention of the entire household. Unlike the rest of us, however, she came in from outside. Looked like she had been sunning herself.”

  “Hmm. And, finally, where did you find Creighton?”

  “Took us long enough didn’t it?” Marjorie smiled. “He was on the front lawn cooling off, as Selina suggested. I sat with him and we talked for a while. Then we came inside to raid the pantry. We hadn’t eaten any dinner—no one had. Creighton grabbed a bottle of wine; I found some cheese and fruit. We took them back to the front lawn, ate, drank, and watched the stars. It was going on eleven when we got back to our room.”

  “And you didn’t hear or see anything else?”

  “Not a soul and not a peep.”

  “And your husband?”

  “You’ll have to ask him, but I doubt it,” she replied with an engaging smile.

  “No, I—um—imagine he didn’t either.” Jackson colored slightly and fiddled with his collar. Nettles appeared in the doorway of the study, shaking his head. “No note, sir.”

  “But there must be,” Marjorie exclaimed. “He put it there. I saw him!”

  “Sorry, Miss,” Nettles apologized. “We looked all over the dining room. Nothing. Perhaps he removed it from his pocket before he was killed.”

  “The typewriter ribbon,” she nearly shouted. “My father-in-law was able to trace the note to the typewriter in his office because he saw the imprint in the ribbon.”

  “Requisition the ribbon, Nettles,” Jackson ordered. “And then bring in Ashcroft’s widow for questioning.”

  Nettles left the room and went about his duties.

  “I have to hand it to you, Miss … Mrs. Ashcroft,” Jackson complimented. “It sounds as if you can place everyone’s whereabouts prior to the murder.”

  “Not everyone, Sergeant Jackson. Unless someone else saw them, we have no idea where Selina and George were,” Marjorie stated grimly. “No idea at all.”

  “I was Richie’s secretary for five years,” stated Griselda Ashcroft as she adjusted the top of her worsted wool swimsuit. She looked at Marjorie, “He liked me to call him ‘Richie,’ what with his and your husband’s names being the same.”

  Marjorie responded with a polite smile. A name was the only thing Creighton and his father had in common.

  Nettles entered the room and quietly took a seat next to Marjorie.

  “We finally got married four months ago,” Griselda continued. She thrust the gaudy sapphire and diamond ring in Jackson’s face.

  The Sergeant reared back. “Yes, that’s—that’s very nice. Your husband must have cared greatly to have given you a ring like that.”

  “Yeah, he was always buying me things. He was very generous.”

  “Hmm. And how did you feel about him?” Jackson posed.

  “Why, I loved him, of course. He was my husband,” Griselda stated matter-of-factly.

  “And what about his claims that you were keeping an apartment in New Jersey?” Marjorie questioned.

  Griselda threw her a dirty look. “That was a lie.”

  “Was it now?” Jackson chuckled. “Just because we’re on an island in the middle of the Atlantic doesn’t mean we can’t find out for ourselves. Nettles?”

  “Right, sir,” the Inspector replied. “I’ll make those phone calls when we get back to the station.”

  “Okay,” Griselda capitulated. “Richie was right. I am paying for an apartment, but it’s not what it looks like. At least it wasn’t at first. Before Richie and I were together I was seeing a fella named Benny Kerr. I fell for him—hard. But he wound up being a real crumb. Always borrowing money off of me, going around with other women. So I called it quits. That’s when I met Richie and I flipped for him. It was nice to have someone give me things for a change inst
ead of the other way around. I ran into Benny a few months back, right before Richie and I got married. He was hard on his luck, so I loaned him a few bucks. I guess part of me still had it bad for Benny because one thing led to another and, well, you know.”

  “You must have been quite angry when your husband outed you last night,” Nettles ventured.

  “I was more surprised and embarrassed at first. For him to say those things in front everyone! Later on though …”

  “You were angry,” Nettles surmised.

  “That’s why I went upstairs, packed my bag, and left. I couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same house as him.”

  “Where did you go?” Jackson asked.

  “Hamilton.”

  “In the speedster?” Nettles asked.

  “Of course, in the speedster. Did you think I took a canoe?” Griselda chortled.

  “Who was in Hamilton?” Jackson challenged.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Griselda responded.

  “You didn’t meet someone in Hamilton? Perhaps Benny Kerr?” Jackson proposed.

  “Benny’s back in New Jersey. Would I have liked for him to come down and meet me in Hamilton? Sure,” she confessed. “But this trip was so last-minute that I didn’t have the chance.”

  “I thought this trip was your idea,” Marjorie spoke up. “Selina said that you wanted to get out of the city.”

  “I always want to get out of the city during the summer,” Griselda stated. “But we were just here in April. It was beautiful then, but at this time of year? As much as I like this place, leaving New York to come here is like going from hot to hotter.”

  “If it wasn’t your idea to come here, whose was it?” Marjorie asked.

  “Richie’s. He said he needed a vacation—well, ‘holiday’ was how he put it. He decided to come here because of the regatta this weekend.”

  “Was your husband a sailing enthusiast?” Nettles inquired.

  “Heavens no!” Griselda exclaimed. “But some bigwig that Richie was trying to impress was. The fella was supposed to be in town this week, so Richie made an appointment to meet with him. Winds up the guy didn’t show after all.”

  “Do you remember this person’s name?” Jackson questioned.

  “I don’t think Richie told it to me in the first place. Miller should know.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward with a wink. “Between you and me, that sort of thing never happened when I was in charge of Richie’s appointments.”

  “Hmm,” Jackson remarked. “Getting back to last night, if you didn’t meet someone in Hamilton, what did you do there?”

  “I went to the bar at the Hamilton Hotel.”

  “Nowhere else?”

  “Nowhere else,” Griselda stated blankly. “I chatted with a few fellas who were in town for the regatta, had a couple of drinks, and then came back to the island.”

  “What time was it when you returned?” Nettles asked.

  “About one o’clock.”

  “And was Mr. Ashcroft alive and well when you went to bed?”

  “I have no idea,” she shrugged. “I took my overnight bag to the only empty guest room and stayed there for the night.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual during the night?”

  “No, but between the crying and the booze, I was pretty much out cold. Next thing I remembered was waking up with the sun. I couldn’t go back to sleep because it was too bright and the room was getting warm. So I went to our bedroom to change into my sunbathing outfit. Richie wasn’t there and the bed was made. But that wasn’t anything unusual. He never slept very much and when he did, he always made the bed afterwards. He said no one else tucked the sheets and blankets in the way he did: all the way around instead of just at the corners.”

  “Fascinating,” Jackson commented absently.

  Griselda looked around at her audience, her face a question. “Is that all? Because I can’t think of anything else to tell you and I’d really like to get back to my sunbathing.”

  “Why do you need to sunbathe when you’re covered in bottled tanning solution?” Marjorie asked curiously.

  “Because until I can get tanned by the sun, I don’t want to look like pasteurized milk,” Griselda replied cattily. “You should try it some time.” With a tug at the seat of her swimsuit, she stood up and sashayed toward the door.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Herman Miller stated humbly. “I grew up in Philadelphia, graduated from Lafayette College in 1920, and tried my hand at writing the great American novel. When that didn’t pan out, I put my typing skills to use as a secretary. I started working for Mr. Ashcroft about five months ago, right before his and Mrs. Ashcroft’s wedding.”

  “What were you doing here in Bermuda?” Jackson raised.

  “It was Mr. Ashcroft’s idea. He had made arrangements to meet a representative from the English Steel Corporation who was going to be in town for the regatta. Mr. Ashcroft thought it would be handy to bring me along to help with any paperwork that might ensue.”

  “Was it handy?”

  Miller crossed his legs and shook his head. “No, the man we were supposed to meet didn’t show. He wound up cancelling his trip.”

  Jackson mirrored the leg cross. “What was this man’s name?”

  “Morrison. Kenneth Morrison.”

  Jackson jotted the name in his little notebook.

  “Mr. Ashcroft and I were to meet him for lunch at the Inverurie Hotel, where he was supposed to be staying,” Miller explained. “We went there and waited a good half hour for the man, but he didn’t show. When I asked the front desk to page him, they told me he never checked in.”

  “Is that why Mr. Ashcroft was so irritated with you last night?” Marjorie questioned. “Because you had made, what was the term he used, a ‘sham’ of an appointment?”

  “Oh, I didn’t make the appointment,” Miller corrected. “Mr. Ashcroft did. However, he was irritated by the fact that I hadn’t confirmed the meeting. If I had, it would have saved us the better part of the afternoon. Add to the fact that I was late for dinner—”

  “Why were you late?” Nettles inquired.

  “I overslept. It was a very hot day, so I went to my room after lunch, to lie down.”

  “You slept all afternoon and were still late for dinner?”

  “Well, I didn’t fall asleep right away and then I woke up several times.”

  “Oh?”

  “No.” Miller’s eyes darted to Marjorie and his face colored slightly. “The house was, um, noisier than anticipated.”

  Marjorie blanched as she realized that Miller’s room was adjacent to hers and Creighton’s. “So, Mr. Miller,” she said loudly, before Jackson or Nettles could inquire as to the nature of the aforementioned “noise.” “Where did you go after you left the dining room last night?”

  “The office to gather up some personal items and to type my list of references. I did stop back into the dining room for a brief moment, after Mrs. Ashcroft left it.”

  “Why?” Jackson probed.

  “To give Mr. Ashcroft my key to the New York office. And to tell him that I would be leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Really? What was he doing when you saw him? What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. He was seated at the head of the table, drinking—a glass of port, I think. He simply put his hand out, collected the key, and then put it in his jacket pocket.”

  “Nettles,” Jackson addressed the Inspector, “when you looked in Mr. Ashcroft’s pocket for the note, did you find a key?”

  “No, sir. All his pockets were empty.”

  “But I saw him put it in there,” Miller insisted.

  “Shh,” Jackson ordered. “Simmer down. What did you do once you left the dining room?”

  “I went back to the office. Mrs. Ashcroft can vouch for me.”

  Marjorie nodded.

  “And then what?” Jackson prompted.

  “Bed. It had been a heck of a day
and I wanted an early start in the morning.”

  “Yes, so you could leave,” Jackson said contemplatively.

  “That’s right,” Miller agreed.

  “Mr. Ashcroft was a difficult man to please, wasn’t he?” Jackson posed.

  “Extremely, yes.”

  “Insufferable even, wouldn’t you say?”

  Miller smiled. “With all due respect, Sergeant, I know where you’re heading with this. And I did not murder Mr. Ashcroft.”

  “But he humiliated you. Fired you.”

  “Being fired was a relief,” Miller averred. “I had spent five months tiptoeing around the man, making sure I got my job done, trying not to get in his way, doing my best not to anger him. My nerves were worn thin. I’m glad to be free.”

  Jackson smirked. “I’m sure you are.”

  Miller’s eyes grew wide. “That’s not what I mean! I—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Jackson interrupted. “If we need anything else from you, we’ll let you know. Nettles, please escort Mr. Miller back to the drawing room. Thank you.”

  “I confess. I’m guilty,” Prudence Ashcroft sobbed into an embroidered handkerchief.

  “What!” Jackson exclaimed.

  Marjorie held a hand up to silence the Sergeant and placed the other on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Pru, darling, what are you talking about?” she asked in alarm.

  “I wished my father-in-law dead and now he is!” she shrieked.

  “Pru, calm down, honey,” Marjorie soothed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do. Cassandra taught me that our thoughts can be as powerful as any weapon and we should control them carefully. She’s going to be very disappointed in me!”

  Marjorie recalled the spiritual guide’s face as she kicked the cat across the verandah. “I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure even Cassandra’s foot has slipped once or twice.”

  “Oh no, it hasn’t. It couldn’t! She’s a pure soul, unlike me.” With trembling hands, Pru brought the handkerchief to her nose and began to cry hysterically.