Read Online Black Moonlight by Amy Patricia Meade - Free Book Online Page A

used to dealing with the Hartford County Police, but you have to realize that not every policeman is like Jameson or Noonan. Now, I’m going upstairs to change; I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Creighton bounded down the stairs, dressed in a blue-and-white-striped twill shirt, white linen trousers, and a pair of white oxfords. He turned toward the study to find Marjorie serving coffee to two unknown gentlemen who were seated upon the overstuffed settee.
    The younger and taller of the two had blonde hair, blue eyes, and might have spent his spare time modeling men’s apparel for Sears Roebuck catalogs. The older man was shorter, stockier, and had a dark, swarthy complexion which, on a man of leaner proportions, might have been described as “exotic.” For the stout man in the wrinkled suit, it was better defined as “greasy.”
    The sound of Marjorie’s laughter resonated through the room. “Your mother reads my books?” she addressed the younger of the two men. “How wonderful! I’ll be sure to send her some signed copies as soon as we get back to the States.”
    “That’s quite kind of you,” the young man replied in a deep voice tinged with an English accent.
    The older man, in the meantime, devoured his scone and marmalade with gusto.
    “Oh, I don’t mind,” Marjorie replied. “It’s the least I can do for hard-working law enforcement officers such as yourselves.” She crossed one shapely ankle in front of the other and struck a demure pose.
    “Goodness,” the older man prompted in a Welsh cadence. “While you’re at it, maybe you wouldn’t mind giving my wife your scone recipe. Mrs. Jackson is a good woman, bless her heart, but she can’t bake a scone to save her life.”
    Creighton stood motionless in the study doorway, wondering if he were truly awake.
    “There he is,” Marjorie stated with a smile. She waved her husband into the room. “Darling, these gentlemen are from the Criminal Investigation Department of the Bermuda Police Force.” She motioned toward the older man. “Creighton, this is Sergeant Roger Jackson.”
    Jackson took a deep bow. “Morning, sir.”
    Creighton replied in kind.
    “And this is Inspector …” she looked at the younger man, her face a question.
    “Philip,” he stated.
    “Inspector Detective Philip Nettles,” Marjorie introduced.
    The younger man extended his hand. “How’d you do, Mr. Ashcroft? So sorry for your loss.”
    “Thank you,” Creighton murmured as he shook Nettles’ hand.
    “I was just telling Inspector Detective Nettles and Sergeant Jackson that we’ve solved many a crime back in Ridgebury,” Marjorie stated. “And how the police department there has come to rely upon our sleuthing skills over the past few months. But I’ll let you continue the story, Creighton, while I put on more coffee.”
    The men stood up as she left the room. Once she was out of sight, they returned to their seats. An awkward silence ensued.
    “As my wife was saying, we solved many crimes back in Connecticut.”
    “Mmm,” Jackson responded. “Lovely woman, your wife.”
    “Quite lovely,” Nettles agreed. “My mum reads all of her books. I’ll have to tell her how lovely she is in person.”
    “Mmm,” Jackson replied once again. “Lovely woman. Good scones, too.”
    “Good what?!” Creighton leapt from his seat, ready for a fight. “Oh, the, the scones. Yes, they’re light and fluffy and pleasantly un-lopsided aren’t they?” He sat back in the upholstered wing chair. “So, any ideas so far?”
    “Ideas?” Jackson repeated obtusely.
    “About the murder,” Creighton clarified.
    “Oh that.” Jackson ate the last of his scone and brushed the crumbs from his face with short stubby fingers. “We haven’t gotten in there to take a look. We told your wife we were waiting for a few more men to arrive to collect the body and, after introducing us to the other members of the household, she whisked us in here and sent everyone else to wait in