Black Moonlight Part 2

Marjorie followed her husband, eager to escape the feeling of foreboding she had experienced since she had arrived on the island.

"Wait!" Mr. Ashcroft commanded.

Creighton halted, his foot hovering over the top step.

"If you didn't come for money, why are you here?"

The younger Ashcroft slowly turned around and drew a deep breath before answering, "I'm-we're-on our honeymoon."

"Finally married, eh?" Mr. Ashcroft scoffed. "High time. Considering all the society girls I had you introduced to, you'd think you'd have done it sooner. But, no, not Creighton. No, to him, they were too old or too young, too short or too tall, too serious or too frivolous. The list went on and on ..."

Griselda t.i.ttered briefly and then went back to examining her Chinese red-lacquered fingernails, each one perfectly polished to leave the moon and tip bare.

Mr. Ashcroft scratched his chin and gave his new daughter-in-law the once-over. "So, this is what you chose when left to your own devices."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not a 'what,' I'm a 'whom.'" Marjorie extended her hand, "Marjorie McClelland-I mean, Ashcroft. I keep forgetting ... but then again, it's only been four days."

Mr. Ashcroft accepted the hand and gave it a tepid squeeze before letting it drop. "Well, she's pretty enough," he deemed aloud.

At the word "pretty," Griselda looked up from her fingernails and shot her husband a dirty look.

"But does she have a brain in her head?" the older man continued.

"Of course," Creighton replied.

"And all my teeth, too," Marjorie added sotto voce.

Creighton gave her a pinch on the rump.

"Ow!" she shouted.

"Marjorie's a writer, Father," Creighton offered. "She's written four-"

"Five," Marjorie corrected.

"Sorry. Five mystery novels to date, as well as a true crime book in the works. She's also solved a few mysteries in her day, using not much more than observation and intuition."

Mr. Ashcroft gave a quiet, approving nod. After a prolonged pause, he announced, "Drinks will be at seven-thirty this evening, followed by dinner at eight. Sharp."

Creighton shook his head. "You don't understand, Father. We're not staying here."

The elder Ashcroft shrugged. "Suit yourself. I don't care. But if you're looking for a hotel, I doubt you'll find one. The regatta starts this weekend; all of Hamilton is booked."

Creighton removed his hat and ran a hand through his chestnut hair.

"However, you are having dinner with us tonight. I'm sure you didn't have a proper wedding-"

"The ship's captain did an adequate job," Marjorie tried to interject.

"The least you can do is have a proper celebration dinner," Mr. Ashcroft chided over his daughter-in-law's argument. "A toast to your marriage and all that nonsense. While we're at it, you can toast Griselda and me as well." He placed an arm about his wife's shoulders.

As if on cue, she thrust her left hand in front of Marjorie's face to display a gaudy, oversized sapphire and diamond ring.

"That's lovely," Marjorie stated politely, once her eyes had adjusted focus.

"Yes, Selina told me the news," Creighton said matter-of-factly. "Congratulations, Father." He turned his attention to his new stepmother. "Congratulations, Grizz. Or shall I call you 'Mum'?"

"Why you-" Griselda started in a nasal New Jersey tone, but quickly checked herself. "'Grizz' is fine," she mustered with a pseudo-English accent that was more Margaret Dumont than Lady Windsor. "I'd better tell Selina to expect two more for dinner." She excused herself and tottered off to the house.

Mr. Ashcroft tipped his Captain's hat before heading up the trail after his wife. "Seven-thirty, sharp," he reminded his son. "Marjorie, I look forward to discussing your occupation in more depth. I'd like to get your professional opinion on some matters."

When he was out of earshot, Marjorie turned to Creighton. "I don't know much about your father, but he doesn't seem that bad to me. A little rough around the edges, maybe ..."

Creighton pulled a face. "He's on his best behavior."

"Well, he just met me. Maybe he wants to make a good impression," Marjorie suggested.

"No, he's up to something."

"Up to something? Like what?"

"I don't know, darling. But we'd both best be careful."

Marjorie and Creighton returned from their trip to Hamilton, as Mr. Ashcroft predicted, without a hotel room. However, their trip had produced a collection of boxes in a dizzying array of sizes, colors, and shapes.

"I'm so glad we got some clothing that didn't come from the ship's boutique," Marjorie remarked as they scaled the front steps of the Black Island mansion. "I was starting to feel like an advertis.e.m.e.nt for White Star Lines."

"Well, next time we elope immediately after solving a murder case on a ship, I'll make sure we pack first, darling."

"Although it could have been worse. If the ship purser hadn't allowed us to use Michael Barnwell and Veronica Carter's stateroom, we might have spent our wedding night in a broom closet or a lifeboat."

"Now that would have been a story for the grandchildren," Creighton quipped from behind the stack of boxes he was balancing in his arms. "Can you open the door for me, dear?"

Marjorie complied and the couple stepped into the front hall of the residence. With whitewashed walls, a hand-blown gla.s.s hanging lantern, and a Bermuda chest with cabriole legs, the room was minimally furnished, creating an atmosphere of cool comfort.

Creighton led the way up the ma.s.sive portrait-lined cedar staircase, down the hall, and into the second room on the right. "Here we are," he announced as he dropped the parcels on the canopied four-poster bed.

In addition to the intricately carved bed, the southwest-corner bedroom contained a Sheraton mahogany four-drawer chest, two silk upholstered wing chairs, and a rosewood bedside table. However, the stars of the room were the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the two far, perpendicular walls. They overlooked a wide expanse of ocean punctuated by small dots of land.

Marjorie gasped in delight as she stepped through a window and out onto the verandah. Up here, above the trees and dense vegetation, the clean ocean air circulated freely. It provided a breezy refuge for the island's human inhabitants and a cool napping spot for the small, fluffy black cat curled up on the verandah floor just outside Marjorie and Creighton's bedroom.

Creighton followed his wife through the window and smiled as he watched her stoop down and scratch the stray behind the ears.

"How's that?" she asked the young cat as he purred and rolled onto his back. "Does that feel good?"

"You know, I'll roll around like that too if you rub me the right way," Creighton remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

Marjorie stood up and threw her arms around her husband's neck. "Hmmm. That, I'd like to see."

"Coming right up," Creighton quipped as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her.

All the while, the scrawny black cat meowed and rubbed against Marjorie's leg.

"I know this honeymoon hasn't been a lot of fun for you," Creighton acknowledged. "Between your seasickness and then finding my whole family here-"

"I don't mind your family being here," Marjorie said supportively as she reached down and picked up the mewing cat. "I won't lie and say it wouldn't have been nicer had we been alone, but I want to get to know your family. I want to know everything about you."

She gazed out upon the water and the low-hanging red sun. "I couldn't imagine a more beautiful place to be right now."

"I couldn't imagine a more beautiful woman to be with," Creighton replied as he undid the shoulder tie of her sundress and kissed her again.

Marjorie kissed him back and then, opening one eye, glanced at her watch. "Oh!" she cried. "Drinks are at seven-thirty. We only have-"

Creighton drowned out her next words by placing his mouth on hers. "We have time enough," he rea.s.sured as he pulled her back through the bedroom window.

Moments later, Creighton could be seen closing the shutters of the bedroom. But not before evicting a certain black cat.

Giggling and snorting, Marjorie and Creighton stumbled down the large cedar staircase just as the grandfather clock in the study sounded the half hour.

Upon reaching the entry hall, they exchanged a quick kiss and re-examined each other's appearance for any evidence of their recent activities. Perhaps it was the glow of love, but they could find few flaws. Creighton was dashing in his recently purchased white dinner jacket with silk piping, black tie, and black trousers, and Marjorie resplendent in a new green silk t-back evening gown, silver pumps, and a pair of emerald and diamond earrings. After a quick straightening of Creighton's tie by Marjorie and an even quicker pat of Marjorie's bottom by Creighton, they walked, arm-in-arm, into the study to face the Ashcroft family.

Fitted with cedar bookshelves, an Adams-style fireplace, and satin drapes in a cla.s.sic palm frond motif, the study made an intimate gathering area for hors d'oeuvres and aperitifs.

Griselda had changed from her swimsuit into a retina-damaging gold-sequined evening gown with a daringly low back. She played the role of hostess to the hilt. "Manhattans?" she asked Marjorie and Creighton as she leaned over the well-stocked bar trolley.

They nodded their consent and were immediately accosted by a small, slightly plump woman in a black, ruffle-sleeved evening dress that overwhelmed her small stature.

"Creighton!" she exclaimed in a soft English accent, as she endeavored to stretch her short arms around Creighton's tall frame.

"Hi, Pru. It's wonderful to see you," Creighton greeted, as he leaned down and planted a kiss on his sister-in-law's cheek.

"And I know who this is," she a.s.serted as she moved to Creighton's wife. "You must be Marjorie! I'm Prudence, but you can call me Pru. I'm so glad we're going to be sisters. It's been just me and the men for much too long."

Griselda handed a couple of Manhattans to Creighton and Marjorie before mocking Pru. "It's been just me and the men for much too long. Who do I look like? Tommy Dorsey?"

"No," Creighton quipped, "but in that dress, you could pa.s.s as his trombone."

Griselda bared her teeth at Creighton and went back to her bartending duties.

Marjorie, holding her drink in one hand, leaned down and hugged her sister-in-law with the other. "I'm glad we're going to be sisters, too."

It was a true statement. Whether it was because of the woman's sweet, gentle face or the complete ingenuousness of her words and actions, Marjorie took an instant liking to Pru. Unfortunately, she also sensed that Pru might be the sort of soul who required protection from the less-than-kind characters in the world.

This suspicion was borne out as Pru summoned a woman from across the room. She was dressed in a white, floor-length tunic with bell sleeves that set off her dark olive complexion; her straight black hair was pulled into a tight chignon, and around her neck she wore a large gold pendant fashioned in the Egyptian style.

"I want you both to meet someone. Ca.s.sandra, this is my brother-in-law, Creighton," Pru introduced.

"How do you do?" Creighton asked as he extended his hand.

Ca.s.sandra did not accept it, but stood, palms together, as if in prayer.

"And this," Pru went on, "is Creighton's wife-my new sister-in-law, Marjorie."

Marjorie did her best to mimic Ca.s.sandra's pose while simultaneously juggling her c.o.c.ktail gla.s.s. She then punctuated the pose with a small bow.

Again, Ca.s.sandra was motionless.

"Ca.s.sandra is a spiritualist and medium," Pru announced. "She's been helping me get in touch with my spirit guide, Omari."

"Ahhhh," Marjorie and Creighton sang in unison.

"Prudence's guide is tall, strong, and handsome; he stands at her right side, as he has done since her birth many ages ago in ancient Egypt," Ca.s.sandra explained.

"Isn't she wonderful?" Pru exclaimed. "Ca.s.sandra has helped me understand my purpose. Before I met her, I felt so bored ... so unfulfilled. Edward and I still live with Father, so we have no home of our own. No children. Ca.s.sandra made me understand that I am paying debts from my past life, but that I am not alone. Omari is with me, helping me along."

"That's-that's wonderful," Marjorie politely remarked.

Creighton, however, would not leave well enough alone. "You mean to say," he started, "that we all have these spiritual guides?"

"Yes," Ca.s.sandra confirmed.

"Then Marjorie and I have them, too?"

"Indeed."

"Well, don't hold back," Creighton prompted. "Tell us about our guides."

Ca.s.sandra stared at Marjorie for several seconds. "You, fair lady, are smiled upon by the most powerful and sacred, Bastet. The G.o.ddess Bastet is the protector of all women, children and felines, but with you, her presence is especially strong."

"How lovely. Thank you." Marjorie smiled broadly and took a sip of her Manhattan.

As Creighton broke into uproarious laughter, a man joined them. He was similar in height and build to Creighton, but his coloring and facial features were the spitting image of the elder Ashcroft.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Hullo, Edward," Creighton greeted him. "I don't think you've met my wife, Marjorie."

"No I haven't, but she was all Father talked about this afternoon." Edward extended his hand in welcome. "Welcome to the family, Marjorie."

Marjorie accepted his hand and smiled graciously.

"Ca.s.sandra was just telling us that Marjorie is the favorite of the Egyptian G.o.ddess, Bastet," Creighton explained to his brother.

"What's wrong with that?" Marjorie demanded.

"Nothing," Creighton allowed, "except that we'll need two staterooms for the trip home: one for me and the other for that swollen head of yours."

"Ha, ha," Marjorie responded in mock laughter. "Why don't we find out about your guide?"