Black Moonlight Part 3

"All right," Creighton agreed. "Go ahead, Ca.s.sandra. Is it an Egyptian G.o.d, or better yet, a gorgeous, scantily clad Egyptian G.o.ddess?"

Marjorie gave him a playful punch in the arm.

"Your guide is Basenji," Ca.s.sandra coolly stated.

"Basenji," Creighton slowly repeated. "Is that a male or a female?"

"Neither. It is a barkless Egyptian dog." With that, Ca.s.sandra turned on one heel and retreated from the study.

"Oh, you've done it now. She's terrible when she's angry." Pru took off after her instructor.

"How do you feel about that whole thing?" Creighton prodded his brother after Pru had left the room.

"What whole thing?" Edward replied obtusely. "Oh, you mean Ca.s.sandra? It's all a bunch of nonsense. Spirit guides, bah!"

"I know that, but Ca.s.sandra's being paid for that nonsense, isn't she?"

"Oh yes, and handsomely too."

"And you don't mind paying an obvious fraud?"

"Not if it makes Pru happy." Edward shook his head. "You don't know what it was like before Ca.s.sandra came along. Pru was constantly talking about getting our own house and starting a family."

"Well, how long have you been married now? Five years? Those seem like reasonable things for a woman in her position to want," Creighton a.s.serted as he glanced at Marjorie.

Marjorie, polishing off her drink, nodded in agreement.

"And she shall have them once Father is gone," Edward maintained. "But right now, I'm somewhat tied to the old man's purse strings."

A bell sounded and the party shuffled out of the study and into the adjacent dining room.

Beneath the candlelight of an intricately carved Waterford chandelier, Creighton Ashcroft II took his place at the head of the heavy British Colonial table and beckoned his guests to be seated.

Opposite Mr. Ashcroft, at the other end of the table, sat Griselda. To his right sat Prudence, Creighton, and Ca.s.sandra. To his left sat Edward and Marjorie. An empty chair occupied the spot between Marjorie and Griselda and opposite Ca.s.sandra.

George entered the room through a paneled door and began pouring the wine.

"Thank you, George." Mr. Ashcroft grabbed his wine gla.s.s and rose from his chair. "And thank you, everyone, for being here this evening. As you know-"

The paneled door once again swung open, this time admitting to a bespectacled man of slight build and thinning hair. He fiddled nervously with the lapels of his drape-cut suit as he scurried to his seat.

"You're late, Miller," Ashcroft admonished.

Miller pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Ashcroft gave a loud sigh of exasperation. "As I was saying, tonight is a night of celebration. After having met every debutante in New York and London, after enjoying dinner and brandy with all the well-propertied spinsters in our social circle, and even having dallied with a few dancers from the Ziegfeld Follies-"

Marjorie shot a look at her husband, who merely smiled and shrugged.

"-my eldest son, Creighton, has finally found himself a bride. And what a lovely bride she is. Please join me as I toast to Creighton and Marjorie's happiness. May they enjoy a long, happy life together."

"Here, here," Edward rejoined before they all completed the toast with a hearty sip.

"Since no wedding would be complete without a gift," Ashcroft continued, "I would like to take this opportunity to present them with something I know Creighton's mother would have wanted them to have." He nodded to George who, after serving the wine, stood waiting in a dark corner of the room.

George obediently walked over to what initially appeared to be a low, covered buffet table and pulled back the cloth to reveal a carved walnut Italian Renaissance chest.

"The ca.s.sone Mother bought in Italy," Creighton said in disbelief. "I didn't realize you still had it. Where was it?"

"It's been here the whole time. Packed away," Ashcroft explained.

Creighton felt a lump form in his throat. "I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Marjorie echoed.

Ashcroft waved his hand dismissively. "And now that the formalities are out of the way, I have a personal announcement I'd like to make. George, could you bring your mother in here, please?"

As George retrieved Selina from the kitchen, Mr. Ashcroft's audience exchanged questioning glances, each person looking to the other for some indication of what was to come next.

Once Selina was seated by the kitchen door, Mr. Ashcroft cleared his throat. "As you all may, or may not, know, last month marked my sixty-fifth year on this earth. Being closer in years to his death than his birth makes a man rea.s.sess his life. It was during the process of rea.s.sessing my life that I came to an eye-opening, somewhat disappointing conclusion: that none of you are worth my time, my energy, or, most importantly, my money."

There was a loud uproar from his audience, but Ashcroft quelled their murmurs, gasps, and protests, with a raise of his hand.

"You have all been written out of my will."

Another uproar followed. This time, Ashcroft let it die out on its own. "You are all out of my will," he repeated, "except for one worthy individual."

His audience, once again, exchanged puzzled glances.

"Selina, my loyal employee for nearly thirty years now," Ashcroft started amid murmurs and whispers. "Yesterday, you asked me for the money to send your beloved son to university. When I refused, you threatened to blackmail me."

"I was out of my head," Selina explained. "I was angry ... I-"

"Whatever your reasons, I will beat you to the punch," Ashcroft trumped. "George is my son."

The news produced a series of horrified gasps from his audience-with the exclusion of Marjorie who stared open-mouthed at her dining companions. "Are you joking? No one here guessed that Mr. Ashcroft was George's father? They have the same eyes! It gave me pause once or twice-and I only just arrived this morning." Realizing her faux pas, she drew her hand to her mouth. "Sorry

... I ... go on."

George, meanwhile, was fuming. "Is it true, mother?" he asked.

Selina nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me? And you," George pointed at his father, "you knew I was your son, but you kept me here as an indentured servant. I hate you!!"

"So do my other sons. Why should you be any different?" Ashcroft remarked before turning his attention to the opposite end of the table.

"Griselda, my darling wife," he started.

"Yes, sweetheart," she replied in a saccharine tone.

"You were my secretary long before you were ever my wife. As such, I thought I could trust you."

"You can," she a.s.sured.

"Can I? I've taken a look at your spending over the past few months. The generous allowance I give you hasn't been spent entirely on dresses, hats, or hairdressing. You've spent some of it on those things, grant you, but the rest of it has been used to pay the rent on a small flat in northern New Jersey."

"But-" she began to argue.

"I can only imagine what you do there and with whom," he stated.

"I wouldn't," Griselda cried, sending a cascade of black mascara down her face. "I swear I wouldn't!"

Ca.s.sandra reached over and placed a comforting hand on Griselda's shoulder. "Do not despair; your spirit guide will not let you fall."

Mr. Ashcroft started laughing uncontrollably. "You may want to consult your 'spirit guide' in a moment, Ca.s.sandra. Or shall I call you Rose? That's your real name, isn't it? Your last position as a spiritual 'teacher' was in Rhode Island, and it resulted in your being named as the sole beneficiary of an old lady's will. When the woman met with an unfortunate 'accident' and you inherited the entire fortune, the family contested the will and ran you out of town."

"Father!" Prudence exclaimed. "How can you say such a horrible thing about Ca.s.sandra? She's my friend ... she has a gift!"

Marjorie leapt from her chair and ran to the other side of the table. Taking a weeping Prudence into her arms, she shouted, "How can you be so kind and then be so cruel? Don't you know, Mr. Ashcroft ... ? Don't you realize?" her voice trailed off.

"I know," he replied. "I know that Prudence is craving what her husband can't, or isn't, willing to give her."

Edward rose from his seat. "That's enough, Father."

"You've lingered for years, under the pretense of being the 'diligent' son. Living at the family home, working at the company, but what you were really hanging on to was the hope of your inheritance. Meanwhile, your wife was withering away from loneliness. Of course, a better woman would have told her husband to quit years ago."

"Mr. Ashcroft, sir," Miller spoke in a tremulous voice. "Edward is in charge of ... I wouldn't ..."

"Mr. Miller," Ashcroft addressed his secretary, "you've already wasted my time with that sham of an appointment and by arriving late to dinner. You are in no position to advise me of what to do. In fact, you're in no position at all. You're fired."

Miller stood up and scurried from the dining room in a fashion reminiscent of his entrance.

In the meantime, Edward had picked up his wine gla.s.s and sent it shattering against the wall behind his father. "d.a.m.n you!" he shouted as he made his exit. "d.a.m.n you!"

As Miller and Edward made their dramatic departures, Creighton rose from his seat, withdrew the handkerchief from the pocket of his dinner jacket, and pa.s.sed it to Marjorie, who used it to dab the tears of a sobbing Prudence.

"The only reason I agreed to this dinner was because part of me hoped that things could be different. I hoped that my marriage might start a new chapter between us. I hoped that you had changed; I knew I had. But you haven't changed at all. Despite the years, you haven't changed, have you, Father?" Creighton calmly noted. "The only joy you've ever found in this world was in building people up and then dashing their hopes. Humans, and their emotions, are nothing but playthings to you. From the time we were young, you pitted Edward and me against each other. Edward was strong, like you; I was weak like mother. Mother ..." He said in a half-whisper as he clutched his dinner knife. "You sapped every ounce of life and happiness out of that woman. Then, after you had killed her, you pitted her children against each other in some sickening battle for your affection. You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I was a fool to think you'd ever change, you-"

Selina stepped forward and took hold of both of Creighton's arms. She quietly shook her head and cautioned, "Don't do it, Mr. Creighton. Don't do it, child. You have a new wife and the whole world in front of you."

Creighton put his arms down at his sides and dropped the knife. "But Marjorie ..." he whispered.

"Marjorie isn't going nowhere," Selina said rea.s.suringly. "You go outside now and get some air."

With Creighton's departure, the rest of the family scattered to their quarters, leaving only Marjorie, Selina, and Mr. Ashcroft in the candle-lit dining room.

Selina took tight hold of Marjorie's hand before retreating into the kitchen. "You go to your husband," she whispered. "I'll take care of the old man."

Marjorie nodded and attempted to follow her husband, but before she could leave, Mr. Ashcroft summoned her attention. "What are your thoughts, Miss McClelland?"

He drew a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table before him. Upon it, in type-written letters, were the words: THE DAY OF RECKONING IS NIGH.

"What is this?" she asked as she picked it up.

"Someone left it on my desk yesterday evening," he explained. "I have no idea who did it, but it had to have been someone here on the island."

"And the typing?"

"Done on the typewriter on my desk. I checked the ribbon."

"More than a bit ominous." She handed the paper back to her father-in-law. "Did you call the police?"

Ashcroft refolded the paper and put in his pocket. "What could the police tell me that I don't already know? Besides, I preferred to handle this matter on my own. So I went into town this morning and had a new will drawn up, naming Creighton as the sole inheritor of my estate."

"Creighton? But-"

"He wasn't here yesterday evening. He couldn't have left the note," Ashcroft explained. "It seemed the logical next step."

"So that's what this whole dog and pony show was all about," Marjorie concluded. "This note?"

"Well, trying to prevent the writer of the note from taking any drastic action. Yes."

"And that's all?" she challenged.

"What else?"

"Pleasure," Marjorie stated bluntly. "Creighton is right; you seem to enjoy having control over other people. You enjoy having the money and power to alter their lives. The new will and your performance this evening is just another way for you to pull the strings and watch them dance. The problem is that the writer of that note isn't looking for money or anything else you can give them; they're looking to take control."

She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head slowly. "You're a master puppeteer, Mr. Ashcroft; you probably always have been. But I think ... I think you may be in over your head this time."

"You know what, Mrs. Ashcroft?"

The use of her new surname gave Marjorie pause.

Mr. Ashcroft sunk into his high-back chair and drank back the rest of his wine. "I think I am, too."

Marjorie, her heart racing and her mind thinking only of Creighton, left the dining room. She hurried out the back door of the house and down the white gravel path. Reaching the spot where the path divided, she checked the potting shed, the stables, Selina's cottage, and their surrounding properties. There was not a soul to be seen.

She threw her hands in the air in exasperation and stopped to catch her breath. Where was Creighton? And where, for that matter, was everyone else? The scene in the dining room had caused the inhabitants of the house to scatter and disappear into the woodwork.