Black Moonlight Read Online Free

swimsuit, and teetered toward Creighton on a pair of high-heeled gold lamé sandals.
    “Creighton,” Griselda cried before leaving a lip-shaped stain of bright red beeswax and castor oil upon Creighton’s face. She turned around and shouted down to the cliff-side staircase. “Baby! Baby, guess who’s here!”
    The intimidating form of Creighton Richard Ashcroft II emerged at the top of the stairs. Marjorie immediately noticed that the younger Ashcroft bore little resemblance to his father. Whereas Creighton’s hair was a warm, rich shade of chestnut, his father’s was a stark jet black with undertones of cool blue. While Creighton was tall, finely boned, and elegantly proportioned, the senior Ashcroft—albeit of equal height—was somewhat top-heavy and thick-bodied. And whereas Creighton’s face could be described as classically handsome and refined, the elder Ashcroft appeared boorish and menacing.
    Even their eyes, both blue, were of different hues: Creighton II’s were an icy shade of near gray; Creighton III’s a pure, deep azure.
    “Hullo, Dad,” Creighton greeted.
    The elder Ashcroft glared as he smoothed the hem of his cream-colored nautically-inspired blazer, then thrust his hands into the pockets of his navy blue trousers. “The prodigal son returns, eh?” he remarked in a Cockney accent. “I was waiting for this day; the day you’d run out of money and come back to me. So, what is it that you want?”
    Creighton sighed deeply and shook his head. “Want? I don’t want anything except for you to get out of my way.” He shoved past his father and headed toward the stairs.
    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 tittered 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