Moonlight Becomes You by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

into Nuala’s house now came into the room. “I’m sorry to have detained you,” he said. “Several of my men will take your individual statements, so we will have you out of here as soon as possible. First, though, I have some questions I want to ask you as a group. Mr. and Mrs. Woods, I wish you’d stay, too.”
    The chief’s questions were general, things like, “Was Mrs. Moore in the habit of leaving her back door unlocked?”
    The Woodses told him that she always left it unlocked, that she even joked about forever mislaying the key to the front door, but she knew she could always sneak in the back.
    He asked if she had seemed troubled recently. Unanimouslythey reported that Nuala had been happy and excited and looking forward to Maggie’s visit.
    Maggie felt tears sting the back of her eyes. And then the realization came: But she was troubled.
    It was only when Chief Brower said, “Now if you’ll just bear with us a few minutes more while my men ask you each a few questions, I promise you we’ll have you home soon,” that Irma Woods timidly interrupted.
    â€œThere is just one thing that maybe we ought to explain. Yesterday, Nuala came over. She had handwritten a new will and wanted us to witness her signature. She also had us call Mr. Martin, a notary public, so that he could make it official. She seemed a bit upset because she said that she knew Mr. Norton might be disappointed that she was canceling the sale of her house to him.”
    Irma Woods looked at Maggie. “Nuala’s will asks that you visit or phone her friend Greta Shipley, at Latham Manor, as often as you can possibly manage it. Except for a few charitable bequests, she left her house and everything else she owned to you.”

Monday, September 30th
12
    I T WAS OBVIOUS THAT M AGGIE H OLLOWAY WAS NOT satisfied with the theory that an intruder had murdered Nuala. He had seen that at the funeral parlor. Now at the Requiem Mass, he watched with narrowed eyes when she shook her head in disbelief as the priest spoke about the random violence that today claims so many innocent lives.
    Maggie was much too smart, too observant. She could easily become a threat.
    But as they filed out of St. Mary’s Church, he comforted himself with the thought that undoubtedly she would now go back to New York and put Nuala’s house up for sale. And we know who’s going to step in there with an offer before she leaves, he thought.
    He was glad to note that Greta Shipley had been accompanied by a nurse when she arrived at the Mass, and then had had to leave almost immediately afterwards. Maggie would probably pay her a courtesy call at the residence before she took off.
    He stirred restlessly. At least the Mass was nearly over. The soloist was singing “Here I am, Lord,” and the casket was being wheeled slowly down the aisle.
    He didn’t really want to go to the cemetery now, although he knew there was no way out of it. Later. He would go there later . . . and alone. As with the others, his special gift would be a private memorial to her.
    He filed out of the church with the thirty or so others who accompanied Nuala to her final resting place. It was the cemetery in which many of Newport’s more prominent longtime Catholic residents were buried. Nuala’s grave was beside that of her last husband. The legend on the marble would soon be complete. Next to Timothy James Moore’s name and birth and death dates, her name and birth date were already inscribed. Soon, Friday’s date would be added. “Rest in peace” was already there.
    He forced himself to look solemn as the final prayers were read . . . rather too rapidly, he thought. On the other hand, it was obvious that the dark clouds above were about to release a heavy torrent of rain.
    When the service ended, Irma Woods invited everyone back to her house for refreshments.
    He reasoned that it would be