Death by the Light of the Moon by Joan Hess Page A

call,” Phoebe said with a sigh.
    â€œIt was indeed,” said Maxie, sounding no happier. “With Cousin Pauline in this disgraceful condition, she might have blurted out almost anything. I shall have a quiet conversation with her in the morning and point out the necessity of propriety. This ranting about…intimate relationships at a motel is…”
    â€œEnlightening?” Phoebe suggested.
    â€œTo say the least. When she smiles, she is not unattractive, but I was under the impression she spent her evenings practicing the organ at the church.”
    â€œYou were partially correct.”
    â€œPhoebe!” Maxie said. “That sort of innuendo is not appropriate. We must concern ourselves with the issues at hand.”
    I held my breath on the off chance she wished to list them. She did not. As they came into the dining room, I was treated to an interesting perspective of their ankles and feet, which they could undoubtedly trace back to a Scottish thane or a mundane pope. They were both wearing white satin slippers, although one pair was pristine and the other grass-stained. This in and of itself was not especially fascinating. It did, however, remind me of something I’d noticed earlier.
    In jack-and-the-box fashion, I popped up and said, “When did you change back into your slippers, Phoebe?”
    Phoebe braked so suddenly that her glasses slid down her nose. She caught them at the last minute and, with a nervous laugh, settled them back into position. “Good heavens, Cousin Claire, whatever were you doing under the table?”
    â€œI felt faint,” I lied smoothly. “Actually, I’m not really intrigued by when you changed back into your slippers. I’d like to know when you changed out of them earlier.”
    Phoebe turned the color of her slippers. Maxie grabbed her arm and propelled her to the chairs they’d occupied previously. “I must say you’re acting in a most peculiar way, Cousin Claire,” she intoned in a stern display of disapproval. “Why on earth does it matter what Phoebe chooses to wear on her feet?”
    â€œAt this moment, it doesn’t matter,” I replied. “When I encountered her in the parlor at midnight, she was wearing slippers. Eventually, we went upstairs and stayed together until we split up to search for Miss Justicia in the yard. Phoebe was still in slippers, as were we all. But when we found the body fifteen minutes later, she as wearing shoes with very hard heels.” I held up my foot and wiggled my toes at them. “See? I have a bruise to prove it.”
    â€œSo?” Phoebe said, averting her eyes and squirming as if the chair were wired to the nearest outlet. “I was concerned that the wet grass would ruin my white slippers. Although I was frantic about Miss Justicia’s whereabouts, I realized I could search more efficiently if I were shod in an appropriate manner.”
    â€œI fail to see anything suspicious about that,” Maxie contributed. “And I find this inquisition most unamusing, Cousin Claire.” The final two words could have come from a machine gun.
    I shook my head. “No one promised to amuse you, Cousin Maxie. When we went outside, Keith and I found Pauline. We then stayed together until we found the body in the bayou. I’d assumed Phoebe and Stanford did likewise. This appears to be erroneous. Unless Phoebe had her shoes stuffed in her pocket with the tape measure and notebook, I would offer the hypothesis that she went back into the house.”
    â€œFor a minute.” Phoebe was watching me from the corner of her eye as if leery of an attack on her person. We certifiable idiots garner more than our fair share of mistrust.
    I flashed my teeth at her. “That means you were by yourself for an unknown portion of the fifteen minutes.”
    â€œWhat difference does that make?”
    â€œYou might have chanced upon Miss Justicia beside the