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

bayou and given her an unsolicited shove,” I said levelly.
    â€œHow dare you!” gasped Maxie. “How dare you accuse my daughter of such a heinous crime? This is an outrage! I insist you retract that absurd statement this moment and offer Phoebe an apology! I demand it!”
    Phoebe’s reaction was quite the contrary. She swiveled her head to gaze thoughtfully at her blustery protectress. “It also means that Cousin Stanford was out there by himself, Mother. When we first divided into search parties, I told him I’d be back shortly and went inside to change into my shoes. But when I did return, I looked all over that half of the yard and couldn’t find him anywhere. I must admit I was not comfortable being out there alone, and I distinctly remember thinking that even Cousin Stanford would be better than no one. I finally found him only a few seconds before Cousin Keith came crashing through the shrubbery.”
    â€œHe said he was going toward an old barn,” I said. “Was that where you encountered him?”
    â€œNo, he said he’d already been down that way. We were fairly near the bayou at the time.” She stretched her thin lips into a semblance of a smile. “Cousin Stanford’s company is in chaotic financial shape, Mother. I inadvertently came across the reports he sent to Miss Justicia. He’s on the brink of bankruptcy, and the only thing that can save him is a major infusion of capital.”
    â€œDo you think he found the will?” Maxie demanded, clutching Phoebe’s arm and spewing flecks of spittle. She then noticed my brightly curious look and managed to compose herself. “Not that I would entertain for even one instant the possibility that Cousin Stanford would do such a dreadful thing to his beloved mother. I’m sure he had nothing but the deepest devotion to Miss Justicia, as did we all.”
    â€œDamn straight I did,” Stanford said as he stomped into the dining room. “And furthermore, I was coming up the path from the barn when I spotted Cousin Phoebe.” He pointed at her with the fervor of an evangelist on the opening night of a tent revival. “She was coming from the direction of the bayou. At the time, I wondered why she’d gone that way when I’d told her as clear as branch water that I was going to the barn. Oh, yes, I wondered about it.”
    â€œYou were coming from the bayou,” Phoebe said firmly.
    â€œI was not!”
    â€œYou were too! I saw you creeping along like some species of aquatic mammal.”
    â€œYou, missy, were doing what creeping was done!”
    â€œI beg your pardon,” Maxie inserted, perhaps bored from the lack of attention. “If Phoebe says you were creeping, then you were creeping. Did you creep up behind poor Miss Justicia and push her into the water?”
    Stanford snatched up a napkin and swished it across his forehead. “Miss Justicia was my dear mother. I may have needed some money, but I didn’t have my greedy, beady eyes on the house and the entire estate. I didn’t see myself as some snooty matron escorting garden-club ladies through the parlor!”
    Maxie paused to light a cigarette and consider her rebuttal. “Some money, Cousin Stanford?” she said mockingly. “From what I’ve heard, you needed a bit more than that. All the money might be more accurate, don’t you think? One small push for Miss Justicia, one giant push for Pritty Kitty Kibble?”
    â€œI could say the same for the matron of the manor—or her daughter,” Stanford snapped.
    I raised my eyebrows and said, “Then you’re not certain Miss Justicia died in an accident, after all?”
    That stopped everyone in mid-accusation. Stanford blotted his neck, tossed the napkin on the table, and took a noisy breath. “Now don’t you start getting yourself all stirred up like a spider on a hot stove, Claire. Due to the grief we