Moonlight Becomes You by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

of silence, broken by Frances who turned to her husband and said, “Dear, remind me to get the car checked.”
    Lawrence Van Hilleary shook his head, then sighed with resignation. “Thanks, Neil. There’s no fool like an old fool, I guess.”
    There was a soft knock, and Trish came in carrying a tray with coffee. “Is he still trying to sell you that Edsel stock, Mr. Van Hilleary?”
    â€œNo, he just cut me off at the pass when I was about to buy it, Trish. That coffee smells good.”
    After discussing a few items in their investment portfolio, the subject changed to a decision the Van Hillearys were pondering.
    â€œWe’re both seventy-eight,” Lawrence said, glancing fondly at his wife. “I know we look pretty good, but there’s no question that we can’t do things we used to do even a few years ago . . . None of the kids live in the area. The house in Greenwich is expensive to maintain, and to top it off, our old housekeeper has just retired. We’re seriously considering looking for a retirement community somewhere in New England. We’d still go down to Florida in the winter, but it might be nice to get rid of all the responsibilities of a house and grounds.”
    â€œWhere in New England?” Neil asked.
    â€œPerhaps the Cape. Or maybe Newport. We’d like to stay near the water.”
    â€œIn that case, I might be able to do some scouting for you over the weekend.” Briefly he told them how several of the women whose income tax his father handled had moved to Latham Manor Residence in Newport and were very happy there.
    When they got up to go, Frances Van Hilleary kissed Neil’s cheek. “No oil for the lamps of China, I promise. And let us know what you find out about the place in Newport.”
    â€œOf course.” Tomorrow, Neil thought, tomorrow I’ll be in Newport and maybe I’ll bump into Maggie.
    Fat chance! said a niggling voice in the back of his mind.
    Then the brainstorm hit him. One night, when they had had dinner at Neary’s, Jimmy Neary and Maggie had talked about her pending visit to Newport. She told Jimmy her stepmother’s name, and he said something about it being one of the grandest of old Celtic names. Jimmy would remember, surely, he told himself.
    A much happier Neil settled down to finish up the day’s business. Tonight he would have dinner at Neary’s, he decided, then go home and pack. Tomorrow he would head north.
    *   *   *
    At eight o’clock that evening, as Neil was contentedly finishing sautéed scallops and mashed potatoes, Jimmy Neary joined him. Mentally keeping his fingers crossed, Neil asked whether Jimmy could remember the name of Maggie’s stepmother.
    â€œAh-hah,” Jimmy said. “Give me a minute. It’s a grand name. Let’s see.” Jimmy’s cherubic face puckered in concentration. “Nieve . . . Siobhan . . . Maeve . . . Cloissa . . . no, none of those. It’s—it’s—by God, I’ve got it! Finnuala!It means ‘the fair one,’ in Gaelic. And Maggie said the old girl’s known as Nuala.”
    â€œAt least that’s a start. I could kiss you, Jimmy,” Neil said fervently.
    A look of alarm crossed Jimmy’s face. “Don’t you dare!” he said.

25
    M AGGIE HAD NOT EXPECTED TO SLEEP WELL , BUT WRAPPED as she was in the soft eiderdown quilt, her head burrowed in the goose-down pillows, she did not wake up until the phone rang at nine-thirty in the master bedroom.
    Feeling clearheaded and refreshed for the first time in several days, she hurried to answer it, even taking note of the bright sunbeams that spilled into the room around the edges of the window shades.
    It was Greta Shipley calling. Almost apologetically, she began, “Maggie, I wanted to thank you for yesterday. It meant so much to me. And please don’t agree to this