Free Look For Me By Moonlight by Mary Downing Hahn Page A

wonder where the murdered girl’s body was found?” Vincent asked suddenly.
    I shivered and said nothing. The girl had been on my mind all afternoon. I didn’t want to think about her anymore. What I wanted now was romance. Maybe even a kiss. . . .
    I glanced at Vincent hopefully but he was gazing at the cliff tops and the sky beyond. Stars twinkled here and there, appearing one by one in rifts between the ragged clouds. “Some people believe evil lingers at the scene of a crime for years afterward,” he said slowly. “Perhaps forever.”
    â€œDon’t say any more, Vincent,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, coming closer. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Cynda.”
    Vincent took my hand and we walked on. “As you come to know me better,” he said, “you’ll discover I have a morbid streak which may not be to your liking.”
    I stared up at him, thrilled by his nearness and the touch of his hand. “I can’t imagine disliking anything about you, Vincent.”
    His grip tightened. “You’ve just met me, Cynda. You have no idea what sort of man I am.” He was smiling, teasing me, his voice full of humor.
    â€œThat’s true,” I said, trying to match his bantering tone. “I don’t know where you were born, where you live, what sort of family you have. Why, I don’t even know how old you are.”
    â€œI’m older than you think,” Vincent said lightly.
    â€œYou can’t be more than thirty.”
    He laughed. “Give or take a few centuries.”
    I laughed too, sharing the joke, and he gave my hand a squeeze.
    We’d come to the path leading to the cliff top. Vincent stopped walking and studied my face in the dim light. “Much as I enjoy your company, I suggest you go home before someone comes looking for you. I wouldn’t want your father to get the wrong idea about me.”
    Something dark and rich in his voice made my face burn, not with embarrassment but with pleasure. “Let’s walk a little farther,” I said. “I don’t want to go back to the inn yet.”
    â€œBelieve me, I’d like to keep you with me.” Vincent spoke so softly I barely heard him as he slowly backed away.
    â€œWhere are you going?” I reached out to stop him but he was already several feet distant, merging with the dark sea and sky.
    â€œI’ll walk for a while,” he said, “and think of you, Cynda.” With that, he vanished into the sea mist.
    I took a few hesitant steps after him but the wind was rising fast. Sand stung my face and eyes, and I turned onto the path, reluctant to let him go but warmed by his words.
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    When I opened the kitchen door several minutes later, Susan was waiting for me. “Where have you been, Cynda?”
    â€œI went for a walk on the beach,” I said, avoiding her eyes. If she were anything like Mom, she’d guess I was hiding something.
    â€œYou were gone for more than an hour,” Susan said. “I was worried.”
    She seemed willing to let the subject drop, so I apologized, but I couldn’t help being annoyed. I didn’t need Susan to play the part of my mother. She wasn’t old enough to tell me what to do or what not to do.
    Vincent returned while Todd and I were playing Candyland, but he slipped upstairs without saying more than hello.
    Todd made a face at Vincent’s back. “Did you see him when you were walking on the beach?”
    I moved my playing piece slowly and deliberately along the game’s curving path. “No,” I lied. “I didn’t see Vincent.”
    A few minutes later, Susan called me to the kitchen. “Can you take Vincent’s tray to him? I’ve just started another batch of hollandaise sauce. It will curdle if I leave it.”
    Unable to believe my good luck, I picked up the tray and climbed the