Free The Body in the Moonlight by Katherine Hall Page Page A

year, the grass slightly sear, especially after the dry summer. It was another beautiful day. There had been a string of them, interspersed with periods of violent thunderstorms, a reminder from Mother Nature not to get too complacent. Complacent. That was the last thing Faith was feeling.
    Millicent Revere McKinley’s house was on the left, strategically poised opposite the green with a bird’s-eye—and in Millicent’s case, the bird was an eagle—view down Main Street. On impulse, Faith crossed over, opened the gate set in Millicent’s unblemished white picket fence, walked up the herringbone brick walk, and rang the bell. The door opened immediately, thus confirming Faith’s suspicion that Millicent had been watching Faith’s every move from the bow window in the front parlor.
    Millicent Revere McKinley was descended from Ezekiel Revere, a distant relation of the famous man. Ezekiel’s claim to fame was casting the monumental bell that had sounded the alarm on Aleford green that famous day and year. The bell and belfry had been moved to the top of a small hill overlooking the green for reasons no one could recall, and Millicent had been trying for years to get the town to move it back to its rightful place. She had also been campaigning to change the town’s name to Haleford, which, she averred, was its real moniker, the handwriting of the time having led to this grave historical error. There was a group sympathetic to the moving of the belfry. It was a long climb for tourists. But Millicent was a party of one on the name change, since it was well documented that the town had been named for an early tavern conveniently situated by the best ford across the Concord River for miles. Mention of this was enough to send Millicent for an ax—a portrait of Carrie Nation occupied a prominent position on the wall of the McKinley dining room, next to those of Millicent’s parents. After a Spartan dinner there, Tom had observed that even if Millicent had offered anything alcoholic, the combined gazes of this particular trinity were enough to make a man forswear the grape forever. When asked to grace Millicent’s board, most Alefordians had a few shots at home first.
    Today, crossing the street to Millicent’s was like crossing the Rubicon. Faith was going to Millicent for whatever information she could pry out of the woman.This act, she admitted to herself, represented a commitment to finding out who had murdered Gwen Lord. There was no choice. She’d known this on some level all along.
    â€œAlways lovely to see you, Faith dear. On your way to the cleaner’s with poor Tom’s shirts? Of course, my mother always did my father’s. Monday was washing day; Tuesday, ironing. I can still smell the suds and the starch. You young people today, even with all the labor-saving devices they have now—what would Mother have made of a steam iron, I dasn’t think!—don’t seem to have time to do such menial chores for your loved ones.”
    That was where the “poor Tom” came from. Apparently, not seeing to his laundry was spousal abuse. Faith had learned not to answer when Millicent made this kind of remark. It was one of those lose/lose situations. Faith had vowed to “love, honor, and cherish,” but not iron.
    She stepped over the threshold into Millicent’s hallway and was forced to take a step backward. On either side of the hall, cartons were piled almost to the ceiling. The light was dim, but she could also make out several large sacks of what appeared to be rice and flour.
    â€œWhat’s all this? Are you collecting for a shelter?” Faith was dumbfounded.
    â€œNo, dear, although that’s a noble thought. This is for me.”
    â€œFor you?”
    Millicent couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds and wouldn’t consume this much food in a year. Had she discovered Costco and run amok, buying in bulk? Faith had