Black Moonlight by Amy Patricia Meade Page A

returned with a tray of tea, milk, sugar, scones, strawberry preserves, cream, and all the appropriate serving tools.
    “You—you—wonderful woman!” he inserted, moving Emily’s teacup and newspaper to make room for the tray.
    The cat lingered several seconds before jumping back into the bushes from whence he had come.
    “What, this?” Mrs. Patterson said humbly. “Oh, it was nothing. I put the strawberries up myself after our fair. But what’s strawberry preserves without a good scone and a cup of tea?”
    She deposited the tray and took a seat on the porch swing. “Was that Sam I just saw?”
    Noonan played dumb. “Who?”
    “Marjorie’s cat, Sam. There was a cat right there on the ledge. Looked just like him.” She dispensed a cup of tea to Noonan and then went on to freshen her own cup. “But, of course, it couldn’t be, could it? Not with you on the case.”
    “On the case?” he repeated, fearful that the elderly woman had seen through his antics over the past two days.
    “Yes, you’ve been watching Marjorie’s house, and Sam, while she and Creighton have been away. I’m sure she feels better knowing Sam is in such good hands.” She presented the officer with a sliced scone and a linen napkin. “That reminds me,” Mrs. Patterson spoke up, “you never said what you were doing out here last night.”
    “I was keeping tabs on, umm, a suspicious character,” he explained while loading his scone with preserves and cream.
    “Oh my! Here in Ridgebury?”
    Noonan polished off a quarter of a scone in one bite. “Yeah, he walked right by this place, so I decided to watch him from your porch swing.” He chuckled, “I guess I fell asleep.”
    “Yes, I guess you did” Mrs. Patterson answered distractedly. “What did this person look like?”
    Noonan wiped the corners of his mouth. “Small, wiry, gray hair, and green eyes with—” he was about to say “with yellow bits” but recalled Jameson’s reaction the previous afternoon. “Green eyes.”
    “What do you suppose he was after?”
    The worry in the old woman’s eyes made Noonan feel like a heel. “Don’t you worry about him, Emily. Probably just some transient passing through town, looking for a job or a handout.”
    Emily frowned. “I suppose.”
    “Say, why don’t you have supper with us tonight?” he invited, in hope that it might provide a distraction from the shadowy figure lurking in Mrs. Patterson’s imagination.
    Her face broke into an immediate smile. “That would be lovely! I can’t wait to meet your wife. Your wife does know I’m coming, doesn’t she?”
    “Of course she does—she’s been after me to invite you over for a few weeks now.” As he polished off the rest of the scone, a thought occurred to him. “Hey, do you play cribbage? Mrs. Noonan loves it, but she’s tired of beating me.”
    “I adore cribbage! Although I may not be much of a match for your wife, either.”
    “You can’t be any worse than I am,” Noonan assured her as he rose from the rocking chair and collected his jacket and hat. “I’ll pick you up at five-thirty.”
    “That sounds delightful! What can I bring?”
    Noonan shook his head. “Nothing.”
    “Oh, but I must,” Mrs. Patterson insisted.
    “Nope. You fed me breakfast after a long night on the job. Mrs. Noonan would have a fit if you did anything else today.” He donned his hat and took off down the front walk. “I’ll see you at five-thirty,” he called over his shoulder. “And thanks for breakfast.”
    Mrs. Patterson waved after her guest as he strolled off toward the green. Then, with a smile still on her face, she set about clearing the breakfast dishes. As she did so, she remembered the suspicious man Officer Noonan had described.
    Poor Mrs. Wilson , she thought to herself, she’s all alone!
    Without missing a beat, she rushed through the screen door, into the front hallway and to the telephone.
    “Hello?” She greeted the familiar voice at the other end of the