Moonlight Bones (A DI Fenella Sallow Crime Thriller Book 9), page 1
MOONLIGHT BONES
NC LEWIS
Copyright © 2026 NC Lewis
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Chapter 1
When Louise Bertram staggered to the gate of Plum Cottage, another wave of panic flared. She leaned against the wooden posts, unbuttoning her blue Burberry jacket, breathing hard, watching.
A crescent moon strained to pierce the low clouds; its effort choked by a sudden gang of dark swirls. Midnight cloaked the village of Gilsland. The scent of moss and woodland rose from the moist ground. But nothing stirred at this late hour. Nothing stirred in the stone houses. Nothing stirred in the lane. Except Louise's thirty-eight-year-old heart. It thudded against her chest, stirred up by strained breathing, stirred up by rattled blood.
Louise grasped the cold iron latch, forcing it down, then shoving. The metal squealed in rusty protest — a terrible, high-pitched yowl. She turned to see if anyone followed.
The shadowed steeple of St Mary Magdalene rose above the treetops. The sigh of the breeze rustled the branches. From deep within the thicket of hedges came the shuffle of an unseen creature.
Then there was silence.
Louise listened for footsteps or a rasping breath or the flicker of someone creeping in the shadows. But there was nothing except the endless mutter of the countryside and the terrible icy fingers of fear that crippled her mind.
For a full three minutes, Louise did not move, her unblinking gaze on the lane. Another two minutes scanning to her left. Two more minutes looking to her right. Only then did she hustle along the garden path, pausing at the front door to glance behind once more. A survival instinct, she supposed.
I'm safe. Home sweet home.
An owl's shriek caused her to spin and scan the garden. Its grey form rose above a tangle of branches and faded into the midnight blue.
Hunting now. Searching for its next kill.
Rabbits lived in the garden. In the dusk of summer evenings, Louise watched the family at play.
Again the owl screeched.
High-pitched and savage and wild.
And Louise feared her family of rabbits must be the owl's prey this night. Slowly, she turned and peered at the dark, frosted glass of the front door. She hesitated, fiddling with her wedding ring and wondering — not for the first time — what awaited her inside.
Chapter 2
The stark click of the front door echoed in the unlit hallway and Louise Bertram sensed something was off. Something about the yawning darkness that stretched through the murk to the staircase. Something about the unnatural stillness and the tick-tock of the hallway clock.
Why should she feel uneasy? This was her home. Didn't her dad's grandfather clock stand tall and proud in the hallway? Its chimes rang at the half and at the top of each hour.
Her Williams-Sonoma hand-knotted wool rug with coffee-coloured swirls covered the polished oak wood floor.
Her Cole & Son metallic cornflower wallpaper lined the hallway — expensive but lasts a lifetime.
Her lush furnishings.
Her luxury fittings.
Everything about the wonderful cottage was selected by Louise's refined eye.
And yet she couldn't shake the sense that a great menace lurked. A persistent feeling that doom's great shadow was unfurling its dark wings. Chaos was coming into her life.
"You are back, then?"
Guy Bertram, once a jobbing actor, circus hand and now a wannabe screenwriter, stepped from the dim of the staircase. He wore a mauve robe with gold trim and ran a hand through his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair. He watched with melancholy eyes.
Louise unbuttoned her blue Burberry jacket and hung it on the Cassoni Italian coat rack, taking great care to slow her breathing. The last thing she needed was her husband of five years nagging her.
"Been waiting up for you, Honeybird." Guy puffed out a long, slow breath. "It's late."
There was concern in Guy's voice and something else. Anger?
Louise turned to face him. "You frightened me."
"That's how you know you love me, Honeybird." Guy moved towards her and planted a kiss on her dry lips. "And that is how you know how much I love you."
She grimaced, palming him away. "Is that right?"
"Don't you love me, too?"
"What's not to love about a man who jumps out at you from the dark?"
Guy tightened the belt on his robe. "You know, Louise, sometimes you can be a tad twitchy."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really."
"Well, I wouldn't be like that if you listened to me." Louise fondled the black beaded necklace and touched the olive-wood crucifix that dangled in the middle. "You never listen to me. Why don't you listen to your wife?"
They glared at each other for a full twenty seconds. And Louise wished it wasn't like this, remembered when they laughed with carefree abandon and hugged with the passion of teens. It was wonderful marrying an upcoming screenwriter, like wearing a giant diamond in a glittering tiara. The ladies at the country club seethed with green-eyed envy, their congratulations as potent as snake venom.
Guy's voice softened. "Didn't mean to scare you, Honeybird. But you are a cat on a hot tin roof these days."
She forced a small smile. "You would feel like me if you were a woman. Men jumping out of the shadows doesn't exactly make you feel safe."
Guy's face crumpled. "The last thing I would ever do is cause you distress." He leaned in to kiss her on the lips. "I love you, Honeybird."
Louise's stomach churned and she pushed him away. "I'm not upset with you, just…getting my breath after a long ramble." She touched her abdomen. "And I'm not feeling that great either."
"I'm sorry, forgot about your hormones at this time of the month." He leaned in very close, his eyes roving over her face. "You look flustered. What's bothering you?"
"I wish you wouldn't leer at me like that."
"The doctor said I should keep an eye out."
"I'm fine."
Guy took a deep breath and rubbed a palm across his mouth. "Have you been drinking?"
"No."
"Smoking?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
His face darkened. "You smell of cigarettes and booze."
"That's what I thought when I put on these clothes." Moisture prickled Louise's forehead. She wiped it with the back of her hand. "I'll have a word with the dry cleaner."
Guy didn't look convinced. "Your face…has scratches."
Louise scrambled for an explanation, alarm bells ringing in her head. She couldn't admit what had happened. She just couldn't. Not yet.
"I took the trail by the Popping Stone." She gritted her teeth, regretting having told him even that. But it slithered out and she couldn't unsay it. "It is overgrown with all this rain. Got snagged on a bramble bush. A silly accident, that's all."
Guy rocked back a step, tilting his head, concerned eyes probing the length of her body. "It tore your jacket!"
Louise glanced at her left sleeve. "I'll get it mended."
"Have you been running?"
Louise continued to gaze at the torn sleeve. "Running?"
"You are sweating."
"Warm outside." She looked up and forced another small smile. "And it is quite a walk from my aunt's house."
"How is she?"
"Fine."
"You are visiting her a lot these days."
"She's not well."
"Thought you said she was fine."
"I…err… wasn't thinking. Hot and tired after the walk."
"So?" Guy fixed her with an ice-cold stare. "Is she sick or well?"
"Under the weather." Louise put on her sweet, girly voice. "Please tell me you don't mind me tending to her needs now her husband is gone."
He hesitated. "I suppose…but it's the fourth time you have visited her on Wednesday night…that is our night…our special night."
Louise wanted a shower and she wanted her bed and she wanted to get away from his questions. She pressed a hand to her temple. "Aunty kept asking for you. I sat with her all evening, didn't want to leave until she fell asleep. You know how she gets."
"I see." He looked at her for a long time. "Thing is, I phoned your aunt earlier. She hasn't seen you in weeks."
Chapter 3
A trickle of sweat slid down Louise's forehead. It stung her eyes. "You called Aunty?"
Guy nodded and folded his arms. "She told me everything."
They stood in the dark and quiet for a long while, Guy's hand moving backwards and forwards across his thin chin. There was a moment when Louise wanted to flee outside, and, far off, she heard the shriek of an owl. It was still hunting, she thought, and furious at not yet finding a fresh kill.
Louise fiddled with the black beads of her necklace and then touched the crucifix. "More mumbo-jumbo, I suppose. It's the illness. It plays havoc with her mind. You can't believe a word she says. She told me there was a man lurking at the bottom of her garden."
Guy gave a nervous laugh. "Were you there when I called?"
"What! Yes, yes — Guy, yes, yes, yes. I heard the phone ring but couldn't get to it in time. I should have called you back, but Aunty is so demanding." Again came the girly smile. "Forgive me?"
Guy brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and spoke in a thankful whisper. "I love you, Honeybird. I really do."
Louise kept quiet.
Guy leaned in, kissing her neck. "I'll come with you next time."
She eased him away, clenched her fists and tried to sound convincing. "That would be nice."
On the surface, Guy smiled, but sadness filled his eyes. "Wish you'd have called me." He stroked her cheek. "I don't like you walking home at night. The doctor said it isn't advisable."
"I'm not a doll." But he doted on her as if her bones were fragile clay. She loved it once, resented it now. "You can't keep me in a cotton wool box."
"You have to be careful at—"
"At my age?" Louise glared. "Why don't you just say it?"
Guy didn't reply. Not at first, not until the half-hour chime rang out from the grandfather clock.
"We've been trying for so long, Honeybird." His shoulders sagged. "I get anxious, and your dad always wanted to be a grandfather. Our first child will be his legacy. Our gift to him. And it is Wednesday…our special night…"
Louise said nothing.
"The biological clock is ticking, Honeybird." Guy leaned in close, whispering in her ear. "It's the right time of the month. Your fertile window. We have to strike whilst the iron is hot." He kissed her on the lips. "Technically, it is Thursday morning, but we can pretend the midnight hour never struck. Our special night begins now, eh?"
For Guy, having children was a mission. Timed. Calculated. Every intimate moment planned.
"I'm tired." Louise raised both hands, palms out, pushing him away. "Shower, then sleep. Next Wednesday? We'll make it special."
"But we'll be at your aunty's."
"After, then. When we get back. A bit of nighttime fun without all that pregnancy pressure."
He was looking at her again. Really looking.
Louise squeezed by him, walked to the foot of the stairs and felt a sudden pang of rage. "And don't look at me like that."
"I'm sorry." Guy raised his hands in surrender. "It's how we actors master a role."
"You're not an actor any more."
"Thinking of returning to the stage."
That stopped Louise. "What about the screenplay?"
Funded for the last five years — with her inheritance.
"I'm shelving it." Guy fixed her with a smile — the hopeless twist of his lips that she once found so attractive. "The film industry is a filthy business full of rancid people who promise and don't deliver. A great film takes a dose of luck. Let's face it, the perfect storm never came. It isn't going to come. I have to try something else."
"But we've spent all that money."
"It was an investment. They don't always pay off in the way we hope."
"Dad's money."
"Thank God I figured it out before wasting more time."
"You said it was…" Louise felt foolish in saying the words, foolish for believing them. "… going to be a blockbuster…going to make us super rich."
Guy shook his head. "I see now it would never have worked. Can't crawl in that swamp of vipers for a moment more. I've nothing left in me for that fight. It is time to turn my talents to more profitable things."
"Return to acting?"
"A role on stage or in a soap opera is the way to go. I feel it in my bones." He moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "And I'm going to write a bestselling novel on the side. Hollywood will snatch up the rights and ask me to write the screenplay. It's a win-win, Honeybird." His eyelids lowered and he chuckled. "This is going to be big. Hollywood big. Massive. Within a year or two, I'll be strutting my stuff in the limelight and making us millions. You'll dine in the finest restaurants. Shop in the finest stores. Travel first class everywhere. All without batting an eyelash at the cost. Honeybird, you are the luckiest girl in town."
The slow hand of reason lifted the last flaps from the veil of ignorance. Louise's mind spun, wild and desperate, her throat biting back bile. He was so convincing when they first met, so convincing about his film. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She opened her mouth but could not speak.
"Two years, Honeybird." Guy kissed her lips, nibbled her ear and kissed her neck. "A two-year runway to lift-off and wild success in the land of glitter and shine. Hollywood is calling. I can see you in a pink silk ballgown, walking the red carpet; see my name on a giant billboard; see us living the dream. Just two more years, Honeybird. We are okay with that, aren't we?"
Chapter 4
The tawny owl hooted three times that Thursday morning, but at first Fenella gave it no mind.
It was her fourth day off work, and she and her family were on a mission. They dressed in the bright colours of tourists and were eager to enjoy some relaxing family time. Eduardo, unshaven, wore his lime T-shirt with a doughnut eating a doughnut on the front. Nan wore a red, moisture-wicking shirt printed with the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty. And Fenella flung on her tatty yellow blouse, faded black yoga pants and worn hiking boots.
The sun glowed hot and happy from a clear blue sky. Fluffy clouds floated in cotton wool clusters, lazy and light with no sign of grey. There was no breeze, and the tang of the countryside hovered low and sweet over the graveyard of St Mary Magdalene — an ancient burial ground used in centuries past and now a tangle of brambles and yellow gorse, tall grass and bramble bushes. Ash, hawthorn, beech and oak trees spread their thick leaves in ripples of shade.
Fenella pointed with glee at the lichen-smeared tombstone, rubbing away a patch to reveal the name. "Bill Duncan." She jabbed a finger, half-turning to watch her husband's face. "It's him, isn't it?"
Eduardo bounced on the tips of his toes, thrilled and smiling from ear to ear. "Yes, yes, yes — Fen, yes, yes, yes. I believe it is him."
He hustled to Fenella, gave her an elated hug, turned to do the same with Nan, Fenella's mam, but thought the better of it.
Nan glared. "Are you seriously telling us…" She moved through a tangle of weeds that almost reached her hips and stooped to peer at the tombstone. "…that we came stomping across the bleedin' countryside under a hellfire sun for this?"
The mournful hoot of the tawny owl echoed once more. This time Fenella recognised its haunting cry but took no notice.
"Tell Nan what we have found." Fenella spoke in a whisper, keeping her eyes fixed on the gravestone. "Tell her why we came here."
Eduardo stepped back and his voice became reverential. "Billy 'Fast Draw' Duncan lies reposed at our feet."
"Never heard of the bugger." This was Nan, still scowling. "And by the state of his grave, nor has anyone else. What's he supposed to be famous for?"
Eduardo's face, aglow with delight, beaded with a thin sheen of sweat. "Famous? No, no, no. Nan. No, he was a starving artist who died in poverty at Gilsland Hall."
"Yeah? Glad I came here, then. I mean, who doesn't want to tramp across the countryside to see the burial plot of a poor sod who starved to death?" Nan's voice didn't carry the same thrill as Eduardo's. She paced the length of the grave, then hurried back to the tombstone. "Anyway, if he didn't have any money, how'd he end up in Gilsland Hall?"
Eduardo tilted on the tips of his toes and pointed north. "I read they are doing work on the building and ground, but it was a hospital for the sick and wounded in the War. British, American, and Polish were all treated in its wards."
Nan leaned further forward, peering at the tombstone. "What's the big deal with this bloke?"
"Billy Duncan is the man who inspired me to draw." Eduardo gave a jolly laugh and pumped his fist. "Art didn't pay back then, so he got a job with the Ministry of Information. Now that art tourism is a booming industry, I think he'll be rediscovered soon. It's a great local story."
"Go on." This was Fenella interested and hearing the full story for the first time. "Tell us the rest and leave nothing out."
Eduardo scraped a patch of moss from the tombstone and the glossy outline of a cross appeared. "Mr Duncan created illustrations to help the war effort — 'Keep Calm and Carry On' was one of his, not that he got the credit. Folk weren't clamouring to be famous in those days; they just wanted to survive."
