Madeline Mona Moon from Murder Under A Honey Moon, A Mona Moon mystery, is visiting Ascroft, eh? today to tell us how she ended up at Mooncrest Farm.

Welcome, Mona. I’ll turn the floor over to you –

My name is Madeline Mona Moon. I am a cartographer by trade. I had just gotten back to New York from an archaeological dig in Mesopotamia and was in dire need of another paying gig when I discovered my application to an expedition in the Amazon had been denied. Why? Simply because I am a woman. I was counting on the job as I had only three hundred dollars to my name. That money would have to stretch until I could find other employment, which wouldn’t be easy during the Great Depression. Twenty-five percent of the country is out of work, and now I counted myself among that army of jobless as well. I dreaded to think I’d be reduced to selling apples on the street corner.

I was in my one-room flat on the lower east side when a knock sounded at my door after midnight. Gathering a pistol from my purse, I opened the door. There stood a middle-aged man in wire-rimmed spectacles holding a leather briefcase. “I bring glad tidings,” he said. “Your uncle, Manfred Michael Moon, has passed and bequeathed to you the Moon fortune, including Mooncrest Farm. You are one now of the richest women in the country.”

At first I thought it was a prank as my Uncle Manfred and I had been estranged.  Why would he name me as his heir when he had a sister, my Aunt Melanie, living with him? Didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, who was I to punch Lady Luck in the face? After all, it was 1933 and people were starving. I didn’t intend to be one of them. “Where do I sign?” I asked.

Within a week, I found myself in God’s country—the Kentucky Bluegrass with its famous horse farms boasting white fences bordering emerald pastures and elegant columned Southern mansions where the swells sipped oak-cured bourbon. Dexter Deatherage, my uncle’s lawyer and now mine, personally escorted me to Mooncrest Farm, my new home. I kept reminding myself that I was now mistress of Moon Manor, a palatial mansion. I met the household staff who were less than enthusiastic. After all, I was an interloper and worse—a Yankee in their eyes—but I was determined to make a go of it.

I couldn’t escape the feeling there was something off about Moon Manor. My uncle’s death didn’t feel right, and my suspicions were confirmed after I read Uncle Manfred’s death certificate. It seemed odd to me that a sick man with heart disease in the care of  a full time nurse would tumble to his death down the grand staircase. Why was Uncle Manfred out of bed in the middle of the night? Where was his caretaker?

Things became more complicated when I discovered the nurse claimed she had been drugged that fateful night. My imagination ran wild. I felt as though people were conspiring against me and that I was being watched every second. If I died, my aunt would be next in line to inherit the Moon wealth. Would I be next to meet an untimely death?

I couldn’t let my guard down even when my charming next-door neighbor, Lord Farley, the son of a British duke, began pursuing me. If only Robert Farley hadn’t been so handsome.  He was hard to resist, but I didn’t have time for romance.  At least, that’s what I thought.

I’ve told you the story of my beginnings. Now, let me tell you of my latest adventure.  I married Lord Farley. Yes, I did. I was so in love with Robert Farley, I couldn’t  see straight—or even think straight.  We married at my home, Moon Manor, in Kentucky. It was a glorious affair.

For our honeymoon, we boarded the RMS Majesty heading to Great Britain.  From there we would visit Robert’s ancestral home and finish with a Mediterranean cruise, ending on the Italian Rivera. 

After many adventures and hardships, this is what we needed—time alone with complete privacy, no work, no Pinkerton bodyguards, no committments, and especially no murders, which seem to follow me around.  It’s not what we got.

We returned to our cabin after an evening of dancing on to find it ransacked. All my jewels were stolen, even those which belonged to Robert’s mother and the Brynelleth estate. I was devastated. To make matters worse, a bartender was found dead with one of my brooches clutched in his hand.

All I can say is, “Here I go again!”

Thank you for sharing this with us, Mona, and good luck to you and your author, Abigail Keam, with Murder Under A Honey Moon, the latest book in the Mona Moon mystery series.

Readers can learn more about Mona and her author, Abigail Keam by visiting the author’s website and her Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and TikTok pages.

The book is available online at the following retailers:

 Amazon –   Barnes and Noble –  Apple – Kobo

About Abigail Keam: Award-winning author Abigail Keam writes the Mona Moon Mystery Series—a rags-to-riches 1930s mystery series, which includes real people and events into the story line. “I am a student of history and love to insert historical information into my mysteries. There is an addendum at the end of the mystery to give more information. My goal is to entertain my readers, but if they learn a little something along the way—well, then we are both happy.”

Miss Abigail currently lives on the Palisades bordering the Kentucky River in a metal house with her husband and various critters.