Who is Ned McNeil? She is the main gal in two cozy mysteries concerning a historical house and moonlight. She doesn’t actively go looking for trouble, but it always finds her. She has courage but she also has her share of doubts and fears. I think you’ll like her. I do.
Ned is the shortened version of Nettie Elizabeth Duncan. Duncan is her maiden name. Her school friends started calling her Ned many years ago. She was born and spent the first twelve years of her life in Ednalee, Oklahoma. Then, tragedy struck the Duncan family.
Uncle Javin was accused of killing a man. His family believed him innocent but even Uncle Javin himself thought he must have done it. As a result, he was sent away to prison for forty years. Forty years! Small towns have their share of gossips and armchair detectives. People talked. To get away from all the whispers and sadness, the Duncan family moved to Atlanta.
Life happened. Ned grew up and married, her husband died, her parents died, and she got a letter from Uncle Javin. After forty years, he had been released from prison and returned to his home, the big, old house that town folk called Granger Mansion. The letter was strange. Ned’s uncle sounded like he was worried. And, he asked her to come home. She got a second letter and Uncle Javin mentioned his fear again. He asked Ned to hurry. So, she did. 
Quitting her job, throwing into her Ford Escape all the material possessions that would fit, she started the journey back to Oklahoma. She looked forward to seeing her uncle, to sitting in front of the fireplace and talking and talking. He was her last living relative and she wanted to go home.
Snow was falling thick and fast that December night when Ned pulled up to the gate of Granger Mansion. Strangely, the house looked dark. Where were the welcoming lights? Where was Uncle Javin? And, what was the mystery he mentioned in his letter? As she opened the front door and stepped inside the house, a strange feeling of danger surrounded her. Something was terribly wrong.
By the Fright of the Silvery Moon
My car’s headlights cut a yellow swath through the swirling snow. Heavy, gray clouds, trees crowding either side of the driveway, and the lateness of the December day made it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead, but at last I glimpsed the dark shape of Javin Granger’s Victorian house through the winter twilight. – Moonlight Can Be Murder.
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