Midsummer Murder (29 page)

Shelley Freydont

impossible for him to act efficiently. Making it impossible for him to act at all.

At least he was still here. Watching, putting the pieces together. And she would help him, in her own way. She would make the cave her business. Discover everything she could, and then take it to Bill.

She followed the path past the back of the theater, made certain that no one was nearby, and ducked into the brush. She followed the trampled grass through the trees, downward, fighting back at branches, climbing over rocks and decaying wood. Always looking behind her. It seemed to take forever. Once she was sure she had gotten lost. She backtracked until she found a landmark that she recognized. She kicked herself mentally for not paying more attention on her first trip down with Rebo, rather than depending on him to lead the way. She wouldn’t be so careless in the future.

At last she stepped out onto the ledge and looked around. To her left was the wall of granite and the cave. She turned to her right. Open space stretched out before her, though the view was dissected by the spires of trees. She scanned the distant walls of growth, looked down and found blue patches of the stream where it showed through the trees. And right below her, separated by a sharp drop and a mangle of greenery, the archaeologist camp.

Lindy recognized Annie’s dark hair among the students that loaded rocks and debris into wheelbarrows, then carted them away. The barrows disappeared behind an outcropping of rock and reappeared empty. The Jeep had been salvaged; she could see a dented fender behind a copse of trees. An orange backhoe pushed rocks out of the stream. Water oozed from its shovel as the operator deposited the load onto the shore where it would eventually be carted away.

But the figure that stopped her eye was Dr. Van Zandt. His back toward her. Arms by his side. Looking over the ruin of his camp. The destruction of years of backbreaking, eye-damaging labor, and thousands of years of archaeological evidence. She knew he was feeling every scrape of the backhoe as if it were scoring his own back.

He must have decided to continue with his research—why else clear the area?—though the integrity of the beds was now compromised. Just like the dynamite site, she thought with a shudder. She turned her focus back to her investigation.

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She visually drew a line from the backhoe up the side of the cliff, past the ledge where the Jeep had been parked. She had to duck her head to see beyond the tree that marred her view. She took a few steps along the ledge, keeping the line “as the crow flies,” in her mind.

Traced its projected route to the promontory where the dynamite charge might have been detonated. She didn’t have a clear view. It was surrounded by green shrubs entwined with the flowers of climbing hon-eysuckle. She turned back to the face of rock behind her. Followed it back to the right to the slope she had just climbed down.

Then she let her eyes roam upward, looking for a place that someone might have stood talking, making plans—her head shot back to the promontory above the camp site. Making plans to blow up the camp.

Good Lord. And if Larry Cleveland had overheard them—

He probably thought he was in fat city. Did he recognize the voices?

Or did he sneak back up the bluff and actually see them? She could kick herself for not asking Connie how long Larry had been gone. She searched her mind for what he had said, his exact words, “when he finally came back.” Did that mean he had been gone long enough to climb up and actually see who was talking? Or just that to a frightened boy the time seemed interminable? It could make the difference. If it was someone whose voice he recognized that would probably leave Grappel and the townspeople out, unless Larry had been in trouble with the police since he had been here. That was unlikely. Marguerite would only call in Grappel as a last resort, knowing the way he felt about Chi-Chi and Robert. So maybe Larry had seen who it was. And now he was dead.

Lindy scanned the area above her, looking for a spot for a rendezvous. There were too many damned trees. She climbed back the way she had come until she regained the path. To her right, the path sloped upward to the theater. To her left, it took a downward swing until climbing again into the woods. The same path she had taken for her morning jog. She walked slowly, looking through the trees, waiting for a glimpse of the water. She followed the curve of the path until she saw the guardrail and remembered stopping to talk to Ellis. Ellis pointing to the lookout where Larry had “lost his footing.”

She swallowed her agitation. Ellis? He had said that he didn’t mind a little tasteful development as long as they didn’t get too close, and with thousands of acres, that wouldn’t be much of a difficulty to 195

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overcome. The idea stretched the limits of her imagination. Then why not just sell? Because he couldn’t stand up to Marguerite.

That was pretty evident in the way she treated him, as if he were a child that needed overseeing. Chi-Chi had told her that Marguerite didn’t think any of them had quite grown up. It could make a man resentful.

She was standing at the rail, hands gripped tightly on the green bar. Had Ellis been standing there that night, plotting with someone?

No, it didn’t make sense; you couldn’t even see the campsite from where she was standing. If you were planning to blow something up wouldn’t you stand where you could see it? Point and discuss and trace trajectories?

She slipped under the rail before her good sense could stop her.

Hugging the inside edge, holding onto branches, rocks, or anything that might be stationary, Lindy shuffled around the spur of land. She could feel the breeze on her face as it whipped past the promontory.

She kept her eyes glued to the ground, checking the earth beneath her for any signs of cracking or instability. When she reached the ridge, she pulled a sapling down in her hand, gave it a yank. It seemed firm.

She scooted out to the edge and looked down. The orange backhoe dumped another load of rocks on the shore. It was a perfect view. She could even see the ledge where the Jeep had been parked. And above it, on the same eye level from where she stood clinging to a tree, she saw the remnants of what had been an outcropping of granite, now just the jagged edges of rock where the rest had been blown away and hurtled down the side.

She dragged her gaze from the scene and willed herself to look downward. Tangled growth marred her view. She tried to orient her eyes to where she thought the cave might be. There were several patches of gray among the greenery, but she wasn’t sure which one was the cave. But what she did realize was that the police were correct.

Larry Cleveland hadn’t slipped off the edge. Bushes and scrub oak grew out from the face. He could have grabbed one and broken his fall, and if that had failed, there was a flat area not more than ten feet below. After that, the land plunged straight down. Hitting the first ledge might have killed him, but that wasn’t the point. Larry Cleveland had ended up at the bottom. And though Lindy leaned out as far as she dared, she couldn’t tell where the bottom was. What she 196

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could tell was that Larry would have to have flown to get to the bottom, and if he could fly, he wouldn’t be dead.

Lindy inched away from the precipice, scrambled back up the side as fast as her shaking legs and racing heart allowed. She ducked back underneath the rail and held onto it until her heart slowed and her breathing was almost back to normal.

“Lindy.”

She spun around and swallowed the scream that erupted from her throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She laughed, a nervous sound that rang harsh in her ears. “Just contemplating the beauty. You took me by surprise.” She turned what she hoped was a warm smile on Stu.

“It is magnificent, isn’t it?”

She nodded and turned to look at the view while she got herself back in control.

He joined her at the rail, feet apart, hands resting on his cane in front of him, the breeze ruffling his shirt as he looked out on the land.

He reminded her of a dashing sea captain, standing on board his vessel, looking out over his crew and at the vast sea, the wind whipping at his face as he sailed into adventure.

She found herself smiling.

Stu sighed. “It’s good to see someone enjoying themselves. I was afraid that recent events would sour your regard for us.”

“Not at all. It’s wonderful to know a family that has accomplished their dream. I have a deep respect for the Eastons.”

“As do we all. But the retreat is Marguerite’s dream.” His sentence trailed off as he took in the view. He tapped his cane on the ground and winked at her. “Ellis and I just like to have fun. Which reminds me, I’d better get back before he comes looking for me. I’m afraid this stupid hip operation has made him a little overprotective.”

They walked back toward the camp in companionable silence. Sure enough, they met Ellis on his way down the path.

“I was beginning to get worried,” he began.

Stu shot Lindy an amused “what did I tell you?” look. “Well, my dear friend, not only am I safe and sound, but I picked up a lovely lady as well.”

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She left them at the dining hall, watched for a few minutes as they strolled back toward the house, then ducked inside to see if she could scrounge up some leftovers before going to the afternoon rehearsal. One day she would start scheduling lunch into her life.

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Seventeen

“Places.” Peter looked around the stage to make sure everyone was in position. He jumped down from the apron and walked up the aisle toward the tech table.

Lindy crammed the uneaten portion of her bagel into her dance bag and hurried down to the stage.

“Where’s Jeremy?” Peter asked as they passed.

“I’ve got Rose talking to him about something that couldn’t wait.”

“Smart thinking. Get started before he can extricate himself. We could all use a normal rehearsal for a change.”

Lindy nodded. The music started. Mendelssohn’s
Italian Symphony
.

Jeremy had choreographed it for their last European tour. He had made a few changes after seeing it performed for four weeks, and this was the first time the new version would be put before an audience.

That was one of the many things that she admired about Jeremy. He was never content to just choreograph a piece, then let it run like a movie, never to feel the choreographer’s hand again. He was always reshaping, refining, and honing each step until it was exactly as he imagined it. It made it a little more difficult for the dancers to remember which version he had done last, but it kept the dancing alive and the dancers on their toes, at least metaphorically. They were never allowed to become complacent about their work. It was one of the qualities that had been responsible for their rapid rise in the dance world.

Mieko jumped onto the stage, feet tucked beneath her. She continued across the Marley floor, swirling and stretching in a curved arc, picking up Kate and Laura from the opposite wing.

Jeremy, like other contemporary choreographers, used ballet as the basis of his movement, but freed and transformed by the modern 199

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techniques pioneered by Doris Humphrey, Martha Graham, and the next generation of choreographers, José Limon, Merce Cunningham, and Paul Taylor. He eschewed the use of point shoes, finding their boxed toes clunky, and considered the dependence of classical ballet on upright balance a hindrance to the vitality in the movement that he sought. The Mendelssohn was danced in soft ballet slippers dyed to match the skin color of the dancers. During the performance the girls would be costumed in silk gym shorts and tees, the boys in silk pajama bottoms and bare-chested. The reds, oranges, and golds of the fabric mixing freely among the cast members.

Today they were wearing practice clothes. No one wore tights and leotards like they had during the first years of the Easton retreat. These days, dancers clothed themselves in shorts or sweatpants and tee shirts and sweaters. Whatever was comfortable and didn’t hinder the movement of the body.

The girls exited and Paul and Andrea entered from upstage. Paul slid across the stage until he was sitting at Andrea’s feet. From there, he partnered her in an arabesque, then a pirouette, holding her by the ankle instead of the waist. The pirouette ended at a tilt. Unlike its balletic counterpart, the off-balanced position was intentional. Paul stood and brought her back to balance, then moved away as she stayed poised on one foot. He slid again just as she dove forward, parallel to the floor. He caught her in both hands and she hovered above the stage, then curved into his arms. Her feet touched the ground and she pulled him to his feet.

It was playful and fun, a side of Jeremy he rarely showed to the nondance world. Actually, it was a side of himself that he rarely showed to anyone. But that joy was inside him. It came out in his choreography without a struggle. If he could only learn to spread it around in his own life.

Her thoughts must have conjured him up. He was suddenly beside her. She steeled herself. Rose was supposed to have kept him until the rehearsal was well underway. Should she offer to let him take over?

She decided against it. Instead of acknowledging him, she kept her attention concentrated on the stage. If he wanted to take over, he would have to tell her so. He watched the dancing, and slowly the worried lines of his face began to smooth, the tiredness disappeared until a slight smile hovered on his lips.

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“Do you mind if I just watch today?” he asked finally.

“Of course not,” whispered Lindy. He walked back to sit with Peter.

She returned her eyes to the stage. Paul went into another slide, but he had been distracted by Jeremy’s sudden appearance and he slid too far to the right.

“Paul,” Lindy yelled.

“Right.” He scooched over in time to catch Andrea and cradle her in his arms. Lindy smiled. They were young and energetic and both had impeccable technique. When Lindy had first returned to work, Paul had partnered an old harridan of a dancer who had wormed herself into a job with the company. That partnership had been hideous to watch.