Midsummer Murder (30 page)

Murder does have a certain convenience, thought Lindy.

One dancer entered from each wing, until eight of them were curved around the stage in a semicircle behind the couple.

“Over,” said Lindy. She waved her hand toward stage right. Three dancers adjusted their spacing without missing a step. A well-oiled machine. She gave them a thumbs-up and settled in to do her job.

At the end of the Mendelssohn, they changed over to the second piece they would be performing, a suite of Gershwin preludes that they had toured for the last six months. No major glitches there.

The third and final piece of the evening was set to music by Mozart.

It would have its first performance on Saturday night.

The adagio began. Rebo moved onto stage from the upstage left wing. He seemed to gobble up the space around him. From the other side of the stage, Eric repeated his movement to the opposite side on the next phrase of the music. Then they moved toward each other diagonally downstage until they met in the center. They circled each other slowly, legs stretching and bending in the air, torsos curving, like two awakening tigers. Then Rebo rolled Eric across his back. Eric’s pointed feet made an arc in the air , then he landed with a ripple of muscle. Mieko entered from downstage, walking backward in a curve until she came between the two men.

After a brief trio, Eric left the stage, and a courtly duet for Mieko and Rebo began.

“Eric,” called Lindy. His head popped out from the wing he had just exited. “Let’s push that passage to the wing. Wider arc, bigger steps, and get there sooner.”

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He saluted her and disappeared back into the wings. She brought her attention back to Rebo and Mieko. He lifted her as if she were weightless. Lowered her to the ground without her seeming to ever land. Lindy allowed herself a few moments of sheer pleasure.

“Foot,” she barked automatically.

Mieko stretched her foot and the energy seemed to continue past her body and show visibly in the air.

“Good.” She glanced back to Jeremy, but he was frowning at the stage. She returned her focus to the dancing.

He had choreographed this piece specially for the anniversary celebration. His tribute to Marguerite. He had struggled with it, never quite satisfied, and he had still been making changes in the parking lot when they boarded the bus for the Easton retreat.

Lindy and Biddy had finally put their collective feet down, and told him he was not allowed to make any more changes until after the performance on Saturday. Of course, he hadn’t listened. He was nothing if not driven.

And there was the problem of his personal life as well as the genius of his art. He was driven, but none of them understood exactly what was driving him. They had learned a few things about him, things that had left them reeling with the discovery. Lindy often found herself wondering just how many skeletons were living in the closet of Jeremy’s life.

Once again, the thought of him seemed to conjure his presence. He was walking down the aisle. No doubt he was about to make “just one more change.”

“Sit,” she said.

“But—”

“Sit.” He sat, next to where she was standing, two rows from the stage. She knew he would waylay the dancers as they left the theater and make suggestions, or have them try out a new step in the driveway.

She turned to him, put her hands on her hips and screwed her face into an exaggerated scowl.

He flipped his hands out, an “I wasn’t doing anything, really, I wasn’t”

look of feigned innocence on his face.

But just as she was about to respond with a smile. His look disintegrated into one of deep sadness. She wanted to put her arms around him, 202

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comfort him as you would a child. But she didn’t. Jeremy was very affectionate, as long as he was giving out the affection. He didn’t seem to have the knack of accepting any in return.

* * *

Sure enough, Jeremy had cornered Rebo and Mieko on the pavement in front of the lobby just after rehearsal.

Lindy hoisted her dance bag to her other shoulder. “Bad boy, bad boy,” she sang as she passed them.

“Last time, I promise,” Jeremy called after her.

Sure, boss, she thought. Well, at least it would keep his mind off the entangled events of the last few days. Only four more days left. They needed to wrap this up and get on with their work. They were leaving for Europe again in two weeks. There was a lot to do, and they needed Jeremy to be focused on his work.

She had been so lost in thought that she didn’t see the police car until she was almost upon it. Abel White was loading a cardboard box into the backseat. A disconnected telephone sat on top of the box.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The sheriff has decided to call off the search for the Phillips kid. He figures he’s taken off by now.” Abel tossed the box onto the seat and slammed the door. “I’m not so sure, though. The family secretary still hasn’t heard from him. You’d think the boy would call home to say he was okay.” Abel scratched his head. “If he was planning to go home.”

Lindy nodded and continued on her way. Too bad Abel White wasn’t the sheriff, she thought. She would be inclined to tell him that Connie was still around, or at least had been until last night.

Where was he now?

Byron Grappel was climbing the front steps. She followed him inside. Realizing he was about to enter the drawing room, she hurried to catch up.

Bill and Marguerite cut off their conversation as the sheriff and Lindy entered.

Bill flashed Lindy a wry smile.

She shrugged her shoulders back at him and stood her ground.

Grappel stepped to the side leaving her a clear view of the sofa and Chi-Chi sitting there looking like she hadn’t slept in a week.

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Bill stepped in front of him, blocking the intimidating look he had shot at Chi-Chi.

Lindy readied herself for the confrontation.

“I’ve called off the search for Phillips,” said Grappel trying to direct his statement past Bill to Marguerite and Chi-Chi. Bill slowly crossed his arms.

Lindy stood perfectly still. What would he tell the sheriff?

Situational ethics, Bill, she pleaded silently. She sent the subliminal message with all her concentration. She didn’t think for a minute that it would work, but it was all she had.

“Unless any of you know where he is.”

Lindy held her breath. Then she heard the barely perceptible rattle in Bill’s throat. He was going to bend the truth. She was afraid to move, as if any change in the room might throw off the tenuous balance of Bill’s decision. She watched his face clear of expression, then he turned from the sheriff.

“Found these.” Bill scooped up the paper bag from where it had been sitting on the coffee table.

She couldn’t see Grappel’s reaction; she was still standing behind him. She took the chance and eased to his side.

“What?” Byron’s dislike for Bill was palpable in his tone of voice and the brevity of his question.

“Fragments of dynamite caps, found at the scene of the landslide.”

“Got any witnesses?”

Bill shook his head.

“Then it don’t mean shit to me.” He reached for the bag. Bill moved it away.

“Then I’ll just keep them.”

“That might be evidence,” protested Grappel.

“Make up your mind, Sheriff, usable or not usable. Then let me know.” Bill folded over the top of the bag and walked out the door. As far as effective exits went, it was right up there with the best of them.

Grappel glared at the door. Lindy was surprised that it didn’t burst into flames. Then he redirected his frown to Marguerite. “You’d better call off Dick Tracy, there. He screws around with any more evidence, I’ll arrest him as accessory after the fact.”

Lindy felt a cold stab of fear deep in her gut. Get a grip, she demanded. Grappel was no match for Bill.

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As soon as the sheriff had swaggered out the door, Marguerite sank onto the couch next to Chi-Chi.

“Oh dear,” she sighed.

“He can’t do that, can he?” asked Chi-Chi.

It was obvious they had both placed their hopes in Bill. It made Lindy feel proud in a vicarious way. Just to be his friend. If they were still friends . . .

“Don’t worry about Bill,” said Lindy, but she hurried out to look for him.

* * *

He was sitting on a boulder that jutted out into the lake. It was surrounded by tall grasses that grew in the shallows and it took her several minutes to find him. She walked up behind him. He didn’t look back at her, though she knew he must have heard her.

He had probably watched her as she made her way around the lake in search of him. He was holding a stalk of grass between his long fingers.

“Situational ethics,” she said.

“Rationalization.” He folded the grass stalk over and over until it was a small rectangle, then tossed it into the water.

“Whatever. Mind if I sit down?”

“If you think Annie won’t mind.”

She sat down.

“She’s been sending me some pretty conflicting signals,” he continued, still staring out at the lake.

“She’ll get over it.”

“I envy you.”

She tilted her face trying to get a better look at his.

He twisted another stalk of grass from the clump and began folding it as he had done with the other one. “I have a son.”

“You do?” It came out before she could think. He had never mentioned that he was a father. Never even hinted at it during their lunches or the occasional walk in Central Park.

“He was seven.” Lindy waited for him to go on. The past tense. Was the boy dead? Was that why he had never spoken about him. But he said “have.” I have a son.

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“Is he . . .” She let the question die. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

“He’s in his third year of veterinary school.” He tossed the now-mangled grass into the water and watched it float away. “In Idaho. About as far away from actresses and New York cops as he could get.”

Lindy stretched out her hand, meaning to give him a reassuring pat.

Thought the better of it. Grasped her knees instead.

She saw him smile. Not the smile that always made her feel better, but one that took him into himself, away from her. “Seeing you with Annie makes me realize what I’ve missed.”

“Don’t you ever see him?” she asked, trying to keep her voice free from any inflection that might be taken as judgment.

“Not much. Claire was determined to have her own way. I decided not to pursue it. Thought it might hurt him more to be caught between two warring parents. She got what she wanted, which was to get rid of me.”

He yanked at another piece of grass. Lindy wanted to put her hands over his and stop him, but she didn’t.

“I gave up too easily. Before the year was out, she had lost interest in acting and married a dentist in Westchester. He became Steven’s father.” He tossed the grass, now crumpled like the others into the water.

This time she did allow her hand to come to rest on his shoulder, just like she would with any hurting friend. Appearances be damned.

But he moved away. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He stood up.

She jumped to her feet, rattled by the intensity of his statement. Was he talking about her or about the murder?

“Sheriff Grappel is threatening to make you an accessory after the fact,” she said.

“Hot air. The man’s a troglodyte.”

“We’ve only got four more days.”

“
You
only have four more days. I have all the time in the world. I won’t give up on this, either .” He gave her only a millisecond to see his meaning before he erased all expression from his features.

She felt relieved and sad at the same time. Warmed that he had given her another brief glimpse into his life and yet disturbed 206

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by what she had seen. And then from the back of her mind she heard the echo of Mar guerite’s words to her brother: “You give up too easily.”

Bill raised a questioning eyebrow.

She shook her head. She was beginning to see patterns in everything. It was just as confusing as seeing no pattern at all.

207

Eighteen

As they made their way back around the lake, Lindy told Bill what she had discovered that afternoon. Bill’s only response was, “So the cave is within hearing distance of the ledge.”

Obviously, he had figured out everything else without her.

“But if he was killed because he heard a plot to dynamite the archaeological site, why is Robert being held for molesting and possibly murdering him? I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

“I doubt if they are related at all.”

“So why is Robert being held?” she persisted.

“I’m working on it,” was all he would say.

They parted on the upstairs landing and she realized for the first time that Bill was staying in the main house instead of the annex.

Already a part of the family, she thought ungenerously and stomped off to see Biddy.

Biddy looked up from the windowsill when Lindy came in; her head went right back to her book. “They brought your clothes back.”

“Are you still reading that regency romance?” asked Lindy.

“I finished it. Loaned it to Marguerite.” Biddy turned the page.

“You didn’t.”

“Thought she could use some distraction.” Biddy glanced up briefly, then returned to the book. “Caught her reading it twice today.”

She stopped reading long enough to give Lindy an arch look.

“So what’s that?”

“Another one.”

“You’re kidding.”

Biddy reluctantly closed the book. “They’re kind of fun if you speed-read through the sex scenes.”

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“Most people read them for the sex scenes.”

“I know, but somehow sex is just more interesting in the flesh than on the page.” She held up a hand, like the Pope’s blessing. “Usually, but don’t ask. My last foray into
that
was singularly uninteresting.

You’d be amazed at how many boring men there are out there.”