Midsummer Murder (38 page)

“The bulldozer dredged it up. It was sitting there in the pile of rocks. Can you believe it?”

Bill took it from her. Water seeped from the mangled, swollen pages of what had once been a blue spiral notebook. Sandiman appeared with a silver tea tray and Bill dropped the book onto it.

Then he carried it over to a table with everyone following behind.

He took out his penknife and began to turn the pages as the rest of them crowded around him. Some of the pages were unreadable, torn or covered with ground-in mud. On others, pencil entries had faded from view.

After a few minutes, Bill began turning the pages even more carefully than he had done before.

“Hmm,” he said, placing the tip of the knife gently on the page.

“Here it is, and as luck would have it, the entry was made in ink.

Thank you, Larry, for your foresight.”

Bill began to read aloud, his sonorous voice filling the room as he became engrossed in the story that unfolded. Larry had left Connie in the cave and gone to see who was meeting on the path so late at night.

He overheard Stu and Byron making plans for dynamiting the archaeology site, the first of several disasters they had planned in order to nudge, the word was surrounded by quotation marks, Marguerite into letting Stu take over the development of the land.

“That’s why he was so against the town’s attempts to develop the land,” exclaimed Annie. “He didn’t want them to have it, because he wanted it for himself.”

That piece of deduction won her one of Bill’s wide smiles.

Yeesh, thought Lindy.

A few entries later, Larry mentioned his appointment with Stu at the ledge. His expectation of sudden wealth.
Big time!
were the last two words he ever wrote.

Annie, Donald, and the notebook went off with Acting Sheriff White to make their statements.

Wordlessly, the others moved back to the sofa and surrounding chairs, while Sandiman replaced the lemonade with something stronger.

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“But how did the notebook get in the stream?” asked Biddy.

“It flows right beneath the path,” said Bill. “Stu probably just tossed it over thinking that with all the rain, the swollen waters would carry it away.” He took a glass of white wine from the tray Sandiman held.

He studied the liquid, then with a look of appreciation, he took a sip.

“And it would have if they hadn’t dynamited the site and covered it under rubble.” Bill laughed. “If I ever complain about life not being fair, I’ll remember that notebook. Brought down by their own iniquity.

It’s downright . . .” He lifted his glass toward Marguerite.

“Shakespearean.”

* * *

The fiftieth-year anniversary performance was a gala affair. The parking lot and driveway were festooned with colorful lanterns; tables of hors d’oeuvres were placed in the clearing in front of the theater, and white-coated bartenders served drinks from portable bars placed strategically among the group of theatergoers.

They were dressed for opening night, even though this opening was in the middle of the New York wilderness, surrounded by trees and rocks and wild animals whose calls could be heard in the distance. Slinky floor-length gowns stood next to above-the-knee cocktail dresses. Tuxedos mingled with outlandish bohemian outfits that identified their wearers as the cutting edge of the artistic avant guarde. The air hummed with conversation—about art, about sports, about murder.

Into this crowd walked Marguerite Easton in a magnificent golden gown, its silk charmeuse train spreading out behind her.

And to either side, her escorts, dressed in black tuxedos, looking tall, athletic, and handsome as befitted a royal retinue. Jeremy and

. . . Bill?

Lindy did a double take, then poked Biddy in the ribs.

“Wow,” said Biddy.

After almost two years of friendship, this was the first week Lindy had seen Bill wearing anything but flannel shirts, sweaters, or the occasional tweed jacket for teaching. But Bill, first in a tee shirt, biceps firmly developed, and now in a well-fitting tuxedo, took on a whole new dimension in Lindy’s mind.

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He shot Lindy a quick glance as he and Jeremy escorted Marguerite into the theater. Not quite comfortable in the role, thought Lindy. It made him even more endearing.

“Jeremy doesn’t look so bad, considering,” Biddy said.

“I’m sure he’s been flagellating himself for accusing Ellis of murdering Larry. Did he say anything to you?”

Biddy shook her head. “You know, it’s that old two steps forward, one step back thing.”

“That’s our Jeremy all right,” Lindy agreed.

They followed the others inside.

Before the curtain rose, Marguerite came onto the stage and gave a welcoming speech. She was perfectly poised, and her voice was strong and warm. What it must have cost her to face all those questioning eyes was staggering to the imagination.

“The woman’s got guts,” said Biddy under her breath.

Lindy could only agree.

* * *

The evening ended with Jeremy’s tribute to Marguerite Easton, his mentor and friend. With music by Mozart, it began with the trio for Eric, Rebo, and Mieko. The
pas de deux
for Mieko and Rebo that followed was filled with seamless partnering, languorous extensions, and sensitive musicality. Not a rustle in the audience disturbed the beauty of the movement. They were joined by the full company, costumed in white chiffon and silk, in a joyful hymn of praise. And throughout the piece, Jeremy sat in his seat, head bowed, not once looking at the stage.

“Jeez. He’d better get over it,” said Biddy. “We leave for Spain in ten days.”

“He’ll get over it,” Lindy assured her, but she was not so sure herself.

* * *

On Sunday morning, the bus was loaded and goodbyes were said.

The dancers filed up the steps and took their places inside.

After an ardent goodbye to Donald and a promise to meet on the following weekend, Annie was marshaled onto the bus by Kate and Mieko.

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Only Lindy and Biddy stood outside, waiting for final instructions from Jeremy, who had decided to remain a few days with the Eastons.

He and Bill were standing on the porch with Marguerite, who waved to the company members as they climbed into the bus.

They watched Jeremy walk down the steps and across the drive.

“I’ll be back in a few days.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Lindy and let him give her the customary theater kiss on the cheek.

He turned to Biddy. “Marguerite needs me. Ellis needs me.”

Biddy nodded and let herself be kissed in turn.

“I’ll be back next week,” he said.

“Take all the time you need. We’ll manage.”

“I’ll be there.” He started to walk away, then turned back and kissed Biddy—on the mouth, quickly, awkwardly, but definitely a real kiss.

Then Lindy and Biddy were staring at his back as he took the steps of the porch two at a time. Lindy swore she could see Bill smiling.

“Wow,” said Biddy. “Take all the time you need.”

Lindy saw the cluster of faces at the front window of the bus disappear as she led a befuddled Biddy up the steps. She smiled as she saw the conspicuous disinterest of those who had hastily taken their seats.

She pushed Biddy into her seat and turned to the driver.

“Home, James.”

And the bus rumbled away.

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