Midsummer Murder (6 page)

After a few minutes, they stopped in front of a brown, wood-shingled cabin. A sign of whitewashed wood hung to the left of a screen door. INFIRMARY was carved into its surface and painted black.

Stuart stepped onto the porch, collapsed the umbrella, and shook it vigorously. The screen door rattled beneath his knock.

A husky voice answered from inside. “Come in.”

“I’ll wait for you out here and escort you back. Wouldn’t want you to get lost on your first day.”

Lindy considered telling him that she thought she could manage the cultivated wilderness of the camp on her own, especially since each path was marked with a sign bearing names like Hemlock Lane, Elm Hollow, Two Rocks Way. But it would be an affront to his Old World manners, so she just said,

“Thank you” and went inside.

The difference between the rough exterior of the outside of the cabin and the high-tech interior stopped her just inside the door.

Behind a metal desk sat a diminutive woman, dressed in a tailored pantsuit that would have been more appropriate for holding office hours on the upper East side of Manhattan.

33

Shelley Freydont

She looked up at Lindy and tilted her head. The motion sent her sleek black page boy swaying to the side. Black horn-rimmed glasses added to the general severity of her appearance, the thickness of the lenses distorting and amplifying the size of her eyes.

“Dr. Addison?”

“Yes,” she said in a voice much too throaty for the thin, businesslike woman who stood, took off her glasses, and held out her hand to be shaken.

“Lindy Graham,” said Lindy holding out her own hand, which was taken in a firm grasp. “I’m the rehearsal director for the Jeremy Ash Dance Company.”

“A pleasure. Please be seated. How can I help you?” She motioned to a chair at the side of the desk and resumed her seat.

“I was just wondering . . .” Lindy felt momentarily at a loss for words. She couldn’t imagine this woman unwinding enough to invite dialogue with young men and women over their feelings about the death of a friend. “I noticed that some of the students seemed particularly upset about the accident, especially one boy—”

“Connie, most likely.”

“Pardon me?”

“Connie. Connover Phillips. He’s taking this harder than the others.

He was infatuated with Larry, though I can’t imagine why. Larry never gave him the time of day. But that’s neither here nor there, is it?”

Lindy shook her head. She was beginning to feel that she had misjudged Dr. Addison. “Everyone has been quite preoccupied with the, um . . .” She deflected the air with her hand. “I wasn’t sure if anyone had thought to—”

“Consider grief counseling?” Dr. Addison smiled. “We’re on top of things here, in spite of the rather rustic ambiance. We have to be. With the nearest hospital a good half hour and a harrowing drive across the mountain, we try to be prepared for any emergency.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry about butting in. You have to if you want to fit in here.

Anyone who works for Marguerite is expected to plunge headlong into the fray. I expect you’ll find yourself more involved in things than you can imagine. I hope you’ll enjoy it; it’s quite exhilarating.”

“I’m sure I will.” Lindy rose to leave.

“Would you like a tour? I think you’ll be impressed.”

34

Midsummer Murder

“Yes, thank you.” Lindy was taken off guard by the sudden invitation.

She followed the doctor into another room. The walls were painted in white enamel and glistened in the fluorescent lighting. A metal examination table stood on the left and to the right, two hospital beds were neatly made in crisp white sheets and blankets. The room was crammed with gleaming metal, state-of-the-art equipment.

“Rather impressive for a summer camp, wouldn’t you say?”

Lindy could only nod. It was an amazing array of medical technology.

Dr. Addison pointed out one machine after another, her sleek hand gliding across each instrument as she spoke. At the far end of the room were two doors: one marked, X-RAY, the other, LAB. The building was much longer than its humble facade had suggested.

“Just about anything you would need for a physical emergency, but we are also equipped to deal with emotional and psychological problems, in a triage sort of way. We, of course, rely on outside expertise when necessary, but quite frankly, Lindy—may I call you Lindy?”

Lindy nodded.

“My name is Adele—our equipment is probably more advanced than any they have at County General. Of course, I’m only a Manhattan cardiologist, but I’ve taken quite a few courses in other fields. One must be prepared.”

She sighed suddenly. “I’ve worked here for ten summers. I find shin splints and poison ivy a welcome relief from triple bypasses. But I confess, I wasn’t prepared for this.”

She led Lindy back to the door and flipped off the lights. The room behind them was plunged into darkness, except for a series of emergency lights that blinked on.

“You’re probably wondering what would bring a cardiologist to summer camp every year.”

“Actually, I was,” agreed Lindy.

“Marguerite, of course. She’s the reason we all keep coming back.

We’ve known each other for years. We were at Hall’s together, back in the Dark Ages. She was in the senior division, I a mere second grader.

She spent many a night singing a homesick seven-year-old to sleep.”

Lindy looked at her, astonished. It was hard to imagine this sleek professional as a child, much less a lonely child in need of comfort.

They reached the entrance door. “Thanks, Adele. I’m quite overwhelmed.”

35

Shelley Freydont

Adele smiled. “Welcome aboard, Lindy.”

* * *

The rain had let up while she was inside the infirmary. She found Stuart on the gravel clearing, chucking stones with his cane.

“Working on my golf swing,” he said a little sheepishly. “I can’t stand being idle. Something I learned from my father. Never let an opportunity for action go by, accept every challenge, and you’ll stay young until the final hour.” He offered Lindy his arm. “Shall I show you where class is being held?”

They retraced their steps along Two Rocks Way. Piano music drifted toward them through the trees.

“Thank you, Stuart. I think I can find my way from here.”

“My friends call me Stu.” He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. His father had the right idea, mused Lindy as she walked toward the studio. Stu looked very boyish in spite of the fine lines in his face and the slightly flaccid skin around his jaw line.

The Loie Fuller studio was shingled like the infirmary. Inside, a small foyer was crammed with piles of dance bags and water bottles; rain gear hung on pegs along the back wall, and leaning on the half wall that looked into the dance space was Jeremy, watching the class with total concentration.

Lindy walked up beside him. “Who’s teaching company class?” she whispered.

“Mieko.” He didn’t take his eyes off the room. Rebo walked among bodies that were stretched out on the floor, performing a series of contractions.

“And lift, contract, stretch the arms, and release.” He leaned over to reposition the arms of one of the students. “And lift, contract . . .” He made his way around the room, adjusting the position of one dancer, kneeling and suggesting something to another. After a few more bars of music, he stood up and stopped the pianist, who was sitting behind a baby grand Baldwin in one corner of the studio.

“Listen, everybody. You don’t grab at the abdominals for a contraction.

You must lengthen and scoop—and keep the tension out of your shoulders.” He looked around at the dancers, some still lying down 36

Midsummer Murder

with only their heads turned toward him, some propped up on one elbow, some in a sitting position.

“It should feel like this.” He chose a boy near to him. “Lie back.”

The boy flashed him a grin. Rebo grabbed both his hands and placed one foot lightly on his navel. “When you lift up, the stomach should scoop out.” He pulled the boy up by his arms keeping his foot in the hollow of the boy’s stomach. “The knees bend because of the tilt of the pelvis. The spine curves; the shoulder girdle remains flat.” He transferred his foot to the boy’s chest. “Keep the chest flat across.”

The boy straightened his shoulders; his abdominals grabbed and his ribs expanded. Rebo transferred his foot back to the boy’s gut.

“Without letting the abs pop up.” The boy scooped out his stomach until his waist was pressed against the floor and his shoulders were parallel to the ceiling.

“Voilà,” said Rebo. “The method is a little S-and-M, but it works.”

There was a burst of appreciative laughter. He grinned. “Now try it without me.”

The boy curved his spine. His knees released upward. His chest rose straight to the ceiling.

“And release.”

The boy returned to a lying position on the floor.

“Now, everybody. Once again.”

The music began. “And lift, contract, and stretch the arms . . .”

“Things look good here,” said Lindy. “Why didn’t you let me know you weren’t teaching company class? I would have taught.”

“I know,” said Jeremy, still watching the class. “I was going to do it, but then I decided to take a look around instead.”

Read that as too agitated to stay in one place,
thought Lindy. Jeremy always pulsed with energy when he was upset. She could feel it now.

“It will be good experience for Mieko,” he continued. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. His attention was focused on the activity in the studio.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Jeremy jerked around at the voice.

Sheriff Grappel stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. His shoulders and arms were brawny to an extreme, but his pants were belted low, and the buttons of his shirt stretched against the button holes.

When muscle men turn to fat,
thought Lindy with an internal shudder.
Ugh.

37

Shelley Freydont

“You were looking for me . . . Sheriff?” Only the slightest pause before the title betrayed Jeremy’s contempt. There was not a hint of it in his voice, but the sheriff’s jaw tightened.

Lindy tried to imagine what Chi-Chi could ever have seen in this man. Or maybe, it had never been something she thought about; it was just expected that she would marry him, and so she would have if Robert hadn’t come along.

Ugh, she thought again and turned back to watch the class. The students were now lined up in the far corner, ready to begin moving across the floor. Rebo was demonstrating the steps, but most eyes were focused not on him but toward the entrance where Byron Grappel stood contemplating Rebo.

Grappel shook his head slowly, his mouth tight with disgust.

Jeremy turned back to the room following his gaze. Lindy was afraid to look at him. The emotion between the two men thickened the air.

“Initial postmortem report’s in,” said Grappel over their shoulders.

His voice was low and hardly above a whisper.

Jeremy twitched slightly but didn’t turn around.

“He didn’t die immediately.” There was a pause. The coffee and orange slices began to burn Lindy’s stomach.

“Looks like he tried to crawl back up the side of the cliff.”

Another pause, while Lindy listened to the sound of his breathing.

The sheriff snorted. “Don’t know why he bothered. He musta taken a flying leap to get to the bottom in the first place. Too many ledges and things to break his fall, if he had just slipped down.”

She felt Jeremy sway.

“Pretty nasty way to die.” The sheriff unsnapped his holster and resnapped it. “ ’Course, he might have had help.”

Jeremy swung around. “Why don’t you say it all at once, Byron?”

Dancers moved across the floor, diagonally from corner to corner.

Lindy forced herself to watch their movements. Triplet, step and spiral, step to the side, run, run,
jeté
. She willed herself not to turn around. There was silence behind her. A standoff between Jeremy and the sheriff.

Rebo seemed to sense that he was losing the class’s attention. His voice rose, booming over the music. “Push from the back leg, when you
jeté.
Come on.”

He followed each dancer across the floor, correcting, cajoling.

“Move. That’s really nellie, you can cover more space than that.”

38

Midsummer Murder

Lindy heard Grappel snort again. “He had sex before he died.”

This time Lindy did turn around. She stared at the man, thinking how satisfying it would be to smack the nasty expression off his face.

“That kind of sex.” Grappel nodded toward Rebo who had just lifted a boy under the shoulder propelling him another foot in the air.

“That’s better,” yelled Rebo. “Now do it yourself.” The boy jumped higher on the next attempt.

“Too bad Larry Cleveland didn’t stick to doing it himself,” said the sheriff with a shrug.

“For Christ sakes, Byron, the boy was seventeen.”

“Not a consenting adult.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m going to be taking a good look at his death.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident after all.” His lips moved like he was chewing something unpleasant. “A boy that age in a place like this. It isn’t natural.” Byron lifted one eyebrow, looked again across the room and turned his back on them.

“And you were buggering farm animals when you were twelve.” Jeremy said the words under his breath, but Lindy saw the minute hesitation in Grappel’s step before he continued toward the door.

What a stupid thing for Jeremy to have said. Lindy waited until the door slammed behind the sheriff, then turned to him. She started to speak, then saw the look that flared from his eyes as he stared at the closed door. It was a look she had only seen once, and it had not boded well for the person at which it was aimed.

“Do they raise a lot of sheep in New York State?” she asked.

* * *

They waited for Rebo to finish class. The students bowed first to Rebo and then to the pianist, then burst into noisy applause. Rebo made an exaggerated kowtow, circling his arm in front of him until it slapped the ground. He was surrounded by a group of young dancers.