Midsummer Murder (22 page)

“And I’ve seen him drinking.”

“In moderation. With the lifestyle up at the house, not to drink would cause concern.”

“It must put an awful strain on his system.”

Adele nodded. “Between Chi-Chi and me and his own sense of duty, we kept things in a livable stasis. It’s only for three months.”

It was the second time she had mentioned the time element. Lindy thought she understood. Adele felt responsible for what had happened. She needed to go over all the details, so that she could learn if she had really been culpable in Robert’s nearly fatal overdose.

“I knew you’d understand,” said Adele.

Lindy’s eyes widened. Was Adele a mind reader as well as a cardiologist?

“I could tell the first day I met you. There was a rapport.”

There was? Adele had been friendly, but Lindy hadn’t felt anything beyond general civility.

“You can imagine my—” Adele returned her pen to the holder and placed her elbows on the desk. “Robert’s system was coursing with Benadryl and tranquilizers. If you hadn’t found him when you did, I doubt if anyone could have saved him.”

“Thanks to Chi-Chi. She asked me to check on him.”

“His recovery still isn’t assured.”

“Oh. I thought . . .”

“I did what I could, the usual standard procedures, but this kind of reaction induces a comalike state that can last hours or days. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

For a while neither of them spoke. Finally, Lindy ventured a question. “Could Robert have accidentally taken too much of the sedative?”

“No. He was extremely careful.”

“Not even with all the extra stress he was under, Grappel and the night in jail?”

“No, I won’t accept that.”

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“On purpose?”

“He would never do that to Chi-Chi, I don’t care what the computer screen said.”

“He wouldn’t have seduced Larry Cleveland?”

“Never. He’s been here thirty years and there has never been a hint of a complaint against him. Not even gossip.”

Lindy was dimly aware that their roles had changed. Adele was letting herself be questioned. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to try to figure this out alone. “Then he would have no reason to push Larry Cleveland down the cliff.”

“No,” said Adele. “But I’m following you. I don’t think Larry Cleveland accidentally plunged to his death. In the most outrageous scenario, he might have slipped, but something would have stopped him before he hit the bottom. A boulder, a tree; he would have grabbed at a limb to break his fall.”

Lindy nodded. It was just what she had done, climbing down the embankment to the stream.

“But he was found at the bottom of the ravine. I think someone pushed him or possibly even knocked him out and threw him over.”

“That’s what the sheriff thinks, but—” Lindy stopped while ideas flew into place. It would have to have been more than a mere “poof”

as Eric had suggested. She pulled out the image of the cliff where Larry had fallen. Not a sheer drop, but broken up with ledges, trees, and outcroppings of rock. She would have to take a closer look at that cliff. But not with Adele. She was beginning to like her, but she wasn’t ready to trust her.

“In which case,” said Lindy, “the real murderer might have caused it to look like Robert had committed suicide in order to throw suspicion from himself.” The image of a hulking Byron Grappel came immediately to her mind. “But how? Could someone have tampered with his pills? Switched the dosage to a higher level?

Would it have that effect?”

“Yes, but the person would have to be knowledgeable about drugs and have access to sophisticated equipment or another drug supply.”

Lindy glanced unconsciously at the door of the examination room.

“It wasn’t I.”

No. Adele was too small to hoist the lanky Larry Cleveland over the cliff, even if she had reason. And what possible reason could she have?

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Lindy pushed any lurid speculations to the back of her mind. She would consider them later at her leisure. What she concentrated on now was the reason for Adele’s confidence. Was she only trying to assuage her own fear that she had been negligent in caring for Robert? Or had she called in Lindy for a consultation in order to look at the problem from a different perspective. A second opinion. The scientific method.

Adele had taken off her glasses and was tapping them on the desk blotter. Finally, she shook her head. “If this is related to Larry’s death, four days wouldn’t be enough time for Robert’s pills to interact with the Benadryl, even if he was taking twice as many as he should have.”

“And he was gone one whole night, when he was at the police station. Chi-Chi said they wouldn’t even let her give him his allergy medicine,” said Lindy. “What about someone at the jail?”

Adele looked nonplused. “I have no idea. You’d think a person would at least be safe in jail.”

“From that, anyway.” Lindy leaned forward, an ugly idea forming in her mind as she spoke. “What about Chi-Chi’s power drink? There was a glass of it on the desk. He had drunk most of it. Could someone have tampered with it?” Grappel hadn’t mentioned the glass when he had questioned her at the station. Surely, they had held it as evidence.

“He drank it twice a day,” she continued. “Chi-Chi made it fresh every morning.” She stopped short. “Oh dear.”

Adele shook her head.

“Then who—and why?”

“That’s the mystery. And I don’t have credentials in that area.”

Unfortunately, Lindy did.

* * *

Murder and attempted murder. Lindy’s mind recoiled from her own conclusions. She almost turned back to the infirmary to convince Adele that they had been too wild in their surmises. That they were jeopardizing Marguerite and the Easton Academy. But it was too late to go back. They weren’t alone in their conjectures. Sheriff Grappel had already begun the awful process, and the only way they could help Marguerite was to find the real killer before Grappel arrested Robert. Unless it was Robert, and then she would be held responsible for destroying the Easton name.

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She sat down on the base of a statue of St. Francis, wedging herself between the concrete birds at his feet.
O Lord, take this cup,
she thought.

She watched Abel White cross the clearing in front of the dining hall. She hailed him over. “Have they found Connie yet?”

Abel frowned. “The sheriff thinks he’s probably out of the area.

Maybe hitchhiked back home.”

“I assume the parents have been notified, but I haven’t seen them here.”

“Well—they did get in touch with their secretary. Seems they’re out of the country.”

“They’re on their way back?”

“Can’t reach ’em. Gone hiking in some place in South America.”

Abel scratched his head. “Not my idea of a vacation, but I guess it takes all kinds.”

And not Lindy’s idea of concerned parents to send their kid to camp and not leave an emergency number where they could be reached.

“The secretary says they call in every Sunday. That’s tomorrow. I sure hope he turns up okay.”

“Me, too,” said Lindy.

“Good day to you.” Abel started to leave.

“Abel?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Did you look for the source of the drugs that Robert is supposed to have taken?”

“I think that’s classified information. But I don’t know, anyway. The sheriff handled it.”

I just bet he did,
thought Lindy. “Thanks, Abel.”

“Sure thing.” She watched him make his way down the path toward the Loie Fuller studio and Sheriff Grappel, then made her own way to the theater.

Rehearsal that afternoon was taken by Victor Slaton and Madame Flick. There had been no word from Jeremy. Lindy sat in the back of the house, once again doing nothing. Several more students had departed, and the rest seemed nervous. They had been through a revolving door of directors in the last few days. Robert was in the hospital, Jeremy had gone off to God-knew-where. Not to mention opening-night jitters. She was gratified to see several company members in the audience, showing their support. Kate and Mieko 147

Shelley Freydont

were in the aisle going over steps with two of the students. Annie was nowhere to be seen.

“We’ve been spurned for that cute archaeologist with the ponytail,”

said Kate. “Leave it to your daughter to drop in unannounced and captivate one of the few straight men in the area. I wonder if he has a friend?”

The image of Annie’s artistic cellist’s hands digging for oyster shells brought a smile to Lindy’s lips. Or maybe Donald had the day off. It was Saturday. A frown replaced the smile. She didn’t know anything about Donald except that he was charming and worked for Dr. Van Zandt. Was that enough recommendation for a suitor for her daughter?

Suitor? Yeesh, she needed to get back to the city. Next thing she knew, she’d be donning a bustle and a hobbled skirt.

Glen returned at seven o’clock, face pink from a day on the links, and feeling satisfied with the four hundred thousand dollars his company had raised. “They wanted me to stay for the farewell dinner, but I figured I’d better get over here and check on Annie and you.

Where is she?”

Lindy wished she knew. “Out having fun. She’s on vacation. And so are you.”

They changed for the theater and went down to the bar for a quick drink before curtain. Glen enthused about every hole on the golf course; recounted sand traps, and bogies and birdies, and other terms that left Lindy befuddled. It didn’t matter. She let him talk while she contemplated the shape of his nose, the white line where his hair met the back of his sunburned neck; anticipating the few days that they were actually going to spend together.

She took his arm as they left the bar. Glen stopped suddenly, his muscles tensing beneath her hand.

Lindy looked up. Surprise, relief, then guilt followed in quick succession. At first only the man’s silhouette registered in her mind, all six feet of it. The lighting was muted in the hallway. It was just like the first time they had met. There had never been enough light to read his features in the Connecticut theater where a murder had just taken place. But she knew those features now without having to see them. Light blue eyes, as clear as the lake just outside. Straight nose. Mouth whose lips were thin but expressive, especially when he was mad at her, or when he had kissed her that one time when 148

Midsummer Murder

they’d first met. But it had never happened again. She had nothing to be guilty about.

“Bill,” she said. Not an enthusiastic greeting, and she
was
glad to see him. They needed his expertise in crime.

Bill said absolutely nothing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

She felt Glen look at her. Then he stuck out his hand.

“Bill.”

Bill extended his hand. They greeted each other like gentlemen.

And why shouldn’t they? They had met before. Glen knew he and Lindy were friends.

Another quick glance from Glen. She would have missed it if all her perceptions hadn’t been working at full throttle.

“What
are
you doing here, Bill?” asked her husband.

Bill cleared his throat. Barely noticeably. It happened whenever he was about to bend the truth.

“Came to see the performance.” His voice always took Lindy by surprise. It was resonant and full. She was sure that everyone in the bar behind them had heard his words.

“Really,” said Glen.

Lindy managed a quick look at his face. Eyebrows and lips. Not a good sign.

“Actually, I invited him.” Jeremy stepped up behind Bill so unexpectedly that Lindy jumped. “Good to see you, Glen. Glad you could make it.”

More hand shaking. Lindy stared dumbly at the three men while she waited for her brain to engage. Bill here with Jeremy. So that’s where he had gone. She had been thinking the same thing herself. Bill could, and would, help them. And now he was here. She allowed relief to override the other emotions his appearance had set off.

Jeremy and Bill pulled ahead of them on the way to the theater.

“I would have never guessed it,” said Glen leaning down toward her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me Bill was gay?”

The question took her by surprise. She had no reason to think he was. And a big reason to think he wasn’t. But she didn’t say so.

“And there I was thinking that . . .” His sentence trailed off.

“Don’t tell me you thought he came to see me?”

“Of course not.”

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“You were jealous?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

They took their seats and the house lights dimmed. Lindy just managed to pick out Jeremy and Bill a few rows in front of them as the lights faded to black.

She sat back to enjoy a rare night with her husband. She had left notebook and pen in her room in the annex. She forced herself not to take mental notes of the dancing, just watch and enjoy. This performance was a one-shot deal and not her responsibility.

But halfway through the opening ballet, her mind began to wander in another direction. Bill was here. Jeremy had called on him for his help; she was sure of that. But how on earth was she going to help Bill if Glen was around? And where was Annie? She had better be at the performance or she was going to be in big trouble. First with her mother—and then they would both get it from Glen.

She dragged her attention back to the action on stage. Several dancers were missing. It had been too late to rearrange the spacing to fill the holes left in the
corps
. A professional company would have had no problem with the adjustments. But students, some of them without stage experience, would have been thrown off with any last-minute changes. No. It was better to leave well enough alone. It didn’t look too bad. Especially considering that most of the audience were family and friends.

There were probably a couple of critics in the house. Hopefully, they would take the upheaval at the retreat into consideration when writing their reviews. And by the next weekend, when the Ash company would be performing, surely, everything would be cleared up.