Midsummer Murder (7 page)

“That was great! Thanks. Are you teaching again?”

“Tomorrow at eleven,” said Rebo. “And make sure you get to ballet class with Andrea Martin. She’s a fantastic teacher.”

“Ballet’s so old-fashioned,” countered one of the girls.

39

Shelley Freydont

Rebo slung his arm around the girl. “Ballet is the foundation of all theater dance, Miss Thing.”

Too bad the sheriff hadn’t seen that, thought Lindy. Maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to judge if he knew that dancers treated everyone with affection.

The group split up in the foyer. The dancers grabbed dance bags, threw raincoats and ponchos over their arms, and began drifting toward the door.

Rebo waved goodbye as he walked over to Lindy and Jeremy.

“Nice class,” said Jeremy.

“Considering that I was playing opposite the Vampire Lestat of New York. Talk about being upstaged.” Rebo bared his teeth and hissed. “What did the ghoul want?”

“To let us know that Larry Cleveland, the dead boy, was sexually active.” Jeremy’s voice was dry as sand.

Rebo shrugged. “Him and the rest of the world. What’s the big deal?”

“I believe that Jeremy is saying that Grappel would like to make things uncomfortable for everyone,” said Lindy.

“For someone who’s got his head stuck where the sun don’t shine, he’s got a lot of nerve. I hate guys like that.”

“We all do,” she agreed. “But maybe we should keep a low profile until this is over.”

Rebo looked abashed for a moment. “Thank you, mama, but I wouldn’t mind a little grapple with Grappel. No thick-necked homo-phobe is driving me back into the closet. Where are you guys off to?”

“Scheduling meeting with Robbie at the dining hall,” said Jeremy.

“Well, I’m off to the what’s-it . . .” He pulled a piece of blue paper from the pocket of his dance bag. “Deni-Shawn Studio. Eric and Juan are teaching composition. I’ll just kibitz.”

“What’s that?” asked Lindy, pointing to the paper.

“A program insert from last season. Robert wrote out a schedule for me. All the notices are handwritten, even though there’s a computer in the office.” Rebo touched his fingertips together. “In keeping with the rustic ambiance. So quaint,” he said in a breathy falsetto. “I’ll just take my two Grecian urns and run along Hemlock Lane to visit with Ted and Ruth.” He skipped out the door and down the path.

Jeremy groaned. “Low profile, right.”

40

Midsummer Murder

* * *

Biddy was wearing a pair of reading glasses that she had begun using in the last several months. No one had ever acknowledged the addition. In a profession that depended on youth and good looks, nobody liked to mention the inevitable march into middle age. It wouldn’t be long before Lindy joined her. She was already having to hold books and menus at arm’s length to get the words in focus.

“There you are,” said Biddy, snatching the glasses from her face.

Jeremy smiled. It was the first time he had smiled that morning, but Biddy had that effect on just about everyone. She always knew how to make people comfortable. Her glasses were just another prop in her repertory of techniques.

“What are you two smiling at?”

Lindy straightened her mouth. “Where’s Peter?”

“Still at the theater,” said Rose, reaching for a pencil that was stuck through braids that wrapped around her head. She began scribbling on a legal pad in front of her. “He’s adapting the lighting plot for the student prod to coincide with ours.” She finished writing and stuck the pencil back into her hair. “And I think he wanted to stick around for a few minutes to give Mieko some moral support. It’s the first time she’s taught.” She raised one eyebrow at Jeremy.

Finding him unresponsive, she continued. “You know, I bet if Peter had started going out with Mieko last year instead of Andrea, they would still be together.”

“Rose, why are you dressed like Heidi this morning?” asked Jeremy.

“In keeping with the situation, boss. You like it?” Rose turned her head side to side, displaying heavy braids that wrapped her head like strawberry-blond sausages.

Jeremy just shook his head.

There was no one in the world more un-Heidi-like than Rose Laughton. At nearly six feet, arms and legs built up from years of aikido training, and a mouth that could burn the ears off a sailor, Rose would never be mistaken for a cute little girl sitting at the feet of her grandfather.

41

Shelley Freydont

Rose usually had people groveling at her feet, even if she had to wrestle them to the ground to get them there. But she was the best costume mistress in the business and Jeremy had jumped at the chance of hiring her last year.

Jeremy swung one leg over the bench and straddled it. “So, where are we?”

“I think things are in pretty good shape, considering,” said Robert.

“Biddy’s got everything organized. She’s a whiz, Jeremy.” Robert reached for his cup.

Coffee was the last thing the man needed, thought Lindy. His thin fingers trembled as he took the cup and brought it to his lips. His face was a shade of off-white. Lindy wondered if he was always this nervous or was it because one of his charges had had a fatal accident.

She felt sorry for him. It was a feeling she hated. Especially when the person was so likable.

Peter strode through the door carrying a black portfolio. “Sorry.

Lots of stuff to do.” He sat down and opened the portfolio. Lindy peered over his shoulder at a series of scribbles and geometric shapes that filled the page.

“There’s coffee in the urn on the counter,” said Robert. “Stays on all day and can get pretty intense by late afternoon, but it’s still pretty fresh now.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already had my quota for the day. So, where are we?”

Lindy smiled as she recognized Peter’s echo of Jeremy’s question.

For two men who had begun their working relationship as dire enemies they had covered a lot of ground toward becoming friends.

“We expect a full house of parents, friends, and critics for this weekend. Box office is more than good for next week,” said Biddy.

“Robert has the programs finished; we’ll just have to insert the name of Larry Cleveland’s understudy.” She held up a slick pamphlet with a picture of the entrance to the retreat on the front. “He did a great job, don’t you think?”

“Chi-Chi did,” said Robert.

“Chi-Chi,” corrected Biddy. “You’d be amazed at how much work she gets done. She’s in charge of the restaurant and annex. And helps Robert with programming,
and
takes care of the students,
and
runs the student dining hall. She’s indefatigable.”

42

Midsummer Murder

Robert smiled. It animated his pale face and straightened his shoulders.

Biddy turned toward the costume mistress. “Rose?”

“All the costumes are out of the trunks and waiting to be fitted.”

She consulted her notes on the legal pad. “There’s a fitting tomorrow morning. I’m guessing at a few minor alterations. Then I have a costume crew coming in the afternoon to help with the sewing and steaming.”

Rose leaned forward on her elbows. The others readied themselves for one of her expostulations. “It’s great. All the students that aren’t performing until the next student production are working as crew for this one, then they exchange jobs for the next show. The camp trains them not only to dance and choreograph, but gives them experience in wardrobe, lighting, publicity, and stagecraft.” She banged her hand on the table.

Robert jumped. “That gives them so many more options. Those that don’t make it as dancers still have the opportunity of staying in the field. We should all have such foresight.”

Jeremy cleared his throat.

“It was Marguerite’s idea,” said Robert. “She took me on as director after I—after I snapped my Achilles tendon.”

Rose looked momentarily nonplused. Then in her typical way, she recovered. She slapped him on the back. Robert pitched forward.

“And look what you’ve built. You must be so proud.”

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

Whether he was happy with his situation or not, he certainly wasn’t going to contradict her. Her hand was still resting on his shoulder. She could knock him off the bench with a flick of her wrist.

Peter wrestled with a smile, then found his composure. It was too bad, thought Lindy. His smile brought his already handsome, if terse, features into the realm of Romance Hero. Maybe that was why he showed it so infrequently.

“The student crew will be watching rehearsal this afternoon,” he said. “Just to get their bearings. We’ve already done some hanging and focusing. If it’s okay with you, Jeremy, I’ll take some time during the tech tomorrow to let them experiment with some things.”

“Sounds good,” said Jeremy. “Anything else?” He looked around the table.

43

Shelley Freydont

“I feel like I’m on vacation,” said Lindy. “Shall I take the rehearsal this afternoon?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

“Company class tomorrow morning?”

“No.” Jeremy looked at her, his brows drawing together slightly. “I need you just to keep an overview—of things—mainly.”

It wasn’t like Jeremy to be so inarticulate. She immediately felt insecure. Was he trying to tell her something? Did he not like the way she was working? God, she wasn’t about to get fired, was she?

She glanced at the others around the table. They seemed oblivious.

She was just being paranoid. But with understudies waiting in the wings for your entire career, insecurity became an occupational hazard.

She shook it off.

“Okay.”

The door opened and Ellis stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt, Jeremy, but Grappel has been upsetting Marguerite. When you’re finished here could you come up to the house?”

Jeremy started to rise. “I’ll come now.”

“That isn’t necessary. Please, continue with your meeting.” He nodded to the others and left.

“It’s going to be very unsettling having Byron around,” said Robert. “He hates everything about the camp, especially me.” He tapped his pencil on the table. Between the trembling of his fingers and the intensity of the tapping, the pencil threatened to snap in half.

“Jeremy,” he said.

“What?” It was obvious to Lindy that Jeremy was not paying attention.

“Maybe, you should go up to the house. I think we’re finished here.”

“Yes.” Jeremy left them without a word of “goodbye” or “see you later.”

Biddy widened her eyes at Lindy. Lindy shrugged back.

44

Four

Lindy sat next to Robert in the Loie Fuller studio, notebook resting on her lap, pen in hand. Finding herself at loose ends, she had offered to take notes during the student rehearsal.

The day had turned hot and humid after the rain. Inside the studio the air was muggy, though a slight breeze occasionally wafted through the open windows. Unlike the house and theater, the studios were not air conditioned. Cold air was bad for dancers’ muscles.

Bach’s Partita and Fugue filled the air. A
corps de ballet
of eight girls were posed in two diagonal lines that met in the center upstage. In front of them a
pas de deux
was being performed by a boy and girl. A man and woman, really; they were both in their early twenties.

The boy was dressed in gray tights and a white tee shirt, tied tight at the waist. Conservatory trained, thought Lindy. The girl wore bright red nylon gym shorts, bare legs and pointe shoes covered with pink ankle warmers. Her long legs ended in boatlike feet that arched so much they threatened to break the shank of her shoe.

“Pull out of your feet, Ginny.” The correction came out in a thick accent. Katarina Flick, the oldest of the teachers at the camp, beat the floor with a stick. “Ach, why don’t you lift up?” She raised the stick in the air. Madame Flick was dressed entirely in black and had seen thinner years. And though she couldn’t be over five feet tall, she commanded the room like a general on horseback.

Ginny prepared for a pirouette in front of her partner. She pushed into
passé
position and began the turn; the boy’s hands encircled her waist to support her. She was leaning to the right. Lindy shifted in her seat in the opposite direction as if the motion could bring the girl back on balance. The boy had to pull her back into position.

45

Shelley Freydont

The stick banged several times on the floor. “Stop, stop.” Madame Flick ambled forward onto the dance floor. Ginny collapsed forward on straight legs, pressing her hands to the floor.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that it’s so hot and humid. I can’t find my energy.”

“Ach, and dressed like that.” Flick pointed her stick at the red shorts. “You should complain? Come. We are aaall waiting.” She turned her back on the girl and looked over her shoulder. “I knooow you can do it.” The music started; Ginny took her preparation and completed a perfect triple pirouette. Her partner stopped her in
passé
and her leg
developé
d to the side until her foot pointed to the ceiling.

Then she rotated to an arabesque. The boy dipped her forward into
penché
. The
corps
began to
bourrée
across the floor.

Flick rested both hands on her stick, weight balanced between her two feet. “Sooo talented,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

The piece ended a few minutes later and the dancers flocked around Madame Flick. She disappeared from view. Only the sound of her corrections could be heard echoing from the crowd that surrounded her.

The dancers for the next piece took their places, forming a circle in the middle of the floor. They were barefoot and wore various styles of gym clothes. They were already sweating from warming up on the sides of the room.

Lindy felt the sweat trickle down her neck. She ran her hand under her chin.

“It’s the rain,” said Robert. “One minute it’s chilly and they’re all wearing sweats, and then the sun comes out and off come the clothes.”