Midsummer Murder (23 page)

Especially with Bill here. But she wouldn’t think about him.

The curtain opened to
There Is a Time,
and Lindy indulged in the music and the movement, thoughts of the past, and the great dancers who had first performed the piece in 1953. Lindy had never seen those original dancers, except on film. José Limon, now dead, had captured the hearts and souls of the dancers he had worked with, and the generation of young students that would take their place. But dance was an ephemeral art; you couldn’t hang it in a museum, or play it on your stereo system at home. There were dance films, but so much was 150

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lost when it was transferred to the two dimensions of the screen. Its life depended on reconstruction by dancers who had never seen the original. It was not always successful, but Robert had conveyed the spirit of the piece to these young dancers. And though the performance didn’t have the maturity and understanding of a good professional cast, the enthusiasm and freshness of the students made up for the subtlety that their young minds lacked.

Lindy and Glen stayed in their seats at intermission. She perused the audience until she saw Annie wave at her from across the house. Lindy waved back, then squinted, as she tried to get a better view of the person seated next to her. Donald Parker in a denim shirt. Hair neatly combed behind his ears. A broad smile on his lean face.

There was only one major glitch in the second half of the program.

And that was a lighting cue during a
pas de deux
, where three cues followed each other in rapid succession. But the dancers didn’t seem bothered by it and neither did the audience.

The evening ended with everyone on stage. They even brought out the costume and stage crews. It was a lovely idea, thought Lindy. Usually the workers backstage were never given any outward show of thanks. Applause was a great way of building their self-esteem and showing them that it took more than dancers to make a successful performance.

She and Glen followed the crowd out to the lobby for the reception.

The audience spilled out onto the lawn in front of the theater where additional refreshment tables had been set up.

Lindy watched Jeremy leave Bill and go to stand by Marguerite. She was exquisitely dressed in a creme floor-length gown, a shimmering oasis among the more casually dressed parents.

While Glen left her in search of champagne, Lindy scanned the crowd. She saw Bill perusing the room from the sidelines, taking in every detail. She continued to stare at him hoping to catch his attention before Glen returned. Maybe they could meet and discuss things in the morning before the town fair and fireworks.

Bill stared intently across the room. Lindy followed his line of sight directly to Annie whose position in the room made an equidistant triangle between them. Annie was looking back at Bill. Then her head turned slowly and her eyes met Lindy’s. She looked away.

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“Oh, there you are,” she said as Glen handed her a glass of champagne.

“The boys snagged me.” He drawled out the word “boys.” Glen had never been able to accept the “theatrical affectation” as he called it, of calling dancers “boys” and “girls” even though they were really adults.

A few minutes later, they left the reception and walked up the stairs to their room in the annex.

Glen closed the door with a thud. “He isn’t gay.”

“Who?”

“Bill.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“You let me think he was. The boys had to set me straight.”

“For crying out loud, Glen. What does it matter? Gay or not gay.

Not all friendships are based on sexual preferences.”

“But some are.”

“You
are
jealous,” said Lindy with a sparkle of satisfaction.

“No, I’m not.” He pulled her close and kissed her. She kissed him back.

152

Thirteen

When Lindy awoke, the sun was shining through the window. It was going to be a perfect day for the town fair and fireworks.

She lay in bed with a complacent smile on her lips. Competition, she thought, might not be good for the soul, but it certainly did wonders for your sex life. She looked over to Glen, lying on his side. He wasn’t even snoring. She considered waking him. But no, she had things to take care of that wouldn’t wait. She slid out of bed, tiptoed across the room and turned on the shower. Maybe she could catch Bill at breakfast.

Bill wasn’t in the restaurant when she came downstairs. But Biddy was. Sitting by herself at a table by the window. Elbows on the table, chin cupped in her hands, she was staring out at the view. A plate of untouched food had been pushed out of her way.

Lindy felt an immediate stab of guilt. Biddy was upset, and Lindy hadn’t given her a thought. Instead she had been having a grand old time with Glen as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Well hell, it wasn’t her fault. She had to make the most of what little time she and Glen spent together. Was that asking too much?

“Are you okay?”

Biddy looked up and then quickly away. She had been crying.

Biddy only cried once a tour, when she needed to let off steam. At this rate she would be in debt to a whole year of tours before they returned to the city.

“Biddy.” Lindy had meant it to sound sympathetic, but her own sense of inadequacy gave a harshness to her words.

Biddy pushed her chair away, and without looking at Lindy, hurried across the room.

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Shelley Freydont

Lindy stared after her, then sat down at the next table.
Great,
she thought.
I’ve insulted Rebo, neglected my daughter, hurt Biddy, and have
two unexplained accidents hanging over my head.
She let that endangered head drop down on her folded arms on the table.

“Interesting place to sleep. Up late last night?”

Lindy turned her face to the voice. “Hi, Bill.” She straightened up.

“I’ve upset Biddy—and Rebo and—you name it.”

Bill sat in the chair next to her. “You people don’t need an investigator. You need a therapist.”

Lindy smiled. “We’ll settle for a college professor. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Right.”

“Are you mad at me already? I haven’t even talked to you yet.”

Bill smiled and she immediately felt better. He had the most open smile she had ever seen on a man. Not that the rest of him was as congenial, not by a long shot. But he did have his moments.

“Jeremy asked you to come?”

Bill nodded, the smile disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

“It’s a mess, one kid dead, another missing; then there’s this sheriff.” Lindy gesticulated in the air in explanation of what she thought of the sheriff.

“I’ve heard about Byron Grappel. I spent yesterday with Jeremy.”

His face relaxed, transforming his expression into a complete blank.

Another trick he had. He was hiding something from her.

“What is it?” She tried to stop the rush of unease that had started in her gut and was working its way to her throat. But she already knew he wasn’t going to tell her just by the nonlook on his face. Why had she bothered?

“There are a lot of things that Jeremy doesn’t know about,” she insisted. “Some things I learned yesterday while he was gone.” No response. He was going to start yelling at her soon. She hurried on.

“Dr. Addison thinks—”

He didn’t yell. He laid his hand on her wrist and said very softly. “I want you to stay out of this.” She wished he had yelled; she knew how to deal with that. Bill being quiet set her adrift. She could only stare back at him. His face was absolutely unreadable. Not a clue from his eyes, which looked back at her devoid of feeling. He had shut her out, completely, and irrevocably.

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“Ah, there you are.” Bill’s smile reappeared as he greeted Glen and removed his hand from Lindy’s wrist. It was completely natural, as if he were genuinely glad to see Glen. And, no doubt, he was. “Here, take this chair. I was just leaving.”

Lindy watched his back as he strode away. He may not think he needed her, but he would before this was over. She turned back to Glen.

“Hi, hon.” She smiled. It was a pretty sad attempt. How did Bill do it, she wondered.

* * *

The fair was in full swing when Glen and Lindy arrived at the town hall. The small paved parking lot was full, as was the used car lot across the road. Cars lined each side of the road, parked bumper to bumper on the grassy shoulders. Glen maneuvered the BMW into a meadow roped off for additional parking, and they walked back up the road to the entrance behind the clapboard hall.

To one side of the building, a multicolored striped tarp had been raised over groups of picnic tables. A country singer crooned from a small stage constructed at the front. Vendor trailers selling hot dogs, gyros, cotton candy, and ice cream were crowded together on a patch of flat ground nearby. Clouds of smoke, grease, and cooking smells battled each other in the air, attacking the nostrils and settling on the clothes of the people waiting in line.

They had to walk uphill to the fairway. Only it wasn’t a fairway, but a meandering passage of hard earth, gutted and pocked by years of erosion. Every relatively flat piece of ground was covered with rides, games, and more food vendors. A ticket kiosk straddled a crack in the ground like a festive outhouse. Tinny music blared from every direction.

Barkers chanted their come-ons: Three balls for a dollar. Win a goldfish. Are you a weakling or a he-man? It was hokey, dilapidated, and wonderful.

Sipping homemade lemonade, Lindy and Glen picked their way through the throng of children and parents. They dodged cones of blue and pink cotton candy held in sticky hands; jostled parents hurrying to keep up with their children, who ran ahead, jumping across crevices and scooting up the slopes of trampled grass in order to get to the next ride.

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Their laughter brought back a whirl of memories. Cliff and Annie, eyes wide with excitement, mouths ringed in chocolate, clothes smeared with dust and mustard. Where was Annie? She hadn’t even asked them for spending money. Lindy pushed her reminiscences aside and perused the swarms of revelers in search of her daughter.

A pink, four-foot inflatable bunny was jolting its way down the path from the upper level. Lindy recognized Rebo’s legs beneath it.

Juan and Eric, necks draped in plastic leis and bottles of bubbles on a string, followed behind.

“Have you seen Annie?” asked Lindy as they passed.

“A little while ago by the Tilt-a-Whirl,” said Eric.

“She’s with Paul and Andrea and the girls,” said Juan. He was looking back toward the rides. So he wouldn’t have to look at her?

Nothing from the bunny.

“Thanks,” said Lindy.

She and Glen trudged past the carousel, sideskirting a line of waiting children. The faded shorts and mismatched tops of the locals outnumbered the designer clothes of the tourist children. But they were all having an equally good time. Organ music and snow cones were the great levelers of class distinction.

A waft of deep-fried food passed by them. A teenage boy held a paper plate out to a laughing young girl. He stopped for her to pull at a piece of batter-dipped onion. The onion slid across the plate as she pulled. Laughing harder, she popped the morsel into her mouth, oblivious to the traffic jam she was causing.

They climbed up a natural stairway of roots and rocks and stopped to watch boys firing air rifles at the Sitting Ducks trailer, then up to the Tilt-a-Whirl, whose precarious position on the ground gave additional meaning to its name. The ride itself looked ancient, small and in need of paint. It stopped with a squeal of gears. One group got off and the next hurried to find spaces. When they were settled and the operator had checked each bar, he shoved the gear arm forward, and the Tilt-a-Whirl lunged into motion.

Glen stood mesmerized as he watched the contraption go round and round. The ride’s operator, a scrawny young man whose clothes seemed too big for him, leaned against the gear box. Stringy blond hair hung in his eyes as he pulled a cigarette from a crumpled package and returned the package to his pocket. He stuck the cigarette in his 156

Midsummer Murder

mouth and lit a match. Smoke curled up in front of his face. Lindy wondered if he had forgotten about the people going round and round on the ride behind him. He blew out the match and flicked it behind him. It landed on a pile of hay. Lindy’s eyes widened until she realized that the hay had been spread to cover puddles left from the recent rain. Wet hay. She tried not to think about where the Tilt-a-Whirl would be during the dry season.

He pushed himself up, cigarette still dangling from the side of his mouth, and pulled the gear arm back. The Tilt-a-Whirl ground to a stop. Lindy took Glen’s arm and guided him back to the 4-H Exhibit in the main building.

On their way back through the labyrinth of the fair, Lindy spotted Paul and Andrea in line for the Ferris wheel. It was on the level above them and they were too far away for Lindy to get their attention. She saw Kate and some of the company girls in line behind them. Annie was there. And so was Donald Parker. Maybe she should just have a little talk with Annie when they got back.

They passed Ellis and Stu beneath the tent canopy. Ellis was eating a sausage on a roll, stacked high with sauerkraut and relish. He looked as happy as the kids at the table next to them, where pizza slices, sodas, and French fries covered the table and their faces. Lindy’s stomach growled.

Marguerite and Jeremy were coming down the stairs from the exhibition room as Glen and Lindy came inside. They paused while Lindy introduced Glen to Marguerite. She wondered if she should stall them long enough for Ellis to finish eating; sausage and sauerkraut had to be right up there with home fries and gravy. But Jeremy had already begun leading Marguerite out of the building.

You’re on your own, Ellis,
Lindy thought, and made her way toward the produce table.

Rows and rows of tables covered in blue-checked oilcloth were crowded into the room. The floor boards were unpolished and dusty from the parade of viewers. Lindy stopped in front of a gigantic tomato.