Midsummer Murder (26 page)

“You bet.” Rebo opened his arms. “Three-way hug.” They stood there for a second in a silent embrace, Rebo, Lindy, and the pink bunny. Rebo dropped his arms. “Now that we’re back to normal, have I got dirt for you.”

He walked over to the nearest tree and sat the bunny down at the base. “You stay here, Jasper.”

Taking Lindy’s hand, he led her down the path that would eventually lead to the archeologist camp, or what was left of it.

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Shelley Freydont

“His name is Jasper?”

“Jasper the Friendly Bunny. You like it?”

Lindy could only shake her head. They had walked about ten minutes when Rebo stopped, looked around, and stepped into the bushes, dragging Lindy after him. Before she could ask where they were going, Rebo put his finger to his lips.

“Afraid I’ll scare the wildlife?” she whispered.

Wordlessly, they descended the slope through swarms of insects, climbed over decomposing logs, pushed away overhanging branches, and tripped over rocks that jutted out of the ground. It wasn’t a path, but it had been used as one. She followed Rebo along a line of trampled grasses and underneath a dying oak, its wood charred by lightning.

Rebo stopped abruptly as they came out onto a ledge. He looked around as if he thought they might be followed. Below them were the ruins of the archaeologist camp and the tiny figures of Van Zandt’s staff moving across the rubble.

He led her along the edge of a granite wall. Giant boulders had fallen onto the end of the ledge. A few saplings struggled for life in the dirt that had settled in the crevices between them.

Without warning, he disappeared. “In here.” His voice was an echo.

She looked more closely and saw the overlap of rock and the fissure just large enough for a body to squeeze through. Pushing aside thoughts of snakes and bats, Lindy forced herself inside.

It was pitch-black. Not even a slit of sunlight showed through the crack.

“Rebo?” she asked tentatively. Her voice echoed back to her.

Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and the back of her neck.

“Ta da,” came a triumphant voice from the darkness. Then an eerie yellow lit the dark. Hulking shadows loomed out at her, moving, growing, surrounding her. She fought the urge to run screaming for her life.

Rebo placed the Coleman lantern on a makeshift table in the center of the cave. Lantern? Table? Cave? Holy shit. She looked around the chamber. A store of soda and junk food was stacked against one rocky wall. A pile of magazines and another lantern sat on a wooden crate next to a sleeping bag. A plastic baggie of what had to be marijuana (there was a roach clip sitting next to it) and a plastic cup filled with 172

Midsummer Murder

pencils, pens, and unused condoms were placed beside the sleeping bag. Holy shit, she thought again.

“You should see your face.” Rebo laughed. The sound bounced off the walls and rebounded in her ears from every direction.

“Shhh.”

“No one can hear us,” he said. “Juan and I tested it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Not that, Lindelooloo. One of us stood outside while the other one yelled and whistled. Couldn’t hear a thing.”

“It’s unbelievable.”

“Welcome to Larry Cleveland’s cave of iniquity.
We’ve
been doing a little sleuthing since
you’ve
been tied up with all your family matters.” Rebo shot her a condescending look, his face ghoulish in the exaggerated shadows.

“He had a real thing going. Gave ’em sex. Made ’em pay. And nobody’s talking. They’re sure that dumbass sheriff is looking for a murderer, and every one of them thinks he’s going to pin it on them.”

“Have you looked around?”

“You mean, searched the joint? Yep. Nothing’s here.” He paused, a look of satisfaction growing on his face. “Nothing, but somebody’s been here, and recently.”

“Connie Phillips?”

“Got it in one, Lindecleverly.” His look of satisfaction increased. He moved to an unlit corner and pulled out a crumpled shirt. He spread the shirt open with the inside of the collar facing Lindy.

She leaned forward to see. A neatly printed label was ironed onto the fabric. CONNOVER PHILLIPS. “Jeez.”

“The sheriff can think he’s left the area; I’m not going to tell him otherwise. But I think Connie’s still here. Hiding out somewhere during the day and sleeping here at night. And . . .” Rebo put up his hand to stop her question. “I think if we hang out here tonight, we’ll catch him at it.”

“Do you think he killed Larry Cleveland?”

Rebo shrugged. “Or knows who did. If I was that kid, I’d be scared shitless.”

“I guess it would be stupid to inform the sheriff.”

“Are you nuts? He’ll arrest the kid on some trumped-up charges or scare him into saying that Robert is a pederast. From what I hear, 173

Shelley Freydont

there’s no way Robert’s involved in this. His record is spotless, as they say in the movies.”

Lindy massaged her temples. “Connie could be in danger.”

“No shit. I say we find out what he knows and then decide what to do with him.”

“We could be jeopardizing his safety.”

“We’d certainly be doing that if we turn him over to that homophobic —”

Lindy cut him off. “You’re right. God, this is hideous.”

“So try to sneak away from your hubby-do after dinner, and we’ll stake out the joint.”

Rebo doused the light and they were plunged into darkness. Lindy felt a hand enclose her arm and pull her forward; her shoulder scraped the wall, and she was pushed out into the sunlight.

They scrambled back up the slope. Lindy waited below the path until Rebo checked to make sure no one was coming. He pulled her up the final few feet, then covered the entrance with a log and broken pieces of brush.

“Do you think the police know about the cave?” she asked as they made their way back to the camp compound.

“No way. Their imagination died in the back seat of their daddy’s Chevy.”

“How on earth did you find it?”

“Just needed to know where to look.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Had one just like it at the Baptist Youth Retreat back in Springfield.”

“You didn’t.”

Rebo looked shocked. “Well, we didn’t have any weed; it was a church camp, but cheap wine pretty much did the trick.”

Lindy could only shake her head and try to figure out how the hell she was going to get away that evening.

* * *

Midsummer Murder

end of the porch. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the shape of Bill’s head, bringing out the gray and blond strands that intermingled with the soft brown of this rest of his hair. Bill always kept his hair short around the hairline and longer on top, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be a policeman or an intellectual. She took a step toward them. At least they were outside. Bill in the out-of-doors was more approachable than when he was inside. There, he seemed to tower over you, making his tall, slender frame appear overpowering and his voice thunderous.

His head was bent toward Jeremy’s.

They jumped when Lindy approached. She half expected them to shove a copy of
Playboy
magazine beneath the cushions.

She stopped and stood over them, trying to give herself a psychological edge. It wasn’t much of an edge. With Jeremy at nearly six feet and Bill slightly over, even sitting they were almost as tall as she was.

“Would you fellas like to tell me what’s going on?”

They stared at her as though she were a Bedouin camel asking directions in a New York deli.

“Okay, let me rephrase that,” she said when it was clear neither man was going to speak. “Tell me what the hell you two are up to.”

Bill’s face went completely blank. Jeremy stared beyond her shoulder.

She had to fight the urge to turn around and see if anyone was there.

She brought both hands to her hips. As an intimidation technique it was singularly lacking in success. They remained mute.

She tried again. “I know Jeremy brought you here because he’s worried.” No reaction.

She turned on Jeremy. “Don’t you want to know what I learned while you were gone?”

He shot Bill a look that could only be described as desperate.

Bill caught Lindy’s eye. “What did you learn?”

“You first.”

“No deal.”

Anger spewed up inside her, overriding her good sense. Didn’t he realize they had to work together on this? It was the only way. Connie might be in danger. One boy was dead. Robert close to death with God-knew-what hanging over his head. This was no time for a battle of egos.

But that was her rational self talking; her angry self refused to listen.

“Just like the old days, huh, Brandecker?” She paused long enough to glower at him, then turned on her heel and stalked into the house.

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She had reached the stairs before she realized that she should be going to her room in the annex. Part of her insisted that she turn around and tell Bill everything. After all, he was the ex-cop; he’d know what to do. But she had to cool off first. It never did any good to talk to Bill when you were angry, he just turned it back on you . . . or out-yelled you. She climbed up the stairs hoping Biddy was in her room.

* * *

“I wasn’t at my best, either. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too.” Biddy moved to the table and put on her glasses. “I’ve been making some notes.”

At last, thought Lindy. Notes were a big part of their life together.

Not only were there theater notes and rehearsal notes, but they had taken to writing down their ideas about the other “misadventures”

they had been involved in. Note-taking hadn’t really been pivotal in catching the murderers, but at least it gave them a clearer picture of the situation and had led them closer to the truth each time.

Lindy pulled another chair to the table and sat down.

Biddy opened her notebook and began to read. “Larry falls down the cliff. The sheriff says it was suicide or murder.” She made a face. It never got any easier accepting murder as a fact of life. “He takes Robert in for questioning, then Robert is found unconscious with a suicide note on the computer. In the meantime . . .” Biddy flipped a page. “This boy Connie has gone missing. And Bill Brandecker shows up.” She lifted both eyebrows in question.

“Don’t look at me. It was Jeremy’s doing.”

“I thought it must have been. Even at your maddest, most impetuous moment you would never have him here with Glen.”

Lindy went rigid. “Why?”

“Why?” Biddy’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her curls. “Are you kidding? With the way Glen feels about your being involved with murder? Not even you would be nuts enough to rub it in his face. No matter what the stakes.”

Lindy let out her breath.

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Midsummer Murder

“What?”

“Annie just accused me of having an affair with Bill.”

Biddy laughed. “Ridiculous. Bill’s too much of a gentleman and you’re too faithful. You’re both hopeless. What gave her such an absurd idea?”

“Appearances.”

“Oh those,” Biddy said dismissively. “You’re in the arts. You should be used to it by now. Can we get back to my notes?”

“Please. I guess I was a little distracted.”

“So get over it. Then there’s the landslide at the archaeologist site, which Dr. Van Zandt insists was no accident. Anything else?”

“Rebo found a cave that Larry was using for his wild nights with the other students.”

“Wow.” Biddy scribbled it into her notebook.

“He thinks that Connie is hiding there at night. He wants me to go with him tonight to see if we can catch him and find out what he knows.”

Biddy pushed her glasses to her forehead. “Great.”

“But how the hell am I going to sneak out with Rebo when Glen is here?”

Biddy brushed the air with her hand. “I’ll take care of Glen. I’ll get him talking about golf or something.”

Lindy pulled her chair closer. “Okay, pal, what else do you have?”

“The police study of the cliff where Larry fell shows that he didn’t fall down it but arced over it. Found that out from Marguerite, who found it out from Sheriff Grappel. The most loquacious cop I’ve ever been around.”

“He’s bound to have made so many procedural errors that if someone does get tried for murder, he’ll probably get off.”

Biddy sighed. “But that isn’t really the point is it?”

“Appearances,” they said together.

The retreat’s reputation would be destroyed,” said Lindy.

“Taking the Easton name with it.”

Lindy nodded. “So where’s the motive?”

“Well, the town wants the land for development . . .”

“But I’ve talked to several locals who don’t feel that way at all. In fact, I got the impression that it’s only the mayor and some local real estate people who are pushing that. Most of the town seems satisfied with the Eastons’ patronage.”

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“Hmmm.” Biddy wrote this information into a column in her notebook.

“If Larry’s death was suicide, it would be bad for a while, but it would eventually blow over,” said Lindy.

“Yeah, I can’t see how they could tie suicide into a scheme to ruin the Eastons.”

“Unless Robert had seduced him as the sheriff and the note implies.” Lindy rubbed her temples. “That would certainly ruin the reputation of the camp.”

Biddy slapped her palm on the table. “But everybody, I mean everybody, says that it isn’t true.”

“People have been fooled before.”

“I won’t believe it.”

“Me neither, not yet. But just to take the absurdity one step further: If Robert seduced him and then Larry threatened to expose him, Robert might have been desperate enough to push him over the cliff.”

“And we can kiss the retreat’s reputation goodbye,” said Biddy.

“Or it might be as simple as a lover’s quarrel between Connie and Larry. And Larry goes over the cliff.”