Midsummer Murder by Shelley Freydont

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