Midsummer Murder by Shelley Freydont Page B

speak, then saw the look that flared from his eyes as he stared at the closed door. It was a look she had only seen once, and it had not boded well for the person at which it was aimed.
    “Do they raise a lot of sheep in New York State?” she asked.

    * * *
They waited for Rebo to finish class. The students bowed first to Rebo and then to the pianist, then burst into noisy applause. Rebo made an exaggerated kowtow, circling his arm in front of him until it slapped the ground. He was surrounded by a group of young dancers.
    “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.
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    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

    * * *
Robert, Rose, and Biddy were sitting at a picnic table in the dining hall when Jeremy and Lindy entered. Beige coffee mugs and a scattering of papers covered the planks of the table.
    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