Free Midsummer Murder by Shelley Freydont Page A

adjust a leg warmer. It was a situation they all dreaded—not to be up to the part when you at last got the chance.
    48

    Midsummer Murder
    “It’s okay.” Robert patted the boy’s shoulder. “You just need extra rehearsal. We’ll do it afterwards.” His voice rose. “Let’s cut to the next section.”
    The boy walked slowly to the side of the room.
    Robert came to stand by Lindy. “I shouldn’t have pushed him out like that with no preparation. But he knew it perfectly last week.”
    Lindy nodded sympathetically.
    “I can’t.” The words were painfully muffled. Robert turned slowly toward the voice. Lindy’s head jerked toward the dance floor.
    Dylan was standing two thirds of the way across the floor, hands clenched by his sides. He shook his head several times. “I can’t do it.”
    “Of course you can.” Robert walked toward him. “You just need more rehearsal.” It was the voice someone used when trying to coax a kitten out of tree. “I should have given you a rehearsal before we began today. But it’s fine. There’s plenty of time. We’ll rehearse this afternoon.”
    “I can’t. I’ll never be able to do it as well as Larry.”
    Robert reached him and clasped his shoulder. “You’re under a lot of pressure, anyone would be. You can do it.”
    “No—he—can’t.” A shrill cry came from the back of the room. It was a slight boy with dark hair that curled over his forehead. His shoulders were hunched over, his arms clutched across his stomach.
    “He can’t do it as well as Larry.”
    He convulsed forward and vomited on the floor, liquid spattering as it hit the wooden surface. Dancers jumped back. With a groan, the boy ran toward the door.
    Lindy recognized him as the boy that she had seen at the pavilion.
    The one they called Connie. She jumped automatically to her feet and then sat down again. She wasn’t the director here, but everyone else was frozen on the spot like the final tableau of a period piece.
    Then Robert turned slowly around and looked at her.
    “Go after him,” she mouthed. He turned and ran. Talking erupted around the room. Someone was sent for a mop. Madame Flick’s voice rose in a rumble.
    “Take a five minute break—outside. Get yourselves back into your concentration. This is a woorking break.”
    Lindy followed the others outside. She walked to the edge of the clearing and searched each path trying to catch a glimpse of Connie 49

    Shelley Freydont
    and Robert. Should she call for Dr. Addison? It was probably just emotion that had expelled Connie’s lunch onto the floor.
    She peered beyond the trees, but the two did not return to the studio. After a few minutes, she followed the students back inside.
    The teachers were grouped around the tape recorder, holding a conference. There was nothing she could do here. She gathered up her things and headed for the theater.

    * * *
“Where have you been?” Mieko intercepted Lindy just as she stepped backstage.
    “At the student rehearsal. Jeremy said he wanted to take rehearsal this afternoon.”
    “We’re the ones having to take it.” Paul Duke stuck his head out from the wings and rolled his eyes.
    “Paul, you’re late for your entrance.” The voice was Jeremy’s.
    Thunderous, directed from somewhere out in the house, but exploding onto the stage. Paul disappeared back into the wing.
    Lindy looked at Mieko for an explanation. Jeremy never yelled at his dancers; his speaking voice was authority enough.
    “He’s been like this all afternoon. Andrea has already cried twice.
    Rebo’s grumbling, and half the company are tripping over their open mouths just getting onto the stage.”
    “Yikes.”
    “He even snapped at Peter.” Even though Mieko’s face and voice didn’t betray her agitation (Rebo often call her the Ice Queen in reference to her combination of sang-froie and Asian inscrutability), Lindy had learned by now to read her body language: the way she pulled her elbows close to her side; just