Free Midsummer Murder by Shelley Freydont Page B

the hint of narrowing of her almond-shaped eyes; the studied calm as if she had withdrawn her energy inward. “I’m surprised Peter didn’t drop him on the spot.”
    “I’m on my way out front,” said Lindy. Something was up. Jeremy never lost his temper. In his own way he was as controlled as Mieko, but whereas Mieko seemed comfortable with this undemonstrativeness, Jeremy was not. Lindy often thought that it was this quality that made him such a good choreographer, that sublimation and redirection of energy.
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    Midsummer Murder
    Only it wasn’t sublimated now, and it was directed at Paul who continued to dance while glaring out into the house.
    Jeremy was standing in the center aisle, hands on his hips. Peter sat behind a plywood board that had been placed across the seats in front of him and which held a laptop computer and a book of lighting cues.
    His eyes were riveted to the stage as he talked into a headset to the lighting man in the booth at the back of the house. Next to him sat Biddy, scrunched down in her seat, feet resting on the edge of the cushion, hands clasping her knees. If she got any smaller, you wouldn’t be able to see her over the tops of the seats. Maybe that was what she intended.
    Lindy walked up the side aisle, then scooted between two rows of seats until she was behind Jeremy and at the end of the row where Peter and Biddy were sitting. Biddy dropped her feet to the floor and straightened up. She jerked her chin for Lindy to join them. Jeremy walked down the aisle to the edge of the stage.
    There was no orchestra pit. The house came right up to the apron.
    Jeremy placed both hands flat on the stage, but instead of jumping up onto the stage, he stood there looking at his dancers who continued to plow through their steps, faces carved in frowns of concentration.
    They were not happy campers, thought Lindy.
    He turned suddenly and strode back up the aisle toward the three of them. They simultaneously braced themselves, one-two-three, like soccer players ready to block a kick.
    “I’m sorry,” said Jeremy pushing his fingers through his hair. Not the first time he had done that today, thought Lindy. “Can we take it back to the adagio, Peter?” Peter spoke into the headset; the tape stopped. The dancers looked out into the dark house.
    “Let’s go from Paul’s entrance again,” said Jeremy, his voice weary.
    “Try to settle down.”
    The dancers took their places for the earlier cue.
    Jeremy ran his fingers through his hair again.
    “Why don’t you let Lindy take over for a while?” asked Biddy.
    “I don’t—just stay out of this.” He turned and took two steps down the aisle, a movement that effectively cut him off from the others.
    It was too dark in the house to see Biddy’s features. But Lindy knew Biddy’s reactions as well as she knew her own. Her face would be suffused with red, and her lips would be pursed to keep them 51

    Shelley Freydont
    from quivering. They had been friends for twenty years, worked, played, laughed and cried together. Lindy felt an empathetic burn in her gut. Peter merely glanced Biddy’s way and then returned his attention to the stage.
    After what seemed an interminable length of time, Jeremy called a halt to the rehearsal. He walked once again to the edge of the stage and stopped. “It’s me, not you.” It was not much of an apology, but it was enough.
    “It’s okay, boss. We weren’t at our best either,” said Rebo.
    “Just gotta get our focus back,” said another dancer.
    “Sorry, Jeremy,” said another.
    “Go have some fun,” said Jeremy. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow.” The group started to clear the stage. “Andy?”
    Andrea Martin walked slowly downstage. This time Jeremy did pull himself onto the stage and sat with his legs dangling over the edge. Andrea sat down next to him, her legs crossed in front of her.
    There was a brief conversation. Andrea gave him a tentative smile and stood up.
    Jeremy watched her walk