Midsummer Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

role of country weekend guests, the others so immaculately well-bred that they glided around the subject of the dead boy with coordinated grace.
    Only Robert Stokes brooded over his untouched plate of food, and looked relieved when it was whisked away by the servant, only to frown again as it was replaced by the next course.
    Lindy pushed aside thoughts of the accident as she became conscious of the number of calories she was packing away. She began estimating how much more she could eat without sending her relentless diet into overdrive.
    Biddy was happily tucking into a slice of prime rib. There were not too many things that could disrupt Biddy’s appetite or consummate professionalism. Beneath an exterior of rampant optimism and bubbling enthusiasm was a determination to make things work, no matter what the obstacles. She had succeeded in the dance business by keeping these qualities in balance, drawing sometimes on her enthusiasm to inspire those around her, and sometimes on her internal strength to bully the rest of them to rise to their best.
    Lindy continued to eat, just enough to be polite, though every dish was cooked to perfection. She listened to stories of Ellis and Stuart’s travels to Europe and the Far East, to Marguerite’s reminiscences of how her mother had begun the retreat that had become her passion. How Marguerite had taken over and continued in her mother ’s footsteps.
    Lindy found herself contemplating the woman, letting her words fade to a buzz as the magnetism of her person took over. Her hands played delicately in the air as she spoke. Though she wore no rings, Lindy thought that she must have been married at one time, but couldn’t remember to whom or for how long. For years, her name had graced the society and arts pages of the Times , only as Marguerite Easton. It would have been unusual for a woman to keep her maiden name in the years that Marguerite had been of a marriageable age.
    Good Lord, thought Lindy, I’m even beginning to think like a character in a country weekend novel. Marriageable age, indeed. Maybe 19

    Shelley Freydont
    Marguerite had indulged in free love and wild bohemian carousing back in the forties.
    A rush of embarrassment turned her uncomfortably warm.
    Would she never learn to control this tendency to wild imagination?
    It must be because she was so focused on details in her job as rehearsal director. Like a child who went wild when let out of an arduous day in school, her mind roamed the byways of speculation whenever she had a moment of relaxation. But imagination was good for the stage, wasn’t it? She’d just be a little more disciplined about her choice of subject matter from now on.
    She smiled at Marguerite as she consciously erased any lurid thoughts from her mind. Marguerite caught her eye and smiled back; a smile that said any friend of Jeremy’s is part of the family. It made Lindy even more chagrined at her wayward thoughts. She looked away and stabbed at a strawberry torte that had been placed before her while she was off on her mental ramblings.
    “I’m absolutely stuffed,” said Ellis, pushing his dessert plate away.
    “Let’s have coffee in the library, my dear. I feel a hundred miles away from you and Jeremy. We haven’t seen each other in years, and I’ve had to yell just to get his attention.”
    “An excellent idea.” Marguerite rose in a fluid movement. Jeremy and Robert were immediately at her side like well-rehearsed courtiers.
    The others bustled about, placing napkins on the table, scooting back chairs, finishing up tidbits of conversation, and followed them out of the dining room.

    * * *
The library was wainscoted in dark chestnut paneling. A paisley-and-striped wallpaper in tones of gold, burgundy, and green rose above it to the ceiling. Bookshelves covered two walls and a kneehole desk stood in front of a pair of French doors, partially covered by drapery that pooled onto the floor. A collection of leather couches and chairs