Read Online Death at Charity's Point by William G. Tapply - Free Book Online Page A

truth, I think, is that we’re both assets to this place. Warren’ll always be here. It’s his home, now. I’ve got better things to do.”
    I murmured “Umm,” to encourage him to keep talking. But he evidently felt he had told me enough.
    We walked the rest of the way in silence. I followed him back to the grassy quadrangle where most of the school’s buildings seemed to be grouped. We took the path past the administration building where my BMW was parked, past a couple of plain-fronted brick buildings, which I thought either contained classrooms or served as dormitories, to a more modern structure. This one, also, was constructed of brick, but there was varnished wood and glass, too, and its facade offered more facets and angles to the eye.
    “Student Union,” said Binh. “Auditorium’s around the other side. Rina’ll be there, I think.”
    We climbed half a dozen wide steps, pushed through a set of big double doors, and found ourselves in a dimly lit lobby. Binh motioned me to be quiet, and pushed open another door. I followed him into a theater. The aisle sloped down toward a brightly lit stage where several sweatshirted and blue-jeaned figures moved around. Binh made his way down the aisle and took a seat in the front row. I groped my way behind him and slid into a seat next to him.
    Up on the stage a tall young woman, indistinguishable from the others except by the clear aura of command which she emanated, was gesticulating with one hand while she held in her other a sheaf of papers. “You’re a clown pretending to be a wall, Scott. The audience has to get the humor in this. Broaden it. Ham it up. It’s supposed to be funny. Slapstick. Loosen up. Have fun with it, for heaven’s sake.”
    “That’s Rina Prescott,” whispered Alexander Binh. I nodded.
    “Okay, then,” the woman continued. “Let’s do it again. C’mon, kids. Let’s pretend we’re enjoying ourselves up here. Okay? Quince? Thisby? You guys with us? Okay. In your places. Let’s take it from, ‘Gentles, perchance you wonder…’ Prologue, go ahead, now. Remember. It’s supposed to be silly .”
    Binh leaned toward me, his shoulder touching mine. I inclined my ear to him. “ Midsummer Night’s Dream. She thinks these kids can put Shakespeare over.”
    “Just a minute! Okay. Everybody stop.” Rina Prescott interrupted the speech of the boy on the stage. She came to the edge, by the footlights, leaned over, and peered toward us. “Who’s in my theater? Who’s there, anyway? Hey, Peter. Give me some house lights, will you?”
    Suddenly Binh and I were exposed as the auditorium filled with light. The woman squinted for a moment, then abruptly stood up. “Mr. Binh, what can I do for you?” She clearly indicated by her tone that she did not particularly desire to do anything for Alexander Binh.
    “Ah, Miss Prescott. I have a gentleman here who’d like to talk with you for a moment?” Binh made it a question.
    The woman dropped her hands against her thighs and shook her head. “Damn it,” she said, her voice low and intended only for us, “I’m working. I know you can see that. I’ve got a show to put on in nine days, Mr. Binh. Do you mind?”
    Binh stood and moved to the edge of the stage. Rina Prescott stood, hands on hips now, and glared down at him. She was, I estimated, in her mid-twenties. Short, black hair, and a good face under the scowl it wore at the moment. She looked fine in her jeans. After a moment she moved toward Binh and squatted at the edge of the stage. He spoke to her in a low voice. As she listened, she glanced in my direction, seemed to study me for a minute, then returned her attention to what Binh was saying. I saw her shake her head. Binh touched her shoulder and whispered something else to her, and then she shrugged. Binh patted her arm and came back to sit beside me.
    “Take ten, kids,” said the woman. “Don’t go away.” The actors, who had been sitting on the stage while their director