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

conversed with Alexander Binh, stood and began milling around. Rina Prescott hopped nimbly down from the stage and came toward me and Binh. I stood.
    She held out her hand to me. Her grip was firm, masculine. “I’m sorry to interrupt you…” I began.
    “Me too,” she said. “People think this is fun and games. They don’t seem to understand. This is my job . They pay me to do this. I don’t suppose you allow people to walk into a courtroom when you’re delivering your summation to the jury or something so they can discuss their personal problems with you, do you? Or do you say, ‘Excuse me, please, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, but I’ve got to go and have a little chat with this person I’ve never met before, and I’ve got to do it right now, because this person is very busy and has made a special trip to our courtroom just to talk with me, so take a break and I’ll be right back?’ Do you?”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. I didn’t…”
    “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Her voice was only a shade friendlier, but I thought I detected a smile crinkling in the corners of her eyes. “It was Elliott, right? Sure. Beef-witted sod!”
    I grinned. She frowned. “What’s funny?”
    “Beef… what?” I said.
    She smiled, then, and it transformed her face. Her eyes, especially, glittered and danced. They were the green of spring leaves when they first burst open, bracketed by tiny wrinkles at the corners, as if they had stared at the ocean and sky for many hours from the tiller of a sailboat. Her tall, slim body had fooled me, and I revised my estimate. Early thirties, at least.
    “Beef-witted,” she said. “That’s the Bard, of course. Best oaths you can find are in Shakespeare. Look, Mr. Coyne. Mr. Binh told me what you’re after, here. I really can’t help you, anyway. George was a nice man. I don’t know anything about his death. Okay?”
    “If I could just ask you a couple of questions,” I said.
    She sighed heavily. “Look. I said I can’t help you. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m busy.” She turned away from me.
    “If we offend,” I said, “it is with our good will.”
    Rina Prescott whirled to face me. “You know the play?”
    I grinned at her. “I played Quince once. Many, many years ago.”
    She stared at me for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Good for you,” she said. “Hope it went over. Right now I’m worried about his particular production. We’ll leave the house lights on for you so you can find your way out.”
    She hopped up onto the stage and stood, her back to Binh and me, and clapped her hands. “Okay, people. Back into positions. Let’s go back to Philostrate. Come on, now. Move it.”
    Binh touched my elbow and jerked his head toward the exit. I nodded and followed him out. As we opened the door at the rear of the theater, I heard Rina Prescott call out, “Okay, kill those house lights. Come on, up there, lighting crew, bring up the spot. It’s night, remember.”
    Binh and I walked out of the building into the bright sunlight. We stood for a moment before the building. I shook a Winston from my pack and lit it.
    “Wow!” I said.
    Binh shifted his eyebrows and flashed a quick smile. “She’s right, of course. Anyway, you really didn’t think you’d learn anything here today, did you? I mean, you are going through some requisite motions, I assume.”
    I looked at him for a moment. He returned my stare with neither hostility nor humor. Neutrality, I read there. Patience. Boredom, maybe. His look said, “I don’t give a shit,” but I didn’t read “Up yours” in it.
    Finally I said, “I understand you probably have better things to do with your time than escort me around your campus, Mr. Binh, and I apologize for putting you in this position. However, a man has died. We think it’s important to understand that death.”
    Binh’s expression didn’t change. “You’re doing your job. I’m doing mine. I’m instructed to introduce you to some of our