Read Online The Garden Tour Affair: A Gardening Mystery by Ann Ripley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann Ripley
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she turned her attention back to the dance floor. It was not the usual scene, with soporific partners lazing in each other’s arms. Instead, it was rife with tension. Each of the dancers seemed to be painfully aware of the others, creating nervous currents and cross-currents, furtive glances, and careful jockeying for position on the floor. As she watched, Louise remembered reading about fish behavior: The more robust females swim in the middle of the school, waiting to be fertilized by male fish. And there were Nora and Janie and the luscious Sandy Post, swirling confidently in the middle of the room, with men spread out around them.
Everyone had switched partners—well, almost everyone. Chris was now dancing with his mother, who was guiding him through the old-fashioned steps that suited the music of the evening. Yet he kept one eye on Freeling and Janie, while Freeling had at least half his attention on the beautiful Nora as he wheeled Janie about the floor.
Mark and Sandy still had their arms clasped around each other, like a little romantic island unto themselves, but the illusion was spoiled when Mark shot suspicious looks at the agile-footed professor.
What on earth is going on between those two?
Louise wondered.
Teddy had apparently given up hope of ever getting closer to Janie, knocked off work, and gone home. Somehow, Louise missed him; he seemed like a grounded, sensible person.
As another tune ended, Freeling pulled the delighted Bebe Hollowell to her feet for a dance to Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls.” The woman danced like a pro, and together, the unlikely pair would have won any dance contest. Bill, with a little urging from Louise, took Nora and swung her around the floor. The Storms joined them and, like Bebe, made the rest of them look like amateurs. Fiona hadan amused smile on her face, as if to say, “We’re fulfilling your expectations that black people can really shake it.”
The next song started, and Jeffrey Freeling was suddenly standing over her. “Shall we dance, Mrs. Eldridge?”
“I would like that.”
Once on the dance floor, she realized it was his height and long arms that made his partners seem so completely enveloped, so safe. It seemed quite natural to lay her head against his shoulder as they swayed to a syrupy song called “Those Little White Lies.” She pressed her nose into his jacket comfortably, then jerked back as an odious scent filled her nostrils: Jeffrey smelled of rotten eggs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that her husband had been captured by Bebe Hollowell again, and now Louise could see the woman had a tendency to lead. What was the sense of being a divine dancer if one emasculated one’s partner? She found herself loosening her muscles and relaxing more completely into Jeffrey Freeling’s arms.
Louise looked into the professor’s eyes. “You’re quite an operator,” she said.
He smiled down at her, as if his rudeness at dinner had only been in fun. “You mean to say, I’m quite a dancer.”
“I’m not sure what I mean, as a matter of fact. By the way, it’s unfortunate that you don’t seem to … relate to the Posts. Do you know them well?”
Freeling turned frosty again, and said in a clipped tone, “Mark was a student of mine, and his wife—she was on campus at the same time. Let’s just say that some unpleasant things come up sometimes in academia, and that was the case with—them. I shall say no more.”
Her mind raced to fill in the gaps. Had Mark been accused of some wrongdoing? Was he guilty? Or could it be that the professor had gotten himself in hot water, dating a student? That probably happened all the time in his little world of academia. After all, Sandy was an attractive little package, thought Louise, one of those “perfect” prettygirls that others envied in high school. She was world-class in sports, an able mountaineer and a fine shot with a rifle, and probably just as adept in bed. In that instant,
Everyone had switched partners—well, almost everyone. Chris was now dancing with his mother, who was guiding him through the old-fashioned steps that suited the music of the evening. Yet he kept one eye on Freeling and Janie, while Freeling had at least half his attention on the beautiful Nora as he wheeled Janie about the floor.
Mark and Sandy still had their arms clasped around each other, like a little romantic island unto themselves, but the illusion was spoiled when Mark shot suspicious looks at the agile-footed professor.
What on earth is going on between those two?
Louise wondered.
Teddy had apparently given up hope of ever getting closer to Janie, knocked off work, and gone home. Somehow, Louise missed him; he seemed like a grounded, sensible person.
As another tune ended, Freeling pulled the delighted Bebe Hollowell to her feet for a dance to Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls.” The woman danced like a pro, and together, the unlikely pair would have won any dance contest. Bill, with a little urging from Louise, took Nora and swung her around the floor. The Storms joined them and, like Bebe, made the rest of them look like amateurs. Fiona hadan amused smile on her face, as if to say, “We’re fulfilling your expectations that black people can really shake it.”
The next song started, and Jeffrey Freeling was suddenly standing over her. “Shall we dance, Mrs. Eldridge?”
“I would like that.”
Once on the dance floor, she realized it was his height and long arms that made his partners seem so completely enveloped, so safe. It seemed quite natural to lay her head against his shoulder as they swayed to a syrupy song called “Those Little White Lies.” She pressed her nose into his jacket comfortably, then jerked back as an odious scent filled her nostrils: Jeffrey smelled of rotten eggs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that her husband had been captured by Bebe Hollowell again, and now Louise could see the woman had a tendency to lead. What was the sense of being a divine dancer if one emasculated one’s partner? She found herself loosening her muscles and relaxing more completely into Jeffrey Freeling’s arms.
Louise looked into the professor’s eyes. “You’re quite an operator,” she said.
He smiled down at her, as if his rudeness at dinner had only been in fun. “You mean to say, I’m quite a dancer.”
“I’m not sure what I mean, as a matter of fact. By the way, it’s unfortunate that you don’t seem to … relate to the Posts. Do you know them well?”
Freeling turned frosty again, and said in a clipped tone, “Mark was a student of mine, and his wife—she was on campus at the same time. Let’s just say that some unpleasant things come up sometimes in academia, and that was the case with—them. I shall say no more.”
Her mind raced to fill in the gaps. Had Mark been accused of some wrongdoing? Was he guilty? Or could it be that the professor had gotten himself in hot water, dating a student? That probably happened all the time in his little world of academia. After all, Sandy was an attractive little package, thought Louise, one of those “perfect” prettygirls that others envied in high school. She was world-class in sports, an able mountaineer and a fine shot with a rifle, and probably just as adept in bed. In that instant,
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