Death in a Summer Colony by Aaron Stander Read Free Book Online

Ray. The wave of the future.”
     

9
     
     
     
    O ver two months passed before Ray returned to Mission Point Summer Colony. In the intervening time there had been no further calls from Richard Grubbs about break-ins, missing cases of liquor, or anything else. And with the coming of warm weather and the influx of tourists and summer residents—doubling the area’s population—the day-to-day demands on the Cedar County Sheriff Department had doubled as well. Ray had only thought about the Colony as he occasionally rolled past the front entrance—two tall, widely spaced telephone poles with a sign reading Mission Point suspended by ropes high above an open gate—when he was in the area on some other business.
    In mid-July an invitation, the address hand-written by a skilled calligrapher and sealed with wax, beckoned Ray back to the colony for a gala cocktail party and buffet, performance of the annual summer play, and an afterglow the first week of August. Richard Grubbs, who signed the invitation, added that he hoped Detective Sergeant Lawrence would come also. The R.S.V.P. card had Ray and Sue’s names already penned in. There were two blanks for the names of their guests. When Ray first floated the invitation past Sue there was a lack of enthusiasm on her part, but a few days later she asked if he had sent back the response card. Ray shifted through the pile of mail in the wire bin on his desk and handed her the envelope.
    “What’s this about a play?” she asked, toying with the invitation.
    “Every summer they do a play. It’s one of their annual activities. They have sporting events, concerts, lectures, and all sorts of classes and special celebrations.”
    “And the play, Murder at the Vicarage? What’s that about? Am I going to be bored to tears?”
    “It’s based on Agatha Christie’s book by the same name. I read it years ago when I was working my way through Christie. It’s an engaging story. I suspect it’s great fun to act and to watch.”
    “I’ve never read Christie,” said Sue. “Is she as good as Sara Paretsky or Dennis Lehane?”
    “Not as edgy. It was a different time. She challenges you to figure out who did it before the end. And there’s usually this wonderful concluding scene where all the suspects are gathered in the drawing room, and Miss Marple or Hercule Piorot goes through them one at a time, finally naming the killer. The suspense goes to the last page, or in this case, the final curtain.”
    “Real life isn’t quite like that, is it. But I guess the play could be fun.” She looked at the invitation again. “Are you going?”
    “Is this a double dare?” asked Ray.
    “Yes, I’ll go if you go.”
    “You’re on.”
    “I’ll get this in the mail,” she said. “Harry will be here that weekend. Actually he will be around for the rest of the week. I’ll be able to show him a little local color.”
     
     
    A few weeks later, standing at the far end of Verity Wudbine-Merone’s deck, Ray looked at the crowd.
    “We’re bringing down the average age by twenty or thirty years,” observed Hanna Jeffers, the woman he had been seeing for a number of months, someone who shared his passion for kayaking and big, empty spaces. She pointed toward the beach and Lake Michigan stretching out at the base of the bluff. “I think I’d rather be out there.”
    Ray smiled and nodded in agreement.
    “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen so many women in dresses and men in sport coats and ties. I didn’t know seersucker and madras were still in. Hawaiian shirts, too. Looks to me like most of these folks have been wearing the same party clothes for quite a number of decades.”
    “Maybe generations,” retorted Ray.
    Richard Grubbs came to Ray’s side carrying two glasses of sparkling wine. “There wasn’t any chardonnay, but I thought this Mawby….”
    “Perfect,” said Ray.
    “We don’t get much call for wine,” explained Grubbs. “This is a martini and Manhattan