The Chocolate Egg Murders (#7 - Sanford Third Age Club Mystery) by David W Robinson

Author:David W Robinson [Robinson, David W]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Crooked Cat Publishing
Published: 2013-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

With the last chords of the final number still reverberating around the hall, a huge round of applause erupted for Nathan Webb, and Joe checked his watch. As the applause died off, people stood and began to file from the rows of seating to the exit aisles.

The show had been excellent. Even Joe had admitted during the interval that it was the perfect aid to digestion after the pepper crusted filet mignon they had enjoyed for dinner at the Leeward. Starting with America, concluding with Crackling Rosie and a reprise of America, Nathan Webb had spent almost two hours on stage running through a repertoire which included all Neil Diamond’s greatest hits, with other numbers from artists like Frank Sinatra, Matt Munro and Engelbert Humperdinck.

Aged only about thirty, tall and dark haired, Nathan dressed like Neil Diamond, right down to the dark blue, spangled shirt.

“But he doesn’t look much like him,” Joe had noted during a twenty-minute interval which had given them time to visit the toilets and grab a quick drink.

“He sounds like him, though,” Sheila had commented. “I recall Peter and I went to see the real Neil Diamond in Manchester about ten years ago.” She gave a heavenly sigh. “A wonderful evening.”

The second half of the show had proved just as lively, as Nathan, accompanied by a guitarist, drummer, and backing tapes, picked up the pace. Towards the end of the show, some people were dancing in the aisles in front of the stage, until the final number when he took the accolades.

“Quarter past ten,” Joe said as he shuffled along the line of seats in row G. “We still have time for a couple of beers when we get back to the Leeward.”

“Make mine a Campari,” Brenda said.

Waiting for Les Tanner and Sylvia Goodson to move into the crowded aisle ahead of her, Sheila looked back over her shoulder. “And I think a nice drop of brandy would serve as a nightcap.”

“Sounds like it’s my round again,” Joe commented.

“Really, Joe, I thought when you said we had time, I thought you were inviting us.”

Joe glanced at his watch again, then at the slow moving wedge of people leaving the hall. “At this rate, we may have to think again. It’ll be midnight before we get out of here. Hey, Les, get a bloody move on, will you?”

“We’re doing our best, Murray.”

“Some of us are thirsty. Pretend it’s Sword Beach and you’re trying to batter your way through the German defences.”

Tanner cast a bilious eye on Joe. “One of these days, Murray, I’ll demonstrate a bayonet charge on you.”

The line shuffled forward, and at length, after some delay, they emerged into the Winter Gardens lobby area.

Joe checked his watch again. “A snifter here, or at the Leeward?”

“It’s not half past yet, Joe, and the bar at the Leeward is open until eleven.”

“The Leeward it is, then.”

Joe stepped out into the warm night, where the departing crowds thinned, going their separate ways. He turned right and walked briskly across the front of the Winter Gardens, towards the busy, open seating area of The View bar.

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