One by one, Meg looked at the other pictures, documenting the hike up the mountain, along a portion of the Appalachian Trail. The last of the series were shots from the top of Mt. Greylock. The pair had gotten another visitor to take a picture of them together in front of the Veterans War Memorial Tower, which stood at the peak. Next, there were several shots of the views from the mountaintop. Meg knew, from being up there herself, that the photos didn’t do the spectacular vistas justice.
As she opened the rest of the pictures, Meg was glad, at least, that the final day of Amy’s life had been spent with so much happiness amid such beauty. But she didn’t understand why Amy had sent her the last blurry, blue image.
C H A P T E R
11
Not bad for a woman in her mid-forties, thought Victoria Sterling as she studied her reflection in the mirror over the tiger-maple dresser. Somehow, even her almost two-pack-a-day habit hadn’t altered her appearance much as far as Victoria could see. She looked nothing like that defeated, wrinkled woman with the sunken, dark-circled eyes that the smoking police used in their ad campaign.
After running a comb through her dark, curly hair and pulling on a blue silk robe, Victoria grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her purse and walked out of the bedroom. She tiptoed past the closed door of Belinda’s room, glad that her hostess wasn’t up yet. Victoria wanted some time to herself.
The timer Belinda had set the night before ensured there was a pot of fresh coffee waiting for Victoria downstairs. She filled a mug and looked around the newly remodeled kitchen. It must have cost a small fortune. The custom cabinets, the granite countertops, the top-of-the-line professional appliances, even the antique farm table that served as an island in the center of the spacious room, all contributed to a feeling of security and well-being.
Taking a sip of the hot brew, Victoria walked over to the large bay window. It hadn’t been here the last time she was a guest at Curtains Up, two years ago. She would have remembered. She and Daniel had had coffee down here every morning of their stay. They’d used the long trestle table as their desk, spreading their papers across the pine planks as they worked out the necessary changes to their play being produced that summer. While the actors were running through their rehearsals of Treasure Trove, she and Daniel were making adjustments to the script—right up to opening night.
Everyone said that was what had killed Daniel. The stress of that summer. He hadn’t taken care of himself, and when you’re a diabetic, you can’t afford not to.
“Come here, kitty. Come here, Marigold.” Victoria leaned down to coax the orange cat closer. But the cat walked right by on the way to her spot in the sun on the window seat.
“All right, have it your way, you little witch,” Victoria said and lit up a cigarette. She turned her attention to the scene outside the window. A figure was making its way across the meadow, walking away from the house. Even from behind, Victoria knew it was Gus. She recognized those broad shoulders. That caretaker sure was a good-looking guy, in a dangerous kind of way. And she had been a widow for two long years.
C H A P T E R
12
Caroline stared out the back window as the crew car sped north on the New York State Thruway. The acres of farmland that lined the highway and the mountains that sat off in the distance were so soothingly green. Just a little more than an hour out of New York City, and already it was another world.
Caroline decided to try making conversation with her companions. “Boomer. How did you get that name?”
The large man in the front passenger seat turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “Uh, they started calling me that a long time ago. Soundman. Boom mike. Get it?”
“What’s your real name?”
“Michael,” Boomer answered. “Hey, Lamar, let’s pull in at the next rest stop. I’m hungry.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” protested the driver. “We just left.”
“Yeah, but I have low blood sugar,” said Boomer.
“Then why don’t you just bring food with you?”
“That would take too much planning.”
Grudgingly, Lamar steered the car off the highway at the rest stop exit. Mutt and Jeff, thought Caroline, walking into the huge multirestaurant building behind the tall, thin cameraman, Lamar Nelson, and the short, round soundman, Michael “Boomer” O’Mara. She hadn’t worked with them before, and she had the distinct impression they were sizing her up.
“I’ll meet you back at the car,” she said as she headed for the ladies’ room. It was going to be a long couple of days, she thought. The duo were well known for their bickering, which was tolerated by reporters and producers because they had no choice. In these days of budget constraints, a video crew was a hot commodity. There was always more demand than supply. When you were lucky enough to get a crew assigned to shoot your story, you grinned and got through it with them.
Caroline washed her hands and tried to dry them, rubbing them under the hot-air blower attached to the wall. When she came out of the lavatory, she stopped to buy a cup of coffee. By the time she got back to the car, Lamar and Boomer were waiting for her.
As they pulled out onto the highway again, Boomer turned his thick frame sideways in the seat. “What are we going up here to shoot anyway?” he asked as he bit into his jumbo Cinnabon.
“The Warrenstown Summer Playhouse,” Caroline answered.
“Yeah, I know. What about it?” Boomer licked his lips.
“A piece on the summer theater festival, a story about this new play that everyone is talking about, and maybe, if we can get her to cooperate, a profile on Belinda Winthrop.”
“Mmm. Belinda Winthrop. That is one fine woman,” declared Lamar. “I fell in love with her back when I first saw her in that remake of The Letter. Man, I had dreams about her for months after that.”
“You and millions of other suckers, Lamar,” said Boomer.
“And you didn’t?”
The soundman didn’t answer, popping the last of the cinnamon roll into his mouth.
Lamar looked with disgust at his partner. “You got icing dripping down your chin.”
“Anybody got a spare napkin?” asked Boomer as he leaned forward to check if there was one in the paper take-out tray.
“Slob. You’re spilling your coffee all over the seat.”
“Don’t get your shorts in a knot, Lamar.”
Lamar gripped the steering wheel. “You know, Boomer, when you have low blood sugar, you aren’t supposed to stoke it with a sugary, zillion-calorie coffee cake.”
“Oh, so you’re a doctor now. I forgot.”
There was silence in the car as both men figured it would better to stand down now rather than push on. They had to travel together, work together, eat together, and basically live together for the next several days. If their nudging turned into a full-scale fight, which it had been known to do, the tension would make the assignment before them sheer misery.
Changing the subject, Lamar called out to Caroline in the backseat. “So you’re pretty new to television, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been with KTA for about six months,” she answered. “Before that, I worked for newspapers.”
“Like it?”
“Still getting used to it.”
Boomer crushed the paper take-out tray. “I’d read that as a no, wouldn’t you, Lamar?”
“Sounds to me like a rookie trying to cope with that maniac Nazareth,” said Lamar, smiling as he drove.
Boomer twisted his thick girth around toward the backseat. “Let me tell you something, little lady. You might never get used to that crazy bastard.”
“Little lady?” Caroline asked. “I didn’t think anyone used that expression anymore. Last time I heard it was in an old John Wayne western.”
“Hey, Boom.” Lamar grinned. “You’re busted, you chauvinist.”
C H A P T E R
13
Belinda forced herself to get out of bed. If she hurried, she’d have time to take a walk around the
property before she had to go to the theater. What had started as a way of getting some exercise had become as essential as brushing her teeth in the morning. No matter where she was, if she didn’t get that walk in, four or five times a week, Belinda found she just didn’t feel good. In the final stages of rehearsal for a play, the exercise was even more important. While walking, she could go over the scenes in her head, run her lines, think about her movements.
Even though the daily maid service she’d hired wouldn’t be in till noon, Belinda left her bed unmade. She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and ran a comb through her ash-blond hair. Dressing in khaki shorts and a purple Warrenstown Summer Playhouse T-shirt, she laced up her walking shoes and went downstairs. The door to her study was open, but Belinda ignored the urge to check her e-mail.
“Good morning,” she said when she walked into the kitchen.
Victoria turned her gaze from the window to her hostess. “Hello, sleepyhead,” she said. “Have a good rest?”
“Slept like a log. I was exhausted.”
“Coffee?” asked Victoria, going to the counter to get the coffeepot.
“Okay. Just a half.”
“Black, right?”
Belinda nodded. She took the cup from her houseguest. “Thanks,” she said. “What have you been doing so far this morning?”
“Not much. Just fantasizing a little about that caretaker of yours.”
“Ah, yes. Gus.” Belinda walked over to the picture window and looked out. “He’s a little too handsome for his own good, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You can’t be too rich or too thin—or too good looking.” Victoria pulled the tie tighter on her silk robe. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”
“I doubt you two would have much to talk about, Victoria. Gus is no rocket scientist—or award-winning playwright, either.”
“Funny, but my fantasy had nothing to do with conversation.”
Belinda chuckled and then swallowed the last bit of coffee. “I’m going out for a little exercise. When I get back, I’ll take a quick shower and we can head to the theater.”
“Well, that hunky caretaker got into his golf cart and headed out across the meadow.” Victoria nodded toward the picture window. “If you see him on your walk, tell him I was asking for him.”
Standing in the driveway, Belinda did a few stretching exercises. She inhaled the fresh morning air, crisp and without a hint of humidity. It was going to be another glorious day in the Berkshires.
She began down the driveway but then changed her mind, turning and starting across the meadow. If she could catch up with Gus, she could talk to him about the arrangements for the party she planned to have for the cast and crew after the opening tomorrow night. Gus really had to replace those pieces of flaking slate on the patio. It looked messy, and a guest could trip and fall.
She’d noticed a few things this season that Gus hadn’t attended to, and she didn’t like it. She hoped she wasn’t going to start having problems with her caretaker because, up till now, the situation had worked out well for both of them. Gus had a steady job, was paid well, and had a cozy place to live. Belinda had great peace of mind in knowing that Curtains Up was being taken care of and wasn’t deserted when she couldn’t be here.
She tramped through the grass and wildflowers, heading in the direction Victoria had indicated Gus had taken. Money might not be everything, she thought as she looked out over the meadow, but she loved what her success had purchased. This serene, beautiful place was perhaps her favorite piece of real estate. As long as her career held out, she knew she would be able to maintain all the residences she kept. And even when her professional life began to flag, as it inevitably would as she aged, she could keep a few of her favorite homes, sell the others, and live more than comfortably for the rest of her life.
At the end of the meadow, Belinda stopped and called out into the woods.
There was no answer.
“Guuusss!” She tried again.
Still, no response.
She scanned the edge of the meadow, looking for a path of some kind that the golf cart might have taken into the woods, finally finding a narrow lane where the vegetation had been tamped down. Belinda hesitated for a moment. Should she just go back? She could leave a note for Gus or talk to him later.
No, she wanted to speak with him face-to-face and make sure he understood that she expected him to take care of things. She wanted him to know that the fact that she was seldom here didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention to what was happening.If she waited to talk to him until she got home from the theater tonight, it would be too late. Gus would probably be in bed, and she’d be too tired.
Belinda took another deep breath of the cool mountain air and stepped into the woods.
C H A P T E R
14
Keith Fallows stood on the empty stage, looked out at the vacant seats, and took a deep breath. Tomorrow night the house would be packed. Every single seat had been sold or reserved. There would be four hundred sets of eyes watching, four hundred brains analyzing and judging, four hundred hearts and souls being moved—or not.
For the director, preopening pressure was always tough, but with all he had riding on this play, the stress was even more grueling than usual. He prayed Devil in the Details would be the vehicle that would propel him, finally, into producing and directing movies.
Because of their long association at Warrenstown, Victoria Sterling had given him the opportunity to option her play. He had pounced on the chance, using most of his savings to do it. All winter and spring, Keith had refused directing projects, focusing his entire energy on converting the stage play for the screen.
If this, the first stage production of Devil in the Details, was a hit, then Keith would be that much closer to getting the green light for a film version. But even if every reviewer raved about the show, it was far from a foregone conclusion that he could raise enough money to produce the film. For that, he needed Belinda Winthrop.
At the end of last summer, when Victoria had let them both read the play for the first time, Belinda had been mad for the role of Valerie, the wife of Davis, a man with no conscience. Keith had sat right beside Belinda and listened while she called her agent and instructed him to make sure she would be available in July for rehearsals and the first two weeks of August for the play itself. When Keith had confided his dream, to take Devil in the Details to Hollywood, Belinda had told him to count her in. Now she was reneging, claiming the role of Valerie was too draining and there were other projects she wanted to pursue.
Keith clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it into the palm of his left. Belinda shouldn’t have given him permission to use her name as the presumptive leading lady of the movie unless she meant it. She shouldn’t have let him proceed, thinking that he could count on her. Keith had sunk his time, money, and reputation in this project, using her name as collateral to broker the financial backing for the film. Without Belinda Winthrop, the studio would pull the plug.
But Keith still held out hope that he could make her change her mind.
C H A P T E R
15
Who said good things never made the news? This morning’s newspaper was full of happy information.
The autopsy reports on Amy and Tommy were in and showed marijuana in both their systems. The police were satisfied that the two Warrenstown Summer Playhouse apprentices had been under the influence of drugs when they catapulted off the road.
With the police satisfied, that would be the end of any investigation. The only thing that could open it again would be that damned picture Amy had e-mailed to her friend.
The killer went online, set up a bogus e-mail account that couldn’t be traced, and sent a carefully worded message.
DEAR FRIENDS OF AMY,
WE ARE GETTING PHONE CALLS FROM PEOPLE WANTING TO KNOW HOW THEY CAN HELP. WE APPRECIATE THE OUTPOURING OF LOVE AND SUPPORT WE ARE RECEIVING AT THIS HEARTBREAKING TIME.
IT’S IMPORTANT FOR US TO KNOW WHAT AMY WAS DOING RIGHT BEFORE SHE WAS TAKEN FROM US. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION TO SHARE, PLEASE LET US KNOW BY REPLY E-MAIL. AMY’S FATHER AND I ARE JUST TOO UPSET TO TAKE PHONE CALLS AT THIS TIME. WE KNOW YOU’LL UNDERSTAND.
SINCERELY,
AMY’S MOM
The killer sent the message to only one friend. Brightlights.
C H A P T E R
16
With the leaves of the tall oaks beginning to block out the morning sun, Belinda followed the path into the woods. The deeper she went, the darker it got. She started to feel uneasy. Maybe Gus wasn’t even in here. And God knew what kinds of animals or snakes were slithering around. Belinda was about to turn back when she saw the empty golf cart.
She began to call out Gus’s name but thought better of it. Something didn’t feel right. Belinda proceeded forward, trying not to make any noise. As she got closer to the cart, she noticed an opening in the ground. She stooped down to look inside. A ladder was propped against the wall of a hole about the width of a man’s outstretched arms.
There was no way she was going down that thing alone.
As he reached the top of the ladder and his head popped over the edge of the opening to the underground cave, Gus caught sight of Belinda’s back hurrying out of the woods.
“I think I might have a problem with Gus,” Belinda said as she steered the Mercedes out of the driveway.
“What do you mean?” Victoria asked.
Belinda told her friend about the golf cart and the ladder and the hole in the ground.
“Well, he’s doing something out there, Belinda, but you can’t be sure at this point that it’s anything wrong. Want me to go check it out?”
Belinda considered the offer. “Maybe I should call the police,” she said.
“And what if the police come and find there’s a completely reasonable explanation? Then you’ve shown your caretaker that you don’t trust him,” said Victoria. “And you don’t want that, do you?”
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