“How long has she been missing?” Annabelle asked.
“Apparently she had some sort of party at her house last night, and no one has seen her this morning.”
Annabelle frowned. “That doesn’t seem like enough to assume she’s missing or something has happened to her.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” said Linus. “But why don’t you make some calls and see what you can find out?”
C H A P T E R
58
“I don’t trust that guy,” said Caroline as she and Nick drove out the driveway.
“Who?” Nick asked. “Remington or the caretaker?”
“Remington is eccentric, but it’s the caretaker I don’t trust.”
“Because?”
“There’s just something about him,” Caroline said. “I guess it could have something to do with the fact that I caught him smoking pot in the bathroom last night.”
“So you’re thinking he’s the reason Belinda’s missing?”
“I didn’t say that, Nick. I just don’t have a good feeling about Gus.”
“I don’t know, Sunshine. Smoking a little dope doesn’t make the guy a criminal.”
“Well, honey, actually it does. It’s against the law, remember?”
“All right, yes. It’s against the law. But how many people do you know who have smoked marijuana at some point?”
“A lot.”
“So what I’m saying is, it’s not exactly the worst thing in the world, Caroline. It doesn’t mean Gus did something to Belinda.Besides, we don’t even know for sure if anything has happened to Belinda.”
Nick turned out onto the main road and steered the car in the direction of the campus. “Let’s drop the bracelet off to Meg,” he said. “She’ll be so relieved to get it back.”
“No, Nick. Why don’t you go see Meg on your own? I should touch base with the crew.”
Caroline wondered if Nick would be so cavalier about the subject if he knew that his precious Meg kept her own stash of marijuana in her closet.
C H A P T E R
59
Meg let herself back into her dorm room and threw her yoga mat in the corner. She stripped out of her exercise clothes, put on her robe, and walked down the hall to the shared bathroom to take a shower. Standing beneath the water, she prayed that her father would find her bracelet.
When she came back to her room, she dressed in a clean T-shirt and pair of shorts before sitting down at the desk. She opened up the laptop. She hadn’t checked her e-mail since the day before yesterday.
Systematically, Meg went through the entries, answering and deleting as appropriate. She continued down the list, assuming when she saw “Friends of Amy” listed as the subject of one of the e-mails, that it would contain the information about the memorial service being held Saturday afternoon. She double-clicked the mouse to open up the page.
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
Meg checked when the e-mail had been sent. Wednesday. Three days after Amy and Tommy crashed and died.
Meg grew angry as she reread the e-mail. What kind of twisted joke was this?
Just like hers, Amy’s mother was dead.
C H A P T E R
60
Victoria lit a cigarette, poured herself another cup of coffee, sat at the kitchen table, and tried to decide what to do next. If she called the police, they might think it was too early to report a missing person, but she should, at least, call Keith and let him know what was going on.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” The director’s voice rose at Victoria’s news.
“Just what I said, Keith. She isn’t here.”
“Maybe she went out for a walk or something.”
“Her bed hasn’t been slept in.”
There was a momentary silence before Keith responded. “Damn it, Victoria. If Belinda is pulling some kind of stunt…”
“Belinda doesn’t pull stunts, Keith. She doesn’t have to. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure that something must be wrong. I’m going to call the police, and you might want to think about getting Langley Tate ready to step in for Belinda tonight. Just in case.”
C H A P T E R
61
Remington stared at the portrait on his easel. Belinda’s facial expression was so far off, he was tempted to throw out the canvas and start fresh. Instead, he picked up his brush and dabbed it on the pale pink paint on his palette. It was a shade he was expert in mixing. It was the shade of Belinda’s creamy skin.
He applied a few strokes and then gave up. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind was on Belinda. He tried to imagine a world without her in it, but he couldn’t. She had been foremost in his thoughts for all of his adult life. No, he couldn’t allow himself even to think about that unbearably bleak prospect.
Laying the brush and the palette down on his worktable, Remington went over to look out the window. He could see Belinda’s car parked in front of the farmhouse, a signal that she should be safe inside. But she wasn’t.
He walked to the back of the studio, pulled his key ring out of his pocket, and opened the padlock on the old wooden door that led to the dirt cellar. It was a cool, dry place to store his treasures. Remington grabbed the flashlight he kept on the small shelf at the head of the stairs and turned it on to illuminate his way down.
At the foot of the stairs, he picked up the box of matches he kept there and slowly lit the candles in seventeen ruby red glass votives before placing one in front of each of the oil paintings that lined the earthen walls.
Starting with the portrait of Belinda as Katharina in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, her first role at the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse twenty years ago, Remington proceeded to Belinda as Cecily Cardew in Oscar Wilde’s Importance of Being Earnest, followed by Belinda as the scheming Abigail Williams in The Crucible, by Arthur Miller. Remington especially liked his rendition of Belinda in Puritan dress.
One by one, he paid his respects to Belinda in each of her portrayals in the succeeding years, coming to The Crucible again. Just five years ago, Belinda had agreed to interpret a different role in the same play—this time the spurned wife, Elizabeth Proctor. The following year, just before the fire, Remington had created a true masterpiece, immortalizing Belinda as the fiery Eleanor of Aquitaine in The Lion in Winter. This was the last painting in his cellar gallery.
Now, Remington got down on his knees before his life’s greatest works and began to pray.
C H A P T E R
62
“Sarge, KEY News in New York is calling about Belinda Winthrop.”
“Jeez, good news sure travels fast,” said Warrenstown Police sergeant Mo Weaver as he reached for the telephone on his desk. How did KEY News know already? He had gotten off the phone with Victoria Sterling only a few minutes ago.
“Sergeant Weaver speaking.”
“Hello, Sergeant. This is Annabelle Murphy. I’m a producer with KEY News.”
“What can I do for you?”
“We’ve had a report that Belinda Winthrop may be missing.
What can you tell me about that?”
“We’re looking into it.”
“So she is missing?” asked Annabelle.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you have reason to believe that she’s missing?” Annabelle persisted.
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Well, what can you tell me?”
“I can tell you that we are fully aware that a person of Belinda Winthrop’s stature
holds enormous public interest. I understand why you are calling, Ms. Murphy, but I really have nothing else to tell you at this point.”
Annabelle went to Linus’s office to report back.
“Well, the police weren’t surprised by my call.”
“Oh?” said Linus, raising an eyebrow. “So Belinda Winthrop is missing?”
“They wouldn’t confirm it, but my gut feeling …?”
Linus nodded.
“Something’s up.” Annabelle knew as she spoke that she wouldn’t be taking the twins swimming this afternoon.
C H A P T E R
63
Breaking news wasn’t her specialty, and Caroline knew it. She wasn’t sure what to do next, but she was certain her plan to walk around the campus and find some apprentices to interview for her piece on the Summer Playhouse could wait. She should be trying to find out what had happened to Belinda Winthrop.
Knowing Nick would be happy to spend the rest of the morning alone with Meg, Caroline met up with Lamar and Boomer. She told them about her visit to Belinda’s estate and her conversation with Linus Nazareth.
“We have a couple of choices,” said Lamar. “We can go over to the police station or drive out to Belinda Winthrop’s place.”
“Which do you think?” asked Caroline.
“You’re the editorial person,” said Lamar. “You decide.”
“All right. Belinda’s place,” said Caroline. “That’s where the most interesting video will be.”
Caroline wasn’t sure she was making the right decision until she saw the affirmation in Lamar’s eyes.
There was a police vehicle in front of the farmhouse when the KEY News team arrived. Lamar parked the crew car and hopped out, quickly gathering his gear from the trunk. He and Boomer were recording when an officer walked over to them.
Caroline identified herself and her crew.
“You’ll have to leave,” said the patrolman.
“What’s happening, Officer?” asked Caroline.
“As I said, you have to leave. Now.”
Inside the farmhouse, Victoria retold the story of not being able to find Belinda Winthrop that morning.
“Belinda usually goes for a walk in the morning, but I checked her closet, and her walking shoes are still there.”
“And you’re a houseguest of Ms. Winthrop’s?” Sergeant Weaver asked.
“Yes.”
“Anyone else on the property?”
“A caretaker and Remington Peters.”
“The artist, right?”
Victoria nodded as she exhaled and ground her cigarette butt into the ashtray.
“What’s the caretaker’s name?” asked Weaver.
“Gus Oberon.”
Sergeant Weaver and a police patrolman walked across the yard to the garage. There was no one inside.
“Let’s go try the artist,” said Weaver.
Remington Peters answered the carriage house door on the first knock. His hair was disheveled, his mouth downturned.
“May we come in?” asked Sergeant Weaver.
“Uh, yes. Of course.” Remington stood back to let the men pass.
The officers scanned the studio. Weaver’s eyes fixed on the cloth-covered easel. “What are you working on?” he asked.
“A portrait,” said Remington.
“Belinda Winthrop’s?” asked Weaver. “I saw that you are having that exhibit over at the Ambrose Gallery.” He moved closer to the easel. “Can I see?” His hand reached for the cloth.
“No.” Remington positioned himself between the policeman and the canvas. “I mean, I don’t let anyone see my work before it’s completed.”
“All right. I guess I can respect that,” said Weaver, backing away. “Tell me, though, Mr. Peters. When was the last time you saw Ms. Winthrop?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“At her party.”
“How did she seem?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did she seem upset about anything?”
Remington paused to consider the question. He could truthfully say that Belinda, actress that she was, had been the perfect hostess. If she had been upset, she hadn’t let it show. In front of her guests, Belinda had appeared as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“No, Sergeant,” he answered. “Belinda didn’t seem distressed at all. She had a lot to be happy about. Everyone at the party was telling her she’d just given the performance of a lifetime.”
As Gus came out of the woods, he could see the police car parked in front of the farmhouse. He crouched down, watching as two uniformed cops came out of the carriage house and walked toward the garage.
They were looking for him. Gus was sure of it.
He turned and went back into the woods. If the cops were going to be snooping around, he had to finish camouflaging the opening to his cave.
C H A P T E R
64
“You were at her party last night, Caroline. Did you see anything strange?” Lamar asked as they drove from Belinda’s place back into town.
“Not particularly. It was a pretty happy bunch,” Caroline said. “There was a lot of goodwill there. Everyone was celebrating the play.”
“Lots of booze?” asked Boomer.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Anybody make a scene?” asked Lamar.
“If anyone did, I didn’t see it.”
“Was Belinda loaded?” asked Boomer.
“I saw her with a martini glass in her hand,” said Caroline, “but that doesn’t mean she was drunk.”
“But maybe she was,” said Boomer. “I’ve known women to pull some pretty crazy stunts when they had a couple of drinks.”
“I don’t know, Boom,” said Lamar. “Belinda Winthrop has her act together pretty fine. I don’t see her doing something crazy.”
“It’s the ones who seem to have it all together who’ll fool you, Lamar,” Boomer said. “Those are the ones you have to watch out for.”
Caroline piped up from the backseat. “Belinda Winthrop is at the top of her game, guys. I don’t think she would just up and vanish as some kind of stunt. If Belinda has disappeared, I have a feeling it’s because something really has happened to her.”
C H A P T E R
65
Finally, an answer from Brightlights.
IF THIS IS HOW YOU GET YOUR KICKS, YOU ARE REALLY TWISTED. NEXT TIME, DO A LITTLE RESEARCH BEFORE YOU START SUCH A PATHETIC SCAM. FOR YOUR INFORMATION, YOU IMMATURE MORON, AMY DIDN’T HAVE A MOTHER. SHE DIED. PROUD OF YOURSELF?
I CAN ONLY HOPE THAT YOU AREN’T ONE OF THE OTHER APPRENTICES. THAT THOUGHT MAKES ME SICK.
The message was unsigned.
All right, it had been a mistake to sign the e-mail as being from Amy’s mother, but how would a person know the girl’s mother was dead? The plan, to find who Amy had sent the picture of the car to, had been a good one except for that.
But now, at least, it was clear that Brightlights was a Warrenstown Summer Playhouse apprentice. There would have to be another way to find out who he or she was.
C H A P T E R
66
Shaking the bottle of deep red nail polish, Langley was preparing to give herself a pedicure when her phone rang. It was Keith.
“You better get ready to step in for Belinda,” he said.
“What do you mean? What’s happened?”
“It seems nobody can find her. She’ll probably turn up. But you better be prepared, just in case.”
Langley was glad they were on the phone so Keith couldn’t see the delighted expression on her face. She summoned up her acting skills to deliver the appropriate distressed tone. “Oh my God, Keith. That’s terrible. If something has happened to Belinda, I—”
Keith cut her off by finishing her sentence. “You don’t know what you’d do, right, Langley?”
The understudy caught the sarcasm but chose to ignore it. “What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Unle
ss you know where Belinda is, the only thing you can do to help is be prepared to play Valerie tonight. We should meet at the theater this afternoon to go over some things.”
“Yes, of course, Keith. That’s a good idea.”
“One o’clock?”
“I’ll be there,” said Langley. She hung up the phone and went back to polishing her toenails.
C H A P T E R
67
The crew car pulled into the parking lot outside the Warrenstown Police Station.
If she had been some kind of hard-hitting investigative reporter, Caroline would have been more confident of her abilities to deal with the local police force. But she was a film and theater critic. With Linus expecting her to follow through on Belinda’s disappearance, this wasn’t a time to make mistakes because of inexperience. Lamar and Boomer were used to being out in the field, covering breaking news. The responsible thing to do was use their expertise.
She swallowed her pride and said, “I could use a little help here, guys.” As the two men looked at each other, she caught Boomer rolling his eyes.
“I’ll go in with you,” said Lamar with a sigh.
They got out of the car and walked toward the entrance.
“They probably aren’t going to tell us much, Caroline,” he said. “The cops are usually pretty tight-lipped about an ongoing investigation.”
“Well, we have to make the attempt,” she said. “Linus will want to know what the police are saying.”
The front desk stood on a raised platform. Behind it, a young uniformed officer looked down at them. “May I help you?” he asked.
Caroline introduced herself and the cameraman. “We’re with KEY News, and we’re here about Belinda Winthrop.”
The officer looked at them but didn’t volunteer any information.
Lights Out Tonight Page 11
