Lights Out Tonight

by Mary Jane Clark

  “He has to think you have talent, Langley, or he wouldn’t have chosen you to be Belinda’s understudy,” said Meg.

  “You know what, Meg? I don’t think Keith ever thought that he was going to have to use me. Belinda is known for never missing a performance. She’s the twenty-first century’s Ethel Merman. So Keith didn’t think there was a real possibility that I would ever get a chance to play Valerie.” The tone of Langley’s voice had changed from despair to anger.

  Langley stood up, walked over to the clothing rack, and lifted off the green velvet ball gown. “Let me try on these dresses to see if the costume shop has made the alterations, Meg. And Keith Fallows can go screw himself, because I’m going to show him.”

  C H A P T E R

  83

  Caroline jumped at the sound of her cell phone, thinking it could be Lamar and Boomer with some news from the police about Belinda Winthrop. It wasn’t.

  “Hi, Caroline. It’s Annabelle Murphy. I’m here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I just checked into my room. I’m at the Warrenstown Inn.” “So am I.”

  “Great. Want to meet somewhere and talk?” asked Annabelle.

  “Sure.” Caroline looked over at her napping husband. “How about the coffee shop downstairs?”

  “Fine. See you in five minutes.”

  “Here’s what I know,” said Annabelle as she tore open a packet of Sweet’n Low and stirred the contents into her iced tea. “The police don’t have a clue. They still won’t even classify this as a missing-person case. But if Belinda doesn’t show up, they are organizing a search of her property tomorrow morning.”

  “How did you find that out?” asked Caroline.

  “I heard it from the guy who runs the deli in town. I stopped to get something to eat before I came to the inn. Then I called the police to confirm.”

  “When we went to the police station, they wouldn’t tell us anything,” said Caroline, shaking her head.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Caroline. It’s been my experience that police are pretty cagey in what they say and when they say it. When you were there, they weren’t talking. Now, they aren’t exactly being free with the information, but at least they confirmed something I’d already heard. And that was only because the word was out. They’re looking for volunteers for the search.”

  “So now what?” asked Caroline.

  “Wouldn’t it be great if we could find her before anyone else does?” asked Annabelle with a smile. “I think we should go out to Belinda’s place and snoop around.”

  “The police had the place blocked off when we were there this morning,” said Caroline.

  Annabelle shrugged. “That was hours ago, right?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “So, let’s go out there anyway and see what we can see now.”

  “Should I call Lamar and Boomer to come with us?”

  Annabelle twirled a stand of her long, brown hair as she considered the question. “I don’t think so. That would make too large a group. We’d be too conspicuous. I brought a camcorder with me. We can use that if there’s anything we need to shoot.”

  “I thought you’d be bringing another crew with you,” said Caroline as they drove toward Curtains Up.

  “Are you serious? Do you really think Linus is going to spring for another human crew when he can use me and a little camcorder?” Annabelle rolled down her window and switched off the air conditioner. “You don’t mind if we get some fresh air, do you? It’s so clear and beautiful up here, it seems a shame to drive all cooped up.”

  Annabelle seemed so relaxed, so self-assured, thought Caroline. She supposed that was because Annabelle had been working in hard news for years. Whatever story broke or event came up, Annabelle was used to dealing with it. She was confident, and it showed in everything she said and did. Caroline realized she shouldn’t be beating herself up because she didn’t know exactly what to do to cover Belinda’s disappearance. Annabelle probably wouldn’t know what elements to cover in writing a review of a play or movie. Still, Caroline had to admire Annabelle and knew she could learn a lot by watching her.

  “Have you been having any fun up here?” Annabelle asked as she steered the car down the curving road.

  “My husband is here, so that’s been nice.”

  “Really? You guys are newlyweds, right?”

  “We’ve been married for three months.”

  “Ah,” said Annabelle. “I remember those days.”

  Caroline felt her face grow warm, and she changed the subject. “Wednesday and yesterday were pretty good. I enjoyed doing the interviews with the director and playwright, and Belinda Winthrop, of course.”

  “Oooo. That’s good,” said Annabelle. “You might have the last interview Belinda Winthrop ever did.”

  Annabelle’s rental car pulled up at the entrance to Curtains Up. Caroline and Annabelle both craned their necks to get a better view. There was yellow police tape cordoning off an area around the house, but no police cars were stationed anywhere.

  “I’m game. Are you?” Annabelle didn’t wait for Caroline’s answer before turning in to the driveway.

  “Nice spread,” said Annabelle, looking out across the meadow. “Have any idea how much property is hers?”

  “Somebody mentioned last night that there are a hundred and fifty acres here,” said Caroline.

  “Last night?”

  “Oh, Belinda had a party after the play opened last night.”

  “And you went to it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So you were among the last people to see Belinda?”

  “I guess so. Yes.” As Annabelle parked the car, Caroline mentally noted the similarity between last night and the party two years ago. Both had begun with an opening night party at Curtains Up and ended with unexplained events, one a death, perhaps even a murder, the other a disappearance. She remarked on it to her companion.

  Annabelle’s eyes grew wide. “Wouldn’t it be neat if we could link the two? Linus would love that.”

  There was no answer when they knocked on the farmhouse door.

  “Let’s walk over to that carriage house and see if anyone’s there,” said Annabelle.

  “That’s where Remington Peters, the artist, lives,” said Caroline.

  “I guess I should know who he is, but I don’t,” said Annabelle.

  Caroline told her about the Belinda Winthrop portraits and the stymied gallery exhibition as they walked up the hill. There was no answer to their knocks at the carriage house door, either.

  “Wish we could get a look at that portrait, don’t you?” Annabelle said as she started to walk around the carriage house.

  “We’re trespassing,” whispered Caroline.

  “I prefer to think we’re helping with the search for Belinda Winthrop,” said Annabelle. She pressed her face close to the studio window.

  “I can see an easel, but there’s nothing on it,” she said. “It looks like there are some paintings wrapped up near the front door.”

  “Maybe Remington is going to let the portrait be shown after all,” said Caroline. “I could check with the gallery owner to see if he changed his mind.”

  “Good idea,” said Annabelle. “Meanwhile, let’s see what else we can see.”

  From the upstairs window of the farmhouse, Victoria peered out and saw the two brunettes walking down the hill from the carriage house. She recognized Caroline Enright but not her companion.

  “What are those two doing here?” she asked under her breath. Victoria wrapped her robe around herself and stood to the side of the window so she wouldn’t be seen. As Caroline and her friend walked toward the garage, Victoria turned and climbed back into her bed.

  “Heads up,” she whispered to the man who lay stretched out beneath the sheets. “You’ve got company coming.”

  C H A P T E R

  84

  There were two garage bays. One housed a black pickup truck; the other, a golf cart. At the s
ide of the garage, a staircase led to a landing and a closed door.

  “Think somebody lives up there?” asked Annabelle.

  “I think the caretaker does. And I think we should be careful, Annabelle.”

  “All right. You wait here.”

  As Annabelle started up the stairs, Caroline walked over and looked in the golf cart. The key was in the ignition. There was a small tip of red material wedged between the seat and the back cushions. Caroline reached in and pulled at it. She recognized the flame pattern. It was one of the favors from the party. A red silk tie.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Caroline swung around to see the man standing in the garage doorway. He had on a pair of jeans but no shirt. His sandy hair was disheveled. It was Gus, the guy who had come out of the powder room at the party leaving the aroma of marijuana behind him.

  Annabelle had heard the man, too. She started back down the steps.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Annabelle Murphy, and this is Caroline Enright. We’re with KEY News.”

  Gus stared at her, a sullen expression on his face. Then he turned to look at Caroline. “You were here this morning,” he said, “with your husband. He’s a friend of Belinda’s.”

  “That’s right,” said Caroline.

  “I reckon Belinda is always happy to have friends stop by, but I know for a fact that she don’t want media people swarming around here.” Gus took a step forward. “She doesn’t like to be hounded, especially on her own property.”

  “We just wanted to see if there was any news about Belinda yet,” said Annabelle.

  “Nothin’ that I know of,” said Gus.

  “Do you have any thoughts about where she might be?” Caroline tried. “Or what could have happened to her?”

  “I got no idea,” said Gus. “Now, you ladies both better get goin’.”

  Caroline and Annabelle looked at each other, knowing it was time to leave. As they began to walk out of the garage, Gus looked at the red tie Caroline still held in her hand.

  He reached over. “I’ll take that,” he said.

  C H A P T E R

  85

  Meg finished getting things organized for Langley in the dressing room, then rushed to practice at the old church where the cabarets were held a few weekend nights each month.

  As she sat through two other singers, and the same pianist who would be accompanying her, Meg felt increasingly tense. Amy’s death, Belinda’s disappearance, Langley’s distress, her father’s disappointment with her behavior toward Caroline. It was coming at her from all sides.

  And she was extremely nervous about her cabaret performance. Not only would her father be coming to see her but so would the actors, directors, support staff, and other apprentices. The church would be filled to the rafters. All those people watching her, judging her.

  She missed her mother, and she’d lost the only friend she’d really made in Warrenstown. Amy was the first new friend she’d made in a very long time.

  Before her mother died, Meg had been outgoing and popular. Afterward, she didn’t feel like doing much with her old friends. They weren’t coming from the same place anymore.The things they wanted to do no longer interested Meg. Parties and the bar scene held no excitement. Neither did shopping or going out to eat. She only wanted to be left alone—and after a while, her friends did just that.

  When Caroline moved in after marrying her father, Meg’s loneliness only intensified. Home for school vacations, she avoided contact with Caroline as much as possible, either staying out of the apartment or holing up in her room. Sitting through meals in the dining room, watching Caroline sit where her mother used to, sickened Meg.

  She just wanted the pain to go away.

  Meg knew there were two more singers before it was her turn. She got up and walked outside. The fresh air felt good after the stale smell of the church. She walked around to the back of the old stone building and found a secluded, sheltered spot.

  When she went back inside, fifteen minutes later, the pianist was ready for her. She took her sheet music out of her tote and handed it to him.

  “Ah. ‘Second Hand Rose,’” he said. “That’s a good one.”

  Meg had chosen the song not only because she could sing it well but because she could vamp it up. She could do a little acting while displaying her voice. She climbed onto the raised platform and waited for the music to start.

  She missed her cue the first time, and the pianist began again. Meg started to sing, but her voice sounded flat, and her movements were stilted and awkward. She stopped and looked at her accompanist, a dull expression on her face.

  “Easy, Meg,” he said. “Just try to relax and have a good time with it.”

  The music began again. She sang the first verse, then stopped, unable to recall the next lyrics.

  “What’s the matter with you, Meg?” asked the guy at the piano. “Are you stoned or something?”

  C H A P T E R

  86

  It felt like her head was going to explode, and every breath she took hurt. She feared her back might be broken. If she moved, she could risk paralysis. Belinda wished she could curl into a fetal position and comfort herself. Instead, she lay on her back and stared into the darkness.

  She slipped in and out of sleep. When she was awake, she had no idea what time it was or how many hours she had been there. When sleep came again, she welcomed it as an escape from her pain and fear. The cycle repeated itself; each waking moment was an opportunity to try to figure out what to do. How was anyone going to find her? How was she going to get out of this place and save herself? But then her pain and the gravity of her situation overwhelmed her and she’d fall asleep again.

  Belinda awoke and listened in the darkness. She heard a low rumbling noise. At first, she thought it must be her stomach, growling in hunger. Then she realized the noise wasn’t coming from her at all.

  She wasn’t alone.

  C H A P T E R

  87

  “Now what?” asked Caroline as she and Annabelle drove back to town.

  “I guess we should call the desk,” said Annabelle, “and tell them where things stand up here. At this point, I don’t see them wanting a full piece. Nothing definitive has happened.”

  “Belinda Winthrop is missing,” said Caroline.

  “Yeah, but we aren’t sure if there is foul play involved or not. If she’s just decided to take a powder for some reason, that isn’t a national news story. She wouldn’t be the first actor to want to be alone for a while.”

  “And skip a performance in a role that everyone is saying is one of her best?”

  “Look, Caroline, I don’t make the rules. But I do know what it takes to get airtime. This story doesn’t have that yet. My guess is the most they’ll want is some video for Eliza Blake to voice-over on the Evening Headlines tonight.” Annabelle didn’t mention the other thing, of which she was virtually certain. Evening Headlines was not going to have Caroline report the story. They wouldn’t think a drama critic had the credentials to report hard news.

  Sure enough, when Annabelle called KEY News headquarters, there was no interest in Caroline Enright doing a piece, but the anchorwoman Eliza Blake would tell the story, narrating over video of Curtains Up and general Warrenstown B-roll. They also asked for the interview Caroline had done with Belinda the evening before. Caroline’s interview would air without her getting any credit for it.

  “They do want us to go over in the morning and see if we can get pictures of the police beginning the organized search of Belinda’s property,” reported Annabelle.

  “And between now and then?” asked Caroline.

  “Go have a good time with your husband tonight,” said Annabelle. “I’ll make sure the video gets to New York. Since we don’t have a satellite truck here yet, I’ll get Lamar to drive me over to the Albany affiliate, and we’ll feed from there. I’ll keep in touch with the police, too.”

  C H A P T E R

  88


  Slowly, Remington finished wrapping the last of the portraits. As he covered Belinda’s lovely face with batting, Remington wondered when he would next be able to see her. He knew it could be a very long time before it would be safe to have his treasures with him again.

  He snuffed out the candles that had provided his work light and lifted the canvas, carrying it up the cellar stairs. Remington propped the portrait next to the front door with the others. Now, he just had to wait for the sun to go down to load the portraits into the car and transport them to the storage facility. He would be back safe and sound, his mission accomplished, before the morning sun.

  Looking at his watch, he knew he had some time, and he wanted to use it productively. Though it had been necessary, Remington felt he’d wasted his day getting ready to move the portraits. Those paintings were no longer supposed to exist. No one could see them, not only because he didn’t want to share his beloved with the world but because the insurance company believed they’d been destroyed in the fire. The authorities wouldn’t care that Remington had donated the payout he’d received to charity. They would care only that he’d lied and taken their money. So he’d spent his time covering his tracks instead of making any progress on the portrait on which he should have been working: Belinda as Valerie.

  Remington went to the closet, opened it, and took out his work in progress.

  “I’m sorry I had to shut you in there like that,” he said. “I couldn’t leave you out anymore. Everyone wants to see you, but you’re not ready to be seen.”

  C H A P T E R

  89

  “I’ve made a reservation at Pierre’s,” said Nick. “It’s the best place in Warrenstown.”

  “That sounds great,” said Caroline. “But do you think we could go to the Ambrose Gallery before dinner? I’d like to stop in at the exhibition opening.”