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Belinda could hear the whistles. As she lay on her back on the cave floor, tears of gratitude filled her eyes. People were actually looking for her. Thank you, God. Thank you.
She waited as the sound of the whistles grew closer. When it seemed the sound was coming from almost directly above her, she called out.
“Help. I’m here. Down here.”
But though she summoned every bit of energy, Belinda’s voice was only a weak rasp.
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The two policemen opened and looked through every closet and cabinet in Gus Oberon’s garage apartment. They searched under the bed and through his dresser drawers.
“Be careful,” instructed Chief Stanley. “Try not to upset things. Try to leave things just the way Oberon left them.”
“These drawers are such a mess, Chief. They look like he took an eggbeater to ’em. I doubt the guy would even be able to tell we touched anything.”
“When you’re done with the dresser, check that bookcase,” said the chief as he flipped over the mattress on the unmade bed.
The ziplock plastic bag containing marijuana was found behind stacked copies of Penthouse, Playboy, and other, even less reputable, men’s magazines.
“With all we’ve got going on right now,” said Chief Stanley, “a dime bag isn’t worth bringing him in for. Put it back where he hid it.”
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Caroline stood at a safe distance from the garage, her camera poised to take more video of the Warrenstown policemen when they came out of Gus’s apartment.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped at the voice that came from behind her.
“Oh, you scared me, Meg,” said Caroline as she closed her eyes for a moment.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Meg. “I’ve got to get back to campus and wanted to let you know. But what are you doing?”
“The police are in Gus Oberon’s apartment. I’m getting pictures.”
Meg’s face clouded.
“What’s wrong?” Caroline asked.
“I’ve bought pot from Gus.”
“Oh, Meg. No.” Caroline groaned.
“I just hope he doesn’t keep any written records,” said Meg.
The police came out of the garage, and Caroline watched as they headed for the carriage house. This time she could see them insert a key in the front door lock and walk right in.
Caroline recorded it all, then walked up the hill, trying to stay out of sight by keeping well to the side of the path that led to the artist’s studio.
“There’s nothing suspicious here, Chief.”
“Except that this artist is really twisted,” said Chief Stanley as he looked beneath the sheet covering the portrait on the easel. “This is one angry-looking rendering of Belinda Winthrop. He’s made her look like a crazy woman.”
Caroline sneaked around to the back of the carriage house and peeked in the picture window. She could see the policemen walking to the door at the rear. She watched as they started down the stairs.
When they were out of sight, Caroline struggled to get a better view of the contents of the studio. She could see Remington’s easel, but a sheet covered it. She supposed that would be the portrait of Belinda Winthrop as Valerie, the painting Remington said was not ready to be exhibited.
Caroline bit her lower lip as she considered what she should do. Did she dare go inside and get a look at the portrait? If she was going to, she had to act fast.
“This is one clean cellar, boss.”
Chief Stanley grunted in agreement as he looked around. He picked up one of the votive candles from the dirt floor. “What do you suppose these are here for?” he asked.
“Beats me, Chief.”
He lay down the candle and continued looking around. As Chief Stanley walked around the perimeter of the room, his eyes were drawn to a recessed area. He took the flashlight from his belt and pointed it inside the nook.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
Caroline had never done anything like this in her life. She would never think of entering someone else’s property without permission, but somehow having the video camera in hand, working on the story of Belinda’s disappearance, emboldened her. Belinda was missing, two young apprentices were dead, and the town librarian had been murdered. These were not ordinary times.
She stepped over the threshold, barely pausing to listen for voices before heading to the easel. She pulled back the sheet and drew in a deep breath. Caroline knew she was looking at a killer.
Pulling the camera up to eye level, she aimed and recorded the image of Belinda as Valerie. The green velvet gown draping the erect body, the blond hair piled atop the patrician head, the piercing green eyes peering from the face with a murderous expression, the pistol gripped in one hand.
Why would Remington paint Belinda like this?
The policemen opened the first box they’d removed from the cellar nook. Chief Stanley whistled as he pulled out a plastic package and unwrapped it.
Caroline finished recording video of the painting and, knowing she was pushing it, quickly took a few shots of the studio. She was about to leave when she heard the voices coming up the steps.
There wasn’t enough time to get to the front door. Even if she could, the police would surely spot her as she ran down the hill. Caroline dove forward and sunk down into the space between the couch and the wall. She held her breath and listened as the policemen entered the room.
“What should we do first, Chief? Confiscate those bundles of marijuana or bring in Remington Peters?”
“Let’s get Peters. We can cordon off this place later.”
Caroline could hear the footsteps grow closer and then fade as she pictured the men exiting the carriage house. After a minute, she emerged from her hiding place and cautiously looked out the doorway. Seeing the police heading toward the meadow, she made her own trip to the cellar.
The boxes were stacked in the middle of the floor. Caroline peered into one that had been left open, immediately recognizing the contents. She marveled at the thought that Remington Peters would be storing a huge stash of marijuana in his cellar. This was more in line with something Gus Oberon would do.
Realizing her time was limited, Caroline delayed further analysis. She would have time only to take some video of the boxes from various angles and get some close-up shots of the bundles of marijuana. With the search for Belinda continuing, Caroline was sure the news that the star’s portraitist, a man who lived on her property, was being arrested for big-time marijuana possession at the same time Belinda was missing would pique the interest of everyone at KEY News headquarters. This had become her story, and Caroline was feeling the adrenaline rush she’d heard some of the news correspondents back at the Broadcast Center talk about: the relentless drive to follow the story, to gather all the elements, to figure things out.
The outcome of this story made a difference. It was a matter of life and death.
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“Hey, I found something,” yelled a man searching in the woods.
He bent over and picked up a woman’s shoe.
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Meg let herself into her dorm room and immediately went to the desk. She stared, uncomprehendingly, at the empty surface. She could have sworn she’d left the laptop right there.
As she began to look around the small room, Meg felt herself tensing. She pulled back the blanket she had left rumpled on her bed and got down on her hands and knees to check underneath. She even looked in her closet, knowing full well she hadn’t put the computer there.
She tried to think back. Had she seen the laptop this morning when her father came? She couldn’t remember whether it had been there when she left with him to drive to Curtains Up. The last time she could remember actually seeing the laptop was the night before, when she had made her journal entry.
Yes. She had left the laptop on the desk when she turned it off for the night, right before she’d gone to sleep. But the fire drill had awakened her. And she’d left without locking her door. She’d thought it would be fine for just that little while.
Meg felt leaden as she realized that someone had stolen her computer. The expense of replacing it didn’t worry her as much as the thought that the draft of her speech for the memorial service was in that laptop, along with all her journal entries.
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The police in the woods all received the same message: Remington Peters was to be escorted back to the area near the farmhouse. At the same time, Caroline called Annabelle on her cell phone and told her what she had seen and heard in the artist’s place. “I think the police are in there somewhere taking Remington into custody,” she said.
Annabelle scanned the wooded area from where she stood with the crew. “Somebody just found a woman’s shoe,” she said. “Lamar, Boomer, and I will head out. The cops will have to drag him across the meadow. But it’s so dense in there, we won’t necessarily be able to see the cops grab Remington. We’ll be there waiting for them.”
“What should I do?” asked Caroline.
“Where exactly are you?” asked Annabelle.
“I’m in the driveway. I just came from the carriage house, and I got video of the marijuana in Remington’s cellar.”
“You what?” Annabelle didn’t think she could have heard Caroline correctly.
“I got video of the pot in the cellar.”
“Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to know right now how you did that,” said Annabelle.
“All right,” said Caroline. “But I’ve got it, along with some very disturbing shots of the portrait Remington is painting of Belinda in her latest role.”
“Excellent,” said Annabelle. “Look, you stay where you are and see if you can get video when the police come out with Remington as well. It won’t hurt to have shots from two different angles.”
“Okay,” said Caroline. “And shouldn’t one of us call the Broadcast Center and let them know what’s going on?”
Annabelle smiled as she held the cell phone to her ear, observing her colleague’s morphing from hothouse arts critic to hard-news field reporter. “God help you, Caroline.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been bitten!”
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After they were certain they had the images of Remington Peters being ushered to a police car and driven away, Annabelle called the assignment desk in New York, filling the appropriate parties in on what had been happening. She snapped her cell phone closed and reported back to her colleagues.
“Evening Headlines wants a piece for tonight, everybody. The satellite truck is on its way. Caroline, you will be the correspondent.”
“Oh, mama,” said Boomer while Lamar chuckled.
“A little baptism by fire,” said Annabelle as she placed her hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “But don’t worry. You’re going to be great.”
“My reviews are always done in the studio, and I’ve done so few pieces out in the field, even for KEY to America,” said Caroline. “Do I have to mention that I feel like throwing up?”
Annabelle smiled as she gestured toward Lamar and Boomer. “Well, we have all done lots of stories in the field. We’re going to make sure you come out looking like Diane Sawyer.”
“Promise?” asked Caroline.
“Promise.”
Annabelle had failed to mention that the Evening Headlines producers were leery of using Caroline. They simply had no one available to send to Warrenstown this afternoon.
Caroline and Annabelle were discussing the elements they already had for the Evening Headlines piece when Caroline’s cell phone sounded. It was Meg. She quickly relayed the tale of her stolen computer.
“Now I’m trying to remember what I’d already written for the memorial service, and I know I’m forgetting things,” Meg whined.
“Just write from your heart, Meg. Keep it simple, and don’t make it too long. It’s usually better to keep it short.”
“I wish you could help me with it, Caroline.”
It was the first time Meg had ever asked her stepmother to do anything with her, the first time she had ever asked for any sort of help. Caroline didn’t want to refuse Meg, yet she felt the pressure of knowing she had to use the next hours to work on the Evening Headlines piece.
“Tell you what,” she said. “You keep writing and I’ll try to go over it with you before the memorial service.”
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The KEY News team left Curtains Up and headed for the Warrenstown Inn. In the coffee shop, they ordered sandwiches and iced tea and put their heads together on what needed to be done for the Evening Headlines piece.
“It’s absolutely fabulous that Caroline got that video of the marijuana in Remington’s cellar,” said Annabelle. “Even if the other networks show up here this afternoon, none of them will have that.”
“What you did, Caroline, was pretty damned ballsy,” said Boomer with grudging admiration.
Lamar winked at Caroline. “Yeah, Boom, not bad for a little lady, huh?”
“And let’s not forget, we also have an exclusive on Remington’s latest portrait of Belinda,” said Caroline. “It’s disturbing stuff.”
“I’d like to see that,” said Annabelle.
Caroline handed the camcorder to Lamar, who looked at the tiny viewing screen, scrolling the video back until he came to the pictures of the portrait. He handed the camera over to Annabelle.
“This’ll shake our audience up,” said Annabelle as she viewed the images. “From the looks of this, our artist isn’t so fond of Belinda Winthrop after all. He’s made her look like a monster.”
“And she’s supposed to be the character in Devil in the Details in this painting, right?” Lamar said. “Why don’t we get the copy of the tape the theater’s audiovisual department recorded on opening night? We could show the difference between the artist’s interpretation and reality.”
“Good idea,” said Annabelle. “Let’s do that right after lunch.”
Caroline sipped her tea and thought about the elements to be covered in the script she’d be writing later. There was the search at Curtains Up this morning, the police going into Gus Oberon’s garage and Remington’s carriage house, Remington being taken into custody after the police search. And she had the interview she’d done with Belinda in her dressing room right after the opening. That was almost certainly the last video in which Belinda appeared. Though the Evening Headlines may have used a clip of it last night, the interview definitely belonged in tonight’s piece.
“We should find out what’s going on with Remington,” said Caroline. “How long will they be able to hold him? What are the charges going to be? Does he have an attorney yet? Do the police think he’s guilty of more than stashing marijuana in his cellar? Do they think he has something to do with Belinda’s disappearance?”
“You’re right, Caroline.” Annabelle reached out and put her hand on her colleague’s forearm. “We’ll have to get to all of that in the piece tonight, but all in good time, my dear.”
“Better watch out, Annabelle,” Lamar said, smiling. “Caroline is thinking of all the things you’re supposed to think of.”
“I’ve been noticing that, Lamar,” answered Annabelle. “I think Caroline’s coming over to the dark side.”
As they were waiting for the server to bring the check, Annabelle’s cell phone sounded. All three of her companions could hear Linus Nazareth’s voice barking into Annabelle’s ear.
“I don’t have to tell you, do I, how annoyed I am that all this great stuff I hear you’ve gotten is going to appear first on Evening Headlines? KEY to America sent you up there, Annabelle. Did you forget that?”
“Of course I didn’t forget, Linus,” said Annabelle. “But most of the
material we have was shot after our show this morning. Evening Headlines is the next broadcast up.”
“Save it,” said Linus. “By tomorrow morning all the other networks will be up there and the KEY News exclusive footage will have already aired on Evening Headlines. My show will be out of luck. I don’t like being out of luck, Annabelle.”
“I know you don’t, Linus.”
“Well, I’m sending Constance Young to host from there tomorrow morning. She’s not too happy about working on the weekend.”
“All right,” said Annabelle. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want. So tell Caroline that Constance will be taking over on this story. If Caroline has decided to play ‘girl reporter,’ tell her to get used to this. She’s being bigfooted.”
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In a conference room at the Warrenstown Police Station, Remington sat, with his head in his hands, across the table from his attorney.
“First of all, the search will be determined to be illegal,” said the lawyer.
“I don’t know,” said Remington. “The carriage house is Belinda’s property, not mine.”
“Yeah, but you’re living there. It’s your domain. They had no right to go in there and snoop around without a warrant.”
“I have no idea how that marijuana got there,” said Remington.
The attorney looked skeptically at his client.
“I don’t,” Remington insisted.
“Of course you don’t,” said the attorney as he got up. “You’re an upstanding member of the community. Now I’m going to see about getting you released, either on bail or on your own recognizance.”
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Lights Out Tonight Page 17
