Lights Out Tonight (16 page)

“Hi,” said Annabelle as she entered the office.

Linus dispensed with the pleasantries. “Caroline Enright just called,” he said. “She thinks something might have happened to Belinda Winthrop.”

“As in what? Death?” Annabelle asked.

Linus palmed his football. “Who knows?” he said. “Caroline says nobody can find her.”

“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?”

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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“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.

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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.”