Lights Out Tonight (21 page)

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.”

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There were two garage bays. One housed a black pickup truck; the other, a golf cart. At the side 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.

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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?”

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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.

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“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.