Lights Out Tonight (24 page)

A sound that could wake the dead aroused Meg from her slumber. She was sorely tempted to ignore the alarm, but she got out of bed, peeked into the hallway, and saw her bleary-eyed floor-mates filing past.

“Come on, Meg,” said her next-door neighbor, pulling her along.

There wouldn’t be a lot of time. The police and fire departments were going to come running.

After the crowd of dorm residents came out, the killer slipped in.

SATURDAY

—— AUGUST 5 ——

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Gus steered the golf cart into the woods, his flashlight illuminating the way. He’d gotten started later than he wanted to, in part because Victoria had kept him. She’d told him that he was the first man she’d been with since her husband died two years ago. Gus didn’t know if he believed that, but the woman had certainly been insatiable.

Parking the cart, he got out and walked to the opening in the ground. He stuck the flashlight in the pocket of his jeans and began to back down the ladder. At the bottom, he stopped and trained the light on the contents of the cave.

He hoisted the first carton to his shoulder and climbed up to the surface, stashing the carton in the golf cart. Then he repeated the process again, and again, and again, until he was satisfied that he’d moved everything that could be incriminating. If the police found the cave now, nothing would trace back to him.

He drove the golf cart slowly across the meadow, taking care so none of the cartons would spill from the vehicle. Gus would have thought he still had a long night ahead of him had he not stopped by the carriage house after he left Victoria. Her
request that he deliver some of the party’s leftovers to Remington had provided the caretaker with a windfall.

The door had been unlocked. A quick search of the premises gave him the idea. That cellar would be a better hiding place. Instead of having to unload all the cartons from the golf cart to his truck and then drive them down to Pittsfield to stow in the garage of a friend—a friend whom Gus was never really sure he could trust—he could hide the cartons in the carriage house. Even if the cops decided to search the cellar for Belinda, they probably weren’t going to go opening up boxes they thought a famous artist like Remington Peters was storing there. And if, by some chance, the police did open the cartons, it would look like Remington, not Gus, was dealing.

Gus drove up to the unlit carriage house, noting that Remington’s station wagon still wasn’t there. Lifting the first box from the cart, Gus let himself in the front door and walked to the cellar door and down the steps.

The cellar was cool, dry, and empty except for a bunch of half-used candles sitting around on the floor. Gus carried the first carton to a nook at the rear, dropped it, and slid it into the recessed spot. He estimated that with careful arranging all the cartons would fit. Someone would really have to be looking to find them.

When he finished bringing all the cartons to their new storage spot, Gus climbed the stairs and went outside. He was just getting into the golf cart when he saw the headlights coming up the driveway. Gus pressed his foot on the accelerator and steered the cart into his garage.

Remington took his key and inserted it in the knob, but the door was already unlocked. His heart beat faster as he opened the door and switched on the lights.
Someone’s been in here,
he thought. There was the smell of perspiration in the air.

But everything looked exactly the same as he had left it. Nothing appeared to be touched or taken. The last of the paintings were still propped up against the wall.

He turned on the light at the top of the cellar stairway, walked down, and looked around. Nothing seemed amiss in the empty space.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Remington looked at his watch. He couldn’t worry about it any more right now. He had to get the next batch of portraits into the car. But this time, when he left, he made sure to lock the door.

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Belinda listened to the plaintive mewing sound as she felt something soft brush against her thigh. She reached down until her fingertips touched the fur.

She gasped as she figured out what was sharing the underground cave with her. There were two kittens down here in the den their mother had lined with dried grass, leaves, and moss. Belinda decided they were probably bobcat cubs. They were hungry and, she prayed, basically harmless.

But their mother was an adult. Though bobcats didn’t look for conflicts with humans, they were still carnivores. And no mother took kindly to having her babies threatened.

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In the semidarkness, Caroline felt for the telephone on the table beside the bed.

“Hello,” she whispered, not wanting to wake up Nick.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sleeping Beauty, but the search is on at Belinda’s this morning.”

Caroline looked at the digital clock. 7:15.

“Annabelle?”

“Who else would be crazy enough to be setting her alarm to ring every two hours through the night so she could check the status of things with the police?” asked Annabelle.

“Whatever it is, KEY News isn’t paying you enough,” Caroline whispered as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Don’t I know it!”

Caroline could picture Annabelle rolling her eyes. “What time will the search start?” she asked.

“Nine, but I’ve already called Lamar and Boomer. I want to get over there early. We’re leaving the inn at eight.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in forty-five minutes then,” said Caroline.

She turned on the water and pulled off her nightgown. Stepping into the shower, Caroline realized that she would be at Curtains Up when Nick had to leave. It surprised her that she didn’t feel more disappointed about that. Instead, she was looking forward to following the story of Belinda’s disappearance. She had covered many openings, interviewed many stars, and influenced the nation’s film-going habits, but this case was exciting her in a whole different way. It was real—not the fantasy world she was used to covering—and Caroline was finding herself completely caught up in it.

“Nick. Nick,” she whispered as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Nick opened his eyes. Caroline thought he looked, for a moment, almost as though he didn’t recognize her.

“I’m sorry to wake you, honey, but I wanted to say goodbye.”

“What time is it?”

“Five of eight.”

“Where are you going so early?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“They’re searching Belinda’s property.” “And you have to be there for that?”

“Yes. Annabelle and the crew are going. I think I should, too.”

“For pity’s sake, Caroline. You’re a critic, not an investigative journalist.”

Caroline pulled back. “Nick,” she said, her tone registering her surprise at the anger in her husband’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine. But I just want to have you to myself before I leave.” He reached up and drew her close. Caroline kissed Nick back, but without the usual fervor.

“All right, I have to get going now,” she said as she pulled away determinedly. “They’re waiting for me downstairs.” She stood up. “And you know what, Nick? I think you should make it a point to go over and talk with Meg before you leave. You wouldn’t want what you said to her about her performance last night to be your last conversation with her, would you? That would be a lousy way to leave things between you.”

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Remington hadn’t gotten much sleep, yet he didn’t want to waste the precious early-morning light. He pulled on rumpled jeans and an old, paint-stained shirt. Slipping on a pair of moccasins, he climbed down from the loft and went to the closet. He took out the portrait and placed it on the easel.

As he looked at his work, he still didn’t understand how he could have gotten it so wrong. With Belinda gone, he was determined, more than ever, to do her justice in her role of Valerie.

Hoping for inspiration, Remington walked over to the table to get his script. But the dog-eared copy wasn’t there. Only the extra script that the theater department had sent him sat on the table.

That meant someone
had
been in the house when he was gone.

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It had been a damned good thing to get Meg’s computer, but not for the expected reason. At first, there was relief as the killer viewed the pictures Amy had sent to Meg on the day of the fatal accident. The one that had been such a worry turned out to be just a blur of blue. It wouldn’t lead the police anywhere. But, just to be thorough, the killer checked the messages in the Sent folder and was relieved to see that none had gone to the Warrenstown police.

Out of curiosity, the killer then clicked through some of Meg’s other e-mails, chuckling upon finding the one that had been sent from “Amy’s mother.” Most of the other messages were a lot of nothing. But one was interesting.

IN ORDER TO RECEIVE ACADEMIC CREDIT FOR APPRENTICING AT THE WARRENSTOWN SUMMER PLAYHOUSE PROGRAM, IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO SUBMIT A JOURNAL CHRONICLING YOUR EXPERIENCES. INSTRUCTIONS FOR JOURNALING ARE IN THE ATTACHED DOCUMENT.

Clicking on the icon for Meg’s electronic journal, the killer found the entries she had made since her arrival in town.

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Annabelle and Caroline sat in the backseat of the crew car as they drove with Lamar and Boomer to Curtains Up.

“I did a search on Gus Oberon,” said Annabelle. “He spent three years in prison.”

“Really?” Caroline took a breath and then exhaled deeply. “I had a feeling that guy was trouble. What was he in for?”

“Criminal possession of marijuana. There was some reference to the possibility that he was dealing, too. And if
we
know that Gus is a criminal, you can bet the police know it, too.”

“I guess he hasn’t learned his lesson,” said Caroline, shaking her head. “The aroma he left in Belinda’s powder room at the party shows he’s still using. The question is, does Gus have anything to do with Belinda’s disappearance?”