Lights Out Tonight (28 page)

“That’s wonderful,” said Caroline. “But we don’t really have the time right now to make a copy. Could I have the original? You have my word. I’ll deliver it myself to the audiovisual department when we’re through so they can make the appropriate copies.”

“Fine,” said Victoria. “The tape is out at Curtains Up.”

“Great,” said Caroline. “We wanted to come out there anyway, to record a stand-up. If that’s all right with you.”

“I suppose I don’t have a problem with that,” said Victoria. She turned to look at the director. “Right, Keith? Any publicity is good for the play.”

Keith didn’t answer.

Caroline turned to Langley. “Yesterday, I said we would like to interview you, Langley. Would you still be willing?” “Sure I would. When?”

“We have to feed in all our material to New York at about five-thirty. So it would definitely have to be before that. In fact, the sooner the better.”

“I have a couple things I have to take care of right now,” said Langley. “How ’bout we meet in my dressing room at around four o’clock?”

As they followed Victoria to Curtains Up, Caroline roughed out a script. She wasn’t sure exactly what sound bites she would be using, but she had a general idea of the types of things she would be choosing from her interview subjects’ comments. She left spaces in the script for sound from Langley Tate, representing the theater world, two of the mourners to give public reaction to everything that had been happening, and a spot for some sort of reaction from a law enforcement official or perhaps Remington’s attorney if they could get that. New York had told Annabelle they were allotting two minutes for the story, a generous amount of time as
Evening Headlines
pieces went.

When they got to Belinda’s estate, Victoria had already run inside the farmhouse and retrieved the videotape. She handed it to Caroline through the car’s open window.

“All set then?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, this is great,” said Caroline. “Thank you. Now, if we can just shoot that stand-up?”

“Sure, go ahead,” said Victoria. “But you won’t mind if I don’t hang around, will you?”

“No, of course not,” said Caroline. “We’ll be fine.”

“More than fine,” said Annabelle as they watched Victoria get back into her car and drive away. “I prefer not having anyone breathing down our necks while we work.”

“Holy crap,” said Boomer. “Is that Remington Peters?”

All four sets of eyes looked in the direction of the carriage house.

“Yep. That’s him all right,” said Annabelle. “Hurry, Lamar, get some pictures.”

The cameraman hadn’t waited for the command. He was already recording images of Remington standing in his doorway.

“I’m going to see if he’ll talk,” said Caroline, starting up the hill.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you or anybody else,” said Remington.

“Is that what your lawyer told you?” asked Caroline.

Remington nodded.

“I can understand that,” said Caroline. “But I want you to know that KEY News is doing a story about you tonight on the
Evening Headlines.
You might want to give your version of things.”

“I don’t watch television.”

“Millions of other people do.”

“I’ve long given up caring what other people think,” said Remington in a low voice.

“Even if they think that you’re responsible for Belinda’s disappearance?”

The artist glared at Caroline. After a few moments of consideration, he made a decision. “All right. Have your cameraman come over here.”

Annabelle suggested they go inside the carriage house to conduct the interview, but Remington nixed that idea. “It’s outside or nothing,” he said. “I don’t want people seeing my personal space. It’s none of their business.”

The newspeople agreed, both because they had no other choice and because they didn’t want to risk having Remington change his mind about giving an interview at all. Lamar suggested a spot off to the side of the property, next to a pretty maple tree. Boomer wired Remington with a microphone while Lamar framed his shot.

Caroline began. “First of all, what do you say to the fact that the police found boxes of marijuana in your cellar?”

“I certainly had nothing to do with it.”

“You have to admit it doesn’t look good,” said Caroline.

“Haven’t you ever heard appearances can be deceiving?”

Caroline answered with another question. “Do you have any speculation about how the marijuana got there?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’ve seen things at night, things falling from the sky,” said Remington. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

Caroline glanced at Annabelle. The producer rolled her eyes.

“What kinds of things?” asked Caroline.

“Boxes.”

“Do you think they were the boxes the police found?”

“They could be.”

“So these boxes fell from the sky and ended up in your cellar?”

“Someone had to put them there. I didn’t,” said Remington with decisiveness. “Now that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

Caroline switched subjects. “What about Belinda Winthrop’s disappearance?”

“What about it?”

“Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

Remington’s eyes began to water. “I wouldn’t want to live in a world without Belinda in it.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question,” said Caroline.

“No, I don’t have any idea what has happened to Belinda,” said Remington as he began to take off his microphone.

Caroline hurried with her final questions. “What about the new portrait of Belinda Winthrop you’re working on? How is that coming?”

“It’s incomplete.”

“Do you think it will ultimately be a tribute to Belinda? Will it express your feelings about her?”

“My portraits of Belinda are meant to capture her in her roles in Warrenstown each summer, so in that respect, I suppose you could say they’re almost historical,” said Remington. “And of course, an artist’s feelings for his subject influence his work.”

Caroline felt uncomfortable, knowing she had video of Remington’s disturbing painting of Belinda as Valerie and planned on using it with his last statement in the piece tonight. It wasn’t going to make him look good.

But what exactly did Remington’s troubling rendition mean?

“Eureka!” exclaimed Annabelle. “We have an exclusive with our perp.”

“Alleged
perpetrator,” said Caroline. “And, at this point, Remington is only allegedly connected with the marijuana in his cellar.”

“All right,
alleged,”
said Annabelle. “But whatever you call him, the
Evening Headlines
producers will be thrilled.”

“And Linus is going to be royally ticked off,” said Caroline.

“Don’t remind me.” Annabelle glanced at her watch. “Come on. We better get going and record that stand-up. We still have to interview Langley. Why don’t you and Lamar and Boomer do that, while I go back to the truck and have the operator bulk-feed the rest of your video to New York so they can get this thing edited in time?”

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119

After the memorial service, Meg accepted compliments from several people who were moved, they said, by her words. A group of apprentices approached her, too, and asked if she wanted to go out with them for a beer.

It was the first time any of her Playhouse peer group had sought her out. Instead of begging off and going back to her room, as she instinctively wanted to, Meg forced herself to accept their invitation. If she wanted to have a better social life, she knew she had to make an effort.

She left the theater, forgetting all about the tote she’d given Caroline to hold.

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120

This was another type of noise, thought Belinda as she strained to listen in the darkness. It wasn’t the low growling she’d heard just before she’d so mercifully blacked out. This was a scratching sound coming from above.

The sound was repetitive and persistent. Belinda tried to imagine what it could be. The only thing that came to mind was the image of a dog digging a hole to bury a bone.

She called out, and the scratching sound stopped, only to resume a few minutes later. If it had been a human being up there, a voice would have called back. That meant it was an animal, desperate to get in.

Tears of hopelessness and utter fright trickled from the corners of Belinda’s eyes. She was buried alive, and nobody was going to find her. A wild animal was trying to get at her. Belinda groaned as she weighed which way would be better to die.

Belowground, she prayed as the female bobcat above tried to claw her way down to her cubs.

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121

Caroline hoped that Meg would be in the dressing room with Langley Tate when she arrived to interview Belinda’s understudy, but she wasn’t. Ever aware of the ticking clock, as soon as the crew signaled they were ready to record, Caroline got right to her questions.

“How are you feeling about filling in for Belinda Winthrop again tonight?”

“Of course, I would never want to get a role this way. These are difficult times, and I’m trying to do justice to Belinda and the role of Valerie.”

“When was the last time you saw Belinda, and how did she seem?”