Lights Out Tonight (3 page)

“That sounds right.” Caroline wasn’t sure what else to say.

“It
is
right,” said Annabelle. “But she won’t let me help. Constance keeps pushing me away. She never has time for lunch. She hasn’t been returning my phone calls. When we do talk, she’s irritable and has no patience. She was almost surly when I asked her to record the narration for the last piece we worked on. It’s as if her whole personality has changed.”

“Maybe you should find a time to pin her down so you can sit together and clear the air,” said Caroline.

“Maybe. But at this point, I’m afraid that if I push things, it could damage our friendship forever,” said Annabelle, shaking her head ruefully. “Constance is burning bridges with a lot of people. That’s a huge mistake in this business.”

 C H A P T E R 
4

“In this, Belinda Winthrop’s thirty-second film, she demonstrates once again why she is a superstar. She owns this role, just as she has owned almost every part she’s ever been cast to play.” At least there was something to agree about with Caroline. Both of them were big Belinda Winthrop fans.

Meg listened to the rest of her stepmother’s review before snapping off the portable television set. She pulled on a white
T-shirt and gray yoga pants, and slid her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops. Twisting her long, jet-black hair into a bun, she secured it with a clip. Meg picked up the blue rubber mat and hurried from the tiny dorm room on the Warren College campus.

She was excused from morning warm-ups because she was assigned to run crew for
Devil in the Details.
There would be two rehearsals today—first tech and then dress—the last run-throughs before the opening. But Meg was going to exercise class anyway. It would make her feel better.

Meg hadn’t slept well. She was dreading Caroline’s arrival this afternoon. But even with the demands of her apprentice duties, Meg wouldn’t be able to avoid her stepmother completely. She could make just so many excuses about having to be at the theater. The actual preview began at eight o’clock and would run until ten, but it was common for the cast, crew, and audience to go for a late supper afterward. If Caroline insisted that they go get something to eat, Meg was going to have to acquiesce. She had promised her father that she was going to try harder with Caroline. When she thought about it, which she tried not to, Meg supposed her real mother would want her to try harder with Caroline, too. But while Caroline may have taken her mother’s place with her father, there was no way she was going to take her mother’s place with Meg.

Striding across the campus lawn, Meg wished for the umpteenth time that it was her real mother who was going to be there tonight. Mom was the one who should be with Dad. Together they should be visiting their only child as she completed the Apprentice Program at the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse. They should be sharing Meg’s excitement at being part of
the first stage performance of the new play that so many people were talking about. They should have the thrill of watching their daughter spotlighted at the late-night cabaret this weekend. It wasn’t fair that Maggie McGregor wasn’t going to be here and, almost as bad, Caroline Enright McGregor was.?

All through high school, mother and daughter had daydreamed about how wonderful it would be if Meg, with her acting aspirations, could spend a summer at Warrenstown. The town and the college were named for the Revolutionary War leader James Warren, but the theater festival held on the college grounds emphasized his wife. Mercy Otis Warren was one of the most educated women of her time and wrote a number of plays.

With its prominent alumni and the proximity it provided to first-class theater professionals, the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse was one of the leading summer training programs in the country. Nearly seventy novice actors were chosen to do the least glamorous work at the festival yet also have the opportunity to attend classes, observe the professionals at work, and audition for parts. Occasionally, an apprentice got a part in one of the Equity productions, which meant hundreds of paying customers would see him or her perform on the Main Stage. Far more likely, there might be a role in one of the skits and one-acts put on by directors in training, which mainly festival participants would see in a cafeteria or church.

After years of weekend classes at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute during high school and summer programs at the New York Film Academy and the Neighborhood Playhouse when Meg was on break from college, their dream was finally coming
true. This was Meg’s last summer before the college graduation on which her parents had insisted, and she was spending it at Warrenstown.

She stopped in the cafeteria to grab a banana and a container of orange juice before continuing on to the sports complex. She pulled open the plate-glass door and headed for the wrestling room. Why that room had been chosen for the apprentices to begin their day was a mystery to Meg. It was hot and smelly and gross.

When the apprentices had started the program in late June, they’d been informed that attendance at warm-ups was mandatory. As the summer wore on, however, attendance at the exercise classes had dwindled because the theater wannabes realized there were no consequences for missed sessions. This morning only about two dozen had shown up. Meg found a spot at the side to spread out her mat. Derek, one of the Equity actors, was standing at the front of the room, ready to lead the class.

As she got down on the floor and began to stretch, Meg wondered what her mother would think of her assignment. She decided that, once Mom had gotten over the fact that her daughter wasn’t appearing onstage, she would be pleased at the idea of Meg helping Belinda Winthrop with her wardrobe each night. Mom, too, had been a big fan of the actress. Meg remembered her mother coming home after spending a week with Dad in Warrenstown two summers ago, raving about Belinda and her performance in
Treasure Trove,
a light comedy about a woman who wins the lottery, written by Daniel and Victoria Sterling.

That was before they knew that, by the time the next summer
theater season rolled around, Mom would be dead. Meg often wondered how Mom would feel if she knew how quickly Dad had found someone to take her place. Though Meg was heartsick at the thought, she was glad her mother, at least, didn’t know that her husband had remarried so quickly.

 C H A P T E R 
5

Caroline finished delivering her review, and the broadcast went to commercial. As she unclipped her microphone and got up from the studio desk, Dr. Margo Gonzalez was waiting to take her place. Margo was the latest addition to the
KEY to America
family. A practicing psychiatrist, she had been hired to contribute her expertise on a range of stories that would interest morning viewers.

This was Margo’s first week on the job, and Caroline sympathized with her. No matter how accomplished one was in her field of expertise, television had rules of its own. Caroline had keenly felt them when she came onboard six months ago. Working on newspapers, she’d been used to concentrating solely on the content of her work, the written words she used to express her opinions. But when she began at
KTA,
how she looked and how she sounded suddenly became extra important.
The camera was unforgiving, picking up every stray hair, every extra pound. Caroline had learned to wear colors that would complement her on camera. She’d gotten into the habit of reviewing tapes of her reviews and critiquing her performances. She’d practiced setting her face in pleasant lines, analyzed her delivery, taken some private diction lessons.

“How’s it going?” Caroline asked, passing the microphone to the slim redhead.

“I have new respect for all you guys,” said Margo as she took the mike. “You make it look so effortless. But it’s not, is

it?”

Caroline smiled. “Hang in there. It’ll get easier, and if there’s anything I can do to help, give me a call.”

Standing in the back of the studio, Caroline watched as Constance Young introduced the next segment. “Far too often, there are crime stories in the headlines which mention that the perpetrator has a mental disorder. Perhaps the most feared is the label
sociopath.
But what exactly is a sociopath, and how can we spot them? KEY News psychological expert Dr. Margo Gonzalez is here to explain.”

Caroline turned to look at one of the monitors that dotted the edges of the studio to see how Margo looked on air. The camera wasn’t doing her justice. She was much prettier in person.

“Good morning, Constance. Yes, sociopaths are feared, and
justifiably so, because a person suffering from sociopathy has no conscience. Think about it, Constance. Not having any feeling of guilt or remorse, no concern for strangers, friends, or even family members. Imagine having no shame, no matter what kind of harmful or immoral thing you do.”

“I don’t think I
can
imagine that,” said Constance.

Margo nodded. “Most of us can’t. And that’s part of the problem, too. Everyone assumes that all human beings have a conscience, so hiding the fact that you don’t isn’t hard. You’re not confronted by others for your actions. Your cold-bloodedness is so completely out of most people’s experience that almost no one even guesses at your condition … until it’s too late.”

“You mean when the crime takes place?” Constance asked.

“Sometimes. But even though we are accustomed to thinking of sociopaths as violent criminals, there’s evidence that about four percent of ordinary people have developed no conscience whatsoever.”

“Wait a minute.” Constance held up her hand. “You mean that one in twenty-five people are secretly sociopaths? I find that very hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s a scary thing to wrap your mind around, Constance. But yes, your neighbor, your boss, your teacher, your colleague, your husband could be, and I emphasize
could be,
a sociopath.”

“But wouldn’t I be able to see that?”

“Not unless you knew what to look for, and even then, it’s difficult to be sure. But the clinical diagnosis of antisocial personality
disorder should be considered when someone has three of these seven characteristics.”

A graphic popped up on the television screen. Caroline read along as Margo ticked off the list.

1. Failure to obey society’s rules
   

2. Consistent irresponsibility
   

3. Impulsivity, failure to plan ahead
   

4. Reckless disregard for the safety of self or others
   

5. Irritability, aggressiveness
   

6. Deceitfulness, manipulativeness
   

7. Lack of remorse after hurting, mistreating, or stealing from another person
   

“Anything else we should be on the lookout for?” Constance asked.

“Sociopaths can be seductive, Constance. They can be very charming and interesting. They may brag about themselves in unrealistic terms. They’ll take physical, financial, or legal risks just for the thrill of it. And they are especially noted for their shallowness of emotion. They have no trace of empathy and no real interest in bonding with other human beings.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Gonzalez. You’ve given us a lot to think about. But it’s unnerving, to say the least, to think that someone who’s living as a seemingly normal member of the community or someone we think we’re close to could, in reality, be a sociopath. Someone who can do anything at all and feel absolutely no guilt.”

As the broadcast went to commercial, Caroline watched Margo Gonzalez take off her microphone and lean over to say something to Constance. The cohost barely looked up from her notes for the next segment, making no effort at congeniality.

Caroline found herself feeling sympathetic toward Margo. It was hard to be the new kid at school, and
KTA
could be a rough playground.

 C H A P T E R 
6

As he untangled the rubber hose he had left strewn on the ground, Gus Oberon muttered to himself. A blue Mercedes convertible was sitting on the crushed stone driveway as it had every morning for the last three weeks, reminding him that Belinda Winthrop was on the property. He liked it much better when he had Curtains Up to himself. Luckily, Belinda had called to say she was coming up, giving Gus the chance to move out of the main house and back into his small apartment over the garage.

It was bad enough Belinda let that weird artist stay in the old carriage house year-round. But Remington Peters was harmless enough. The guy operated in his own little world—hardly venturing out during the day except to go into town to buy groceries or pick up his mail. And Gus had observed that
lights out usually came early for Remington. He wasn’t a threat, but Belinda was. She was too sharp for her own good.

The caretaker sprayed the pink coneflowers that grew along the base of the sprawling gray farmhouse. Thank goodness Belinda’s busy schedule meant she had been coming up less and less frequently. She hadn’t set her pedicured feet on the property since last summer, allowing him to really beef up his business over the past year. Without Belinda’s prying eyes, Gus had the run of her 150-acre Berkshire estate. The forest, the swamp, the meadow, the streams, and the spring-fed pond.