Lights Out Tonight (35 page)

“Is Belinda Winthrop alive? And will this woman reveal where the actress is? Police are trying to find out this morning, Sunday, August sixth.”

Lamar’s camera transmitted the images to the satellite truck, which in turn sent them to the Broadcast Center and on to viewers all around the world. Constance stood in front of the Warrenstown theater. Reporters from the other news networks and syndicated entertainment shows were scattered in various positions on the lawn. Most of them had already approached Annabelle to see if KEY News would share the video shot by Lamar and Boomer the night before, video the others had missed. The answer was a firm no.
KEY to America
was keeping the exclusive for itself.

While Constance recapped the events of the last days, Caroline waited for her cue to join the cohost.

“With us this morning is KEY News film and theater critic Caroline Enright, who has been up here this week covering the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse, where her stepdaughter is apprenticing this summer. Caroline, you found yourself right in the middle of this thing. Tell us about it.”

Caroline summarized the pertinent points.

“So, Victoria Sterling admitted to you that she killed her husband two years ago, ran those two apprentices off the road, murdered the town librarian, and was responsible for Belinda Winthrop’s disappearance?” Constance asked.

Caroline nodded. “Of course, everyone is innocent until proven otherwise, but yes, Victoria Sterling admitted all that to me. My stepdaughter heard it as well.”

“And what was her reason?” asked Constance. “What could her motive have been?”

“I’d say ego and greed,” said Caroline. “She wanted to take credit for writing
Devil in the Details,
the play her husband had actually written. She wanted the praise, attention, and money that writing a Pulitzer Prize-winning play warrants. Nothing was going to get in her way.”

As soon as Caroline walked out of camera range, her cell phone sounded.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“Hi, Nick.”

“You did a great job just now.”

“Thanks. Almost as good a performance as you and Belinda Winthrop in her dressing room and at her party the other night. No one would ever have suspected a thing.”

“Caroline, I want to explain.”

“It’s not something I really want to talk about on the phone,” said Caroline. “This should be done face-to-face.”

“I’m wrapping it up out here,” said Nick. “I think I can be back in New York tomorrow morning.”

“You know, Nick, even though what happened was before
we were together, I’m scared. I’m afraid I won’t be able to trust you. If you were unfaithful to Maggie, you could be unfaithful to me.” She carefully considered her next words. “Yet, if you hadn’t come clean, if you hadn’t spoken up about Victoria when you did…” Her voice trailed off.

“Please, Caroline. Let’s not go there. All that matters is that you and Meg are safe. But I hope we’ll be able to work things out between us. I love you, Caroline.”

“I hope we’ll be able to work it out, too, Nick. But in the meantime, you better think about what you’re going to say to Meg.”

“In related news, Albany police confiscated seventeen oil paintings from a storage facility there. The paintings are reported to be the bulk of the Belinda Winthrop portrait collection, thought to have been destroyed by a fire at artist Remington Peters’s studio three years ago.”

Constance shifted positions. “Police were tipped off by a viewer who saw a KEY News story last night about the artist, who was arrested yesterday after eighty pounds of marijuana were found in his cellar. The viewer, a night watchman, recognized Peters as the man who had moved the paintings into the storage facility in the middle of the night.

“Peters collected nearly four million dollars in insurance payments for those paintings.”

 C H A P T E R 
137

Daisy came out of the farmhouse, put her long nose to the ground, and traveled directly to the garage. She went to the parked golf cart and gave a heads-up reaction.

“What is she trying to tell us?” asked Chief Stanley.

“Not sure. It could just mean that Belinda had driven the cart,” said the handler.

Chief Stanley clenched his jaw. “Or it could mean that she was transported in it against her will.”

Helicopters, leased by news stations and entertainment shows, circled the skies over Belinda Winthrop’s property. Inside, photographers aimed their cameras, getting aerial shots of the farmhouse, the carriage house, the garage, and the meadow.

The photographers saw the men coming out of the garage. They trained their cameras on the tiny figures and watched as
the even smaller creature led them across the meadow, toward the woods.

There were many footprints on the mossy floor of the woods, but only one scent belonged to the person the German shepherd was looking for. Starting at the spot where Belinda Winthrop’s shoe had been found by searchers the day before, Daisy’s long nose skimmed the ground.

“If Belinda wasn’t traveling by foot, how will the dog be able to find her?” called Chief Stanley as he followed a few feet behind.

“Even if she was carried or driven or whatever out here, eventually she would have to be deposited somewhere,” said the handler as he kept his eyes on the dog. “If she was dragged at all, it will have caused ground disruption and chemical breakdowns, creating scent patterns. In other words, it’s possible for Daisy to find her. Not easy, but possible.”

Belinda’s pulse quickened as she thought she heard a noise from above. At first, she was terrified, thinking it was the mother bobcat scratching to get in again. But the sound was different this time. It was similar, but different.

She tried to call out, but her voice was only a croak.

Daisy’s head shot up, and her moist nose flared.

“Got something, girl?” asked her handler.

The dog walked round and round on the spot, the nails of her paws scratching against what was left of the dirt and leaves that disguised the plywood covering the opening to the underground cave.

“Hey, Chief, look at this.”

After her days in the blackness, the shaft of light slicing into the darkness forced Belinda to close her eyes. She heard a male voice calling from above.

“Hello. Ms. Winthrop? Are you all right?”

Slowly, Belinda permitted herself to open her eyes just a bit. Through the slits, she could see the blurred outlines of heads looking down at her.

“It’s all right now, Ms. Winthrop. It’s all right. We’re gonna get you out of there.”