Lights Out Tonight

by Mary Jane Clark

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Look. When we get back later, pull out one of those maps of the property that Remington did and mark where the hole is. As soon as there’s some free time, I’ll go out there and take a look. Right now, you’ve got more important things to do,” Victoria said. “Your focus has to be on the play.”

  The car traveled north along the winding two-lane road, reaching the Warrenstown traffic circle and bearing right. Belinda found a parking spot, and the two women got out and walked toward the brand-new theater building. As they reached the front steps, a pretty young blonde stood at the top holding the door open for them.

  “Thanks, Langley,” said Belinda. Victoria said nothing until they were out of Langley’s earshot.

  “I’m telling you, Belinda, that one wants to be you,” said Victoria. “It’s written all over her. She’s so damned obsequious. It’s disgusting.”

  Belinda smiled. “Oh, give her a break, Victoria. Langley is just a kid.”

  “A kid who watches your every move.”

  “That’s because she’s my understudy.”

  “No,” Victoria insisted. “That’s because she wants your life.”

  C H A P T E R

  17

  Caroline couldn’t stop staring out the car window at the rolling farmland and majestic mountains in the distance. The view of seemingly endless, undeveloped acreage was such a welcome respite from worrying about her stepdaughter, her boss, and whether or not this crew was going to give her a hard time.

  Eventually, she forced herself to pull the manila folder from her bag and began to read through the contents. She’d gotten the article from the KEY News reference library. It was a Vanity Fair piece on Belinda Winthrop that had run almost two years ago. It outlined Belinda’s most famous roles on stage and screen. There were pictures of her beachfront home in Malibu, her chalet in Gstaad, her brownstone in Greenwich Village, and her vast country estate in Warrenstown, Massachusetts.

  The article went on to describe Belinda’s passion for detail. How she decorated each home herself, selecting furnishings in styles appropriate to their locations. It also told of her penchant for entertaining and described some of the parties she had given over the years. Belinda, the article said, loved to give theme parties, often coordinated with a role she was playing.

  To celebrate her role in Treasure Trove, Belinda had given a treasure hunt. Caroline studied the artist’s rendering of Belinda’s Massachusetts estate that accompanied the article. The map, executed by the famed Winthrop portraitist Remington Peters, was marked with tiny stars indicating spots where Belinda’s party guests had to go for clues to where the treasure was buried. X’s—there seemed to be a dozen or so—warned of holes leading to underground caves that the guests should be careful of.

  Caroline highlighted the following passage:

  WINTHROP’S RUN OF TRIUMPHS WAS INTERRUPTED THIS PAST SUMMER BY TRAGEDY. FOLLOWING THE TREASURE TROVE PARTY FOR THE WARRENSTOWN SUMMER PLAYHOUSE COMPANY AND PROMINENT LOCALS HELD AT CURTAINS UP, WINTHROP’S HOUSE-GUEST AND LONGTIME FRIEND DANIEL STERLING, WIDELY CONSIDERED THE DOMINANT HALF OF THE VICTORIA AND DANIEL STERLING PLAYWRITING TEAM, DIED IN A CAR ACCIDENT. STERLING, WHO HAD DIABETES, COULD HAVE BEEN SUFFERING THE EFFECTS OF THE DISEASE WHEN HIS CAR WENT OFF A DESERTED MOUNTAIN ROAD AND OVERTURNED IN A DITCH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, BUT HIS WIFE SAID HER HUSBAND HAD TOLD HER HE FOUGHT WITH ONE OF THE PARTY GUESTS, THOUGH HE WOULDN’T TELL HER WHO. CLAIMING HE WAS TOO UPSET TO SLEEP, HE LEFT THE ESTATE TO COOL OFF WITH A CAR RIDE THROUGH THE BERKSHIRE MOUNTAINS.

  THE PARTY GUESTS, AMONG THEM BROADWAY DIRECTOR KEITH FALLOWS, SCREENWRITER NICK MCGREGOR, AND ACCLAIMED ARTIST REMINGTON PETERS, WERE QUESTIONED BY POLICE, BUT STERLING’S DEATH WAS DECLARED AN ACCIDENT.

  Caroline re-capped the highlighter and looked out the window again.

  Nick had been questioned about Daniel Sterling’s death? Why hadn’t he ever mentioned that? He knew she was doing a story on Belinda Winthrop. Why hadn’t he volunteered that he’d been at the party at her house the night Daniel Sterling died? That wasn’t something you’d forget.

  “I’m hungry.” Caroline’s thoughts were interrupted by Boomer’s voice.

  “Not again, Boom.” Lamar groaned.

  “To tell you the truth, guys, I wouldn’t mind stopping either,” said Caroline. “We’re almost there, so let’s get some lunch. And I want to pick up a copy of the local paper.”

  Back in the car after lunch, the headline on the bottom of the front page of the Albany Times Union caught Caroline’s eye. EVIDENCE OF MARIJUANA IN PLAYHOUSE VICTIMS. She read the story about two Warrenstown Summer Playhouse apprentices who had been killed in a car accident over the weekend. Marijuana had been found in the car, and now the autopsy showed the drug in both of their systems.

  Meg must know these kids, thought Caroline, hoping that their tragic deaths would be a cautionary tale for her stepdaughter.

  C H A P T E R

  18

  Meg pulled at the corset drawstrings.

  “Tighter, Meg. You’ve got to pull them tighter,” Belinda said. “Don’t worry. I won’t break.”

  As she stood behind the actress, Meg caught sight of her own reflection in the mirrored wall over the dressing table. Her expression was serious as she took a deep breath and pulled back on the drawstrings.

  Belinda winced. “That’s better,” she said as her hands caressed her waistline. “That should be enough.”

  Meg walked over to the rack on which all the actress’s costumes hung. She selected the green velvet ball gown that Belinda wore in her first and last appearances onstage. She held the gown as Belinda stepped into it. In keeping with the style of the period, there were two dozen green velvet buttons running down the back of the gown, but a hidden zipper had been sewn in to make quick costume changes possible. There was no way twenty-four small buttons could be fastened or unfastened and Belinda still make her entrances in time.

  As Meg zipped her into the dress, the star nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said. “But remind me not to breathe.”

  Meg smiled shyly. She still was in awe of Belinda Winthrop and couldn’t quite believe that not only was she in the star’s dressing room but that the actress was actually talking with her. Meg was trying hard to strike the right balance between being respectful and not appearing overly impressed. But even though the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse stressed that, from apprentice to star, all of the thespians and support staff belonged here as colleagues, it was undeniable that Belinda Winthrop was in a class of her own. For Meg, it was intoxicating yet intimidating to be in such close contact with a legend.

  A tinkling sound emanated from Meg’s knapsack. She hesitated.

  “It’s all right, Meg. Go ahead and answer it,” Belinda said as she pulled on her long green gloves.

  Meg checked the number on the cell phone screen. “Forget it,” she said, tossing the phone back in the bag. “It’s not important.”

  Caroline listened to the ring and then heard the click that meant the call was being forwarded to voice mail.

  “Hi. It’s Meg. Please leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

  “Hi, Meg. It’s Caroline. I just wanted to let you know I’m here. Call me when you can and we’ll figure out when we can get together.” She recited her cell phone number. Caroline was certain Meg already had it, but her stepdaughter wasn’t above claiming she didn’t. Caroline refused to give Meg any excuse not to return the call.

  C H A P T E R

  19

  The audience gathered for the afternoon run-through of Devil in the Details was a select one. With the exception of Belinda’s portrait painter, Remington Peters, who had sneaked in through a side entrance to view her in her costume, everyone was involved directly with the play. The public was decidedly unwelcome.

  In the frenetic moments before the curtain would go up, actors with nonspeaking roles were called out to stand in the glare of the spotlights for a costume check. The
property master hurled epithets from somewhere backstage when he noticed that one of the glasses from a serving tray was missing. As the stage manager gave two-minute warnings over his headset to the first-scene actors, the lighting and sound engineers made final adjustments to their computers.

  Keith Fallows sat in the back of the theater, where as director he could have overall perspective. Langley Tate sat closer to the front, where she could study Belinda’s movements and mannerisms. Victoria Sterling positioned herself at the side, where she could make notes on her script without distracting anyone.

  Finally, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose. One of the three chandeliers failed to fall from the rafters, but everyone pretended not to notice. Belinda’s performance was flawless, and her presence onstage kept the other actors on their toes. Scene One introduced the play’s main characters and gave the audience a sense of time and place: in turn-of-the-twentieth-century Boston, Valerie is a woman of wealth and privilege married for fourteen years to Davis, a man whom she slowly begins to suspect is a sociopath.

  At the end of the first scene, Keith yelled from the back of the theater, “Hold it, everybody. This still isn’t right.” The director rose from his seat and walked quickly down the aisle as the actors waited.

  “Belinda, darling, I think you should move more downstage when you deliver the last lines of this scene.”

  “Yesterday you told me to stay upstage, Keith,” Belinda said.

  “I know what I said yesterday, but this is today.”

  Belinda kept her face expressionless as she moved closer to the front of the stage. “Do you want me to run the lines again, Keith?” she asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  What a pro, thought Langley as she watched the exchange between star and director. If she was in Belinda’s place, she would want to wring Keith’s scrawny neck. He had been constantly changing his mind about the blocking throughout the rehearsals for this production. The sets creaked, the lighting was either too bright or too dim, the costumes were uninspired, and the actors were either too animated or sleepwalking through their lines.

  Langley hadn’t worked with Keith Fallows before, but his reputation for exacting standards preceded him. That was what made him the successful director he was. But the understudy hadn’t been prepared for Keith’s sarcasm and sometimes downright anger in response to anything that displeased him. The cast and crew of Devil in the Details were walking on eggshells.

  Except for Belinda. If Keith’s behavior bothered her, she didn’t let it show. No matter how many times the director changed his mind, Belinda never revealed any trace of frustration or annoyance. Langley worried about taking Belinda’s place onstage and dealing with Keith’s volatile temperament, but that fear wasn’t enough to extinguish her appetite for the role of Valerie.

  Langley Tate was a full decade younger than Belinda Winthrop and had envisioned over and over again the zest she would inject into the part. Playing Valerie at the Warrenstown Summer Playhouse could get her the attention that might lead to great things in her career. But that would never happen as long as Belinda stayed healthy.

  Meg watched the first two scenes on the monitor in the dressing room, paying strict attention because of the several quick costume changes she had to assist Belinda with. But with the intermission looming after the final scene of the first act, Meg grabbed the copy of the Devil in the Details script Belinda had left on the dressing table and went upstairs to follow along from the side of the stage.

  ACT I, SCENE 3

  The drawing room, lit only by a large fireplace, is in almost complete darkness, the light from the flickering flames dancing on the walls and furniture. The room seems empty. A few moments pass in silence. VALERIE ENTERS upstage and is about to turn the switch to light the lamps, but she is interrupted by a disembodied voice coming from a high-backed chair downstage.

  DAVIS: Don’t touch it.

  VALERIE: Oh God, Davis. You gave me a fright. (VALERIE waits for an answer, but DAVIS does not speak.) Why are you sitting here in the dark? And why would you want the lights out tonight, of all nights? You know we have guests arriving for the weekend.

  DAVIS: Sitting in the dark is so soothing, so calming. The sound of your voice, though, is cutting through me like glass, even more than usual.

  VALERIE: I will ignore that last jab, Davis. (She walks toward him, peeling off her gloves.) But if you are not feeling well, should you not be upstairs, with a cool cloth on your head?

  As Meg heard Belinda deliver the line with such wifely tenderness, she would have bet fifty dollars that Keith Fallows was going to scream “Hold.” In earlier rehearsals, he had told Belinda twice, once kindly and the second time with his voice raised with impatience, that she was supposed to sound sarcastic when speaking about her husband’s pain. Belinda had ignored that direction and spoke the line with a lilt of genuine care and concern.

  “Hold!” Keith jumped to his feet and bellowed the word. Everyone onstage stood absolutely still. “Please, Belinda,” he said, gritting his teeth.

  The director walked toward the stage. The actress moved downstage, kneeling on one knee between two footlights so that they might speak without being overheard. “What is it now?” she whispered, pretending not to know why he’d stopped the action.

  “You know damn well what’s the matter,” he hissed.

  “Well, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree, Keith. At this point in the play, I don’t think Valerie is at all sure that Davis is the monster he turns out to be. She’s still worried she’s reading too much into her husband’s strange behavior. She realizes that everything he’s done in the first two scenes has a possible and plausible explanation. If I start playing her as bitchily as you’d like right now, I think we spoil it for the audience. They won’t have enough sympathy for Valerie.”

  “Isn’t that my department? Isn’t the director supposed to make these kinds of decisions?”

  “That’s the problem, Keith. I’m afraid you think that director and dictator are the same thing. Do you really think I’ve gotten to where I am by blindly obeying every director’s whim over my own instincts?” Belinda stood up, letting him know that the conference was over.

  Keith was furious, but he didn’t want to have it out with Belinda with the whole cast and crew as witnesses. And he didn’t want to alienate her any more than he might have already. He needed her too much; his future depended on her.

  C H A P T E R

  20

  Caroline and her video crew arrived at the theater in time to hear the stage manager’s final instruction to the cast: “All right, everyone, you have a few hours to yourselves. Seven-thirty call for an eight o’clock show.”

  Caroline stood at the end of the aisle and waited as Keith Fallows finished speaking to several members of the crew. When he was finally alone, she walked over and introduced herself.

  The director looked at her with a blank expression on his face.

  “We had an interview scheduled this afternoon, for KEY to America?” Caroline prompted him.

  “Oh yes, that’s right. How could I forget?” Keith smiled, but she detected a hint of sarcasm.

  “Where would you like us to set up?” she asked. “We could do it down here in the seats, or I was thinking we might do it up on the set.”

  “My dear, where we do it will have to be up to you. I have no desire to direct your interview. I have enough to do.”

  “I was only trying to accommodate your preferences, Mr. Fallows,” said Caroline evenly, determined not to show that his words had stung.

  “Well, if you really want to accommodate me, would you mind if we rescheduled? I just have too much on my mind right now.”

  As she and the crew left the theater, Caroline knew her pale cheeks were blushing.

  “Wow. He really blew you off,” said Boomer.

  “Ya think?” asked Caroline with sarcasm.

  “Don’t need to be so touchy. I was just making an observation.”
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  “Thanks, Boomer,” said Caroline. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  C H A P T E R

  21

  The librarian listened to the request and then looked up at the clock on the wall. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes.”

  “I know, but it’s really important. I won’t be able to come back tomorrow. I really need that old issue of Vanity Fair.”

  “All right. Wait here.”

  Five precious minutes were eaten up waiting for the librarian to search the stacks. The elderly woman arrived back at the circulation desk with the magazine in her hand.

  “There’s a copy machine over against the wall if you need it,” she offered.

  “Thanks. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  The librarian turned to finish her tasks before closing as the reader walked down the row of bookshelves to a table in the corner. In seconds the article on Belinda Winthrop was folded and stashed away.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” The librarian stood over the table with books held tightly in her arms.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. I saw you.”

  “Saw me what?”

  “Take those pages out of that magazine.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  The librarian quickly considered her options. It was her turn to lock up, and the other staffers had already gone home. She was all alone. As she stared into the unblinking eyes, she decided to avoid a conflict.

  “Please leave,” she said. “And do not come back here again.”

  If she went through the magazine, the nosy librarian would be able to tell which article had been taken. And if anything ever happened to Belinda Winthrop, the librarian would surely remember the stolen article and think it worthy of mentioning to the police. The librarian would be able to give a physical description.