Lamar stepped up. “What can you tell us about the report we’ve heard that Belinda Winthrop is missing?”
“Sorry, but I don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Well, we already know something is up. We were just out at her place, and your guys were out there, too.”
“What did they tell you?” the officer asked.
“Nothing,” Caroline piped up. “They told us to get off the property.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had made a mistake. From the corner of her eye, she could see Lamar looking at her, thinking her, she imagined, a fool. The officer’s answer confirmed Lamar was right.
“Well, if they didn’t tell you anything and wanted you to get off the property, what would make you think that I would give you any information? My boss is out there, and if he isn’t ready to talk to the press, I’m certainly not going to.” The officer picked up some papers and tapped them on the desk to neaten them. “Besides, doesn’t the left hand know what the right hand is doing?”
“What do you mean?” asked Caroline.
“Somebody from KEY News already called about Belinda Winthrop. We didn’t give her any information either.”
Caroline felt her already flushed cheeks grow hotter. Of course, Linus didn’t trust her to handle this. She wasn’t really surprised, but it stung a little to think he’d had someone else check up on what was going on here when she was right on scene. Still, she was glad that he was taking her trip seriously.
“Can we ask you this?” said Lamar as he pulled out his wallet and took out a business card. “If you have any news or if you will be holding a press conference or something, would you please give us a call? My cell phone number is written on the back of the card.” He handed it up.
The cop took it. “No promises,” he said. “But I will tell you one thing. It’s not all that uncommon for someone to go out for a pack of cigarettes and never come back.”
As Caroline and Lamar turned away from the desk, a call came in on the radio.
“We’re doing a small search of the area to make sure Belinda Winthrop isn’t lying out there hurt. In the meantime, check with the North Adams Regional Hospital and the Berkshire Medical Center down in Pittsfield and see if she’s shown up in the emergency room.”
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What if the police came back and wanted to search his studio? They’d want to know what was behind the padlocked door. He’d have to give them the key and let them go down to the cellar. Remington’s chest tightened at the thought of it.
They’d see the portraits and know that he had lied. They’d know he’d collected the insurance money. They’d never believe his motives. They wouldn’t understand that he’d set the fire as a ruse so the public would think Belinda’s portraits had been destroyed. How could he explain that he just couldn’t stand the thought of all those strangers gawking at his beloved?
He tried hard not to look at magazines or newspapers or reruns of her old movies on television. It pained him to think that she was so exposed. All the world could read about her and look at her and gossip about her. He hated that. Three years ago it had bothered him so much that he’d couldn’t play into the public’s fascination with Belinda any longer. That was when he’d come up with the idea of the fire. Over two nights, Remington had sneaked the portraits out from his old studio in town and stashed them in the back of his station wagon. He had then driven them to a storage facility in Albany. When he was through, he’d set the fire.
He hadn’t counted on Belinda being so upset at the loss. And when he’d told her that he couldn’t bring himself to paint her portrait again, she hadn’t realized the reason was that he didn’t want to share her with anyone, didn’t want to be part of the objectifying of Belinda Winthrop. She’d thought he was so destroyed by the loss of the portraits that he didn’t want to be reminded of it by painting her image again.
Belinda had made it her mission to bring Remington around, to make him want to work again. He was such a great talent, she told him. It would be wrong for him to give up his art. Her fondest wish, she said, was that he paint another portrait. She would help him get back on his feet. He could come live and work at Curtains Up.
Remington had luxuriated in her attention. He’d welcomed the opportunity to be able to live so close to Belinda when she came up to Warrenstown. He couldn’t say no to her, and finally, Remington had agreed to paint her again.
After she went back to New York at the end of the season, he took the paintings out of the storage facility and brought them to his new home. They were arranged in his special shrine to her in the cellar.
But now, they weren’t safe.
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Caroline and Lamar came out of the police station.
“Well?” asked Boomer as they climbed back into the car.
Caroline braced herself for Lamar’s account of her naïve performance, but for whatever reason, he cut her a break and didn’t embarrass her in front of Boomer.
“The cops plan on checking her property,” Lamar answered. “And checking the hospitals.”
As their car pulled out of the parking lot, Caroline’s cell phone sounded. It was Linus. “What’s going on up there?” he asked in his gruff tone.
She told him what she knew. “Sorry, Linus, but I really don’t have much more to tell you. I think the police are stretched pretty thin up here. Somebody in town was found murdered yesterday, and two kids from the theater program died in a car accident a few days before that. This is not an ordinary week for them.”
“I’m sending Annabelle Murphy up to help you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She’ll be there this afternoon.”
Caroline was relieved to hear that Annabelle was coming, yet somehow disappointed that Linus didn’t trust her to handle things herself. But based on her less-than-stellar performance in the police station just now, Caroline suspected Linus was right to be sending up reinforcements.
She listened as the executive producer finished describing his plan. “If it turns out Belinda Winthrop is dead, we have to be in position to be all over it. I’ll have Constance Young on standby, ready to get up there, too, if we need her.”
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“Oh, thank you, Dad,” said Meg as she took the gold bracelet. “I’m so glad you found it. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost it for good.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” said Nick. “You better get that clasp looked at.”
“Where was it?” asked Meg, winding the bracelet around her wrist.
“Right out there on Belinda’s patio, where we were sitting last night. Actually, Meg, it was Caroline who found it.”
“Oh.” Meg busied herself with searching through papers at her desk.
“Come on, Meg,” said Nick. “Can’t you please give Caroline a break?”
Meg sighed. “Look, Dad, we’ve been through this before. If Caroline makes you happy, I’m glad. But I can’t help it. I’m nota fan.”
“You’ve never given her a chance. You were prepared to dislike her from the first time you met her.”
Meg didn’t argue with her father’s observation. She glanced at the radio alarm clock, suddenly eager to get away. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to get going. There’s some stuff I have to do at the theater. I have to stitch up a seam on the sleeve of one of Belinda’s gowns and then steam all of her dresses to make sure they look perfect tonight.”
“I hope Belinda’s there to wear them,” said Nick.
“What do you mean?”
Nick described what he and Caroline had witnessed at Curtains Up.
“Oh, no, Dad,” said Meg, her brow furrowed. “She’s been so nice to me. She kinda reminds me of Mom. She has to be all right.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetheart,” said her father. “Belinda will turn up.”
Meg shivered involuntarily. “No offense, Dad, but you said there was
a good chance Mom would get better, and look how that turned out.”
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What would just about every apprentice jump at the chance to do?
Go out to dinner with an accomplished director? Run lines with a famous star? Be an extra in an upcoming movie? Meet with a theatrical agent?
Any of those would work.
The killer tacked the notice to the bulletin board.
New York Theatrical Agent Will Be Holding Interviews ThisWeekend. If Interested, Please Print Your Name, Telephone Number, E-mail, and Where You Are Staying on Campus.
That should snag Brightlights.
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“Maybe we should go over to the theater,” Caroline suggested. “We can see if the word is out about Belinda’s disappearance and try to get some reaction.”
Lamar nodded. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m getting hungry,” said Boomer. “Maybe we should go get some lunch first.”
“It’s a little early for lunch, isn’t it, Boomer?” asked Caroline.
“Easy for you to say. Look at you, and then look at me,” said the soundman. “Now tell me, who needs to be fed on a regular
basis?”
“Just think how much better everything will taste if we wait,” replied Caroline, smiling.
“All right, but if we get stuck in that theater all afternoon, I’m not gonna be a happy camper.”
Caroline was disappointed when they entered the lobby. It was empty. “I don’t know quite what I was expecting,” she said.“But I guess I was hoping that everybody would be standing around, gossiping about Belinda.”
“Maybe nobody has even heard she’s missing yet,” said Lamar.
“I told you we should have gone for lunch,” said Boomer. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Not so fast, Boom. Who’s that over there?” Lamar pointed in the direction of the box office.
“It’s Langley Tate,” said Caroline. “Belinda’s understudy.”
Caroline walked over.
“I guess you’ve heard,” said Langley, her cheeks flushed.
“Yes, but I don’t know much. Only that Belinda was nowhere to be found this morning at Curtains Up. Have you heard anything else?”
“No, not really. But Keith Fallows called and told me to be ready to go on tonight.”
Caroline looked down at the small envelope in Langley’s hand.
“I was just getting some tickets for the performance,” Langley said sheepishly. “I called my parents, and they’re driving up this afternoon from New Jersey.”
“Of course you’d want them to see you,” said Caroline. Isn’t it interesting, she thought, how one person’s misfortune could be another’s good luck?
“Well, I better get going,” said Langley. “I have to meet with Keith to go over some things.”
“Let me ask you something, Langley. Would you be willing to be interviewed later?”
“You mean about Belinda?”
“Yes, and about what it feels like to be stepping into her shoes.”
Langley demurred, but for only a moment. “Nobody can step into Belinda’s shoes,” she said. “But let me give you my cell phone number. Call me when you want to do the interview.”
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It seemed incredibly self-serving at a time like this, but Victoria still wanted to make certain that the audiovisual department had successfully recorded Belinda’s performance last night. Having her portrayal of Valerie on tape gave the playwright the best shot at impressing the Pulitzer committee. Belinda had been magnificent, and Victoria couldn’t imagine any other actress making Devil in the Details more memorable than she had. Langley Tate certainly wouldn’t be able to pull off the role with nearly the aplomb.
There was no one in the audiovisual office when Victoria entered. She checked the tape decks, but they all were empty. There was nothing on the desk. Finally, a scan of the shelves on the wall produced the tape.
It was the only copy, Victoria observed. She should probably leave it here and come back later when somebody was around to ask for a dub. But the tape meant too much to her. If she left it here now and something happened to it or someone else took it, she’d be screwed.
She had every right to this tape, Victoria thought as she stuffed it into her bag. She could bring it back some other time and have them make a copy for the Playhouse archives. She wasn’t going to let this original out of her possession.
As Victoria came down the stairs from the office on the second level, she saw Caroline Enright and the KEY News camera crew in the lobby. Victoria really didn’t want to talk to Caroline again. She just wanted to get back to Curtains Up, check on the status of the police search for Belinda, and if there was an opportunity, take her mind off things by viewing the tape.
Victoria was about to go back up and find another way out when Caroline saw her on the stairs.
“Victoria,” she called out.
Caught, Victoria continued down.
“Any news on Belinda?” Caroline asked.
Victoria shook her head. “Nothing when I left Curtains Up about a half hour ago. The police asked for the master key to the buildings on the property. I hope I did the right thing in giving it to them.”
“What are they saying?”
“That they still have no indication that a crime has been committed. But I have to say, I think they’re giving it much more attention than they would if nobody could find you or me,” said Victoria.
“What are you going to do?” asked Caroline.
“I don’t think there is much else anybody can do but sit and wait.”
“Maybe call the FBI?” Caroline suggested.
“The police say they’re alerting them, though how much the feds will get involved at this point is anyone’s guess,” said Victoria. “Belinda hasn’t been gone for long. We don’t know if it’s a kidnapping or an accident or if she is just going to come walking in with a perfectly good explanation of where she’s been.”
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It was pitch-black.
Her eyes were open, but she could see absolutely nothing. She lay flat on her back, feeling the packed ground beneath her body. A sharp rock was digging into her shoulder. As she tried to roll over, she cried out at the pain in her sides. Were her ribs broken?
Belinda’s head throbbed as she tried to remember what had happened. But she couldn’t think clearly. She did know one thing, though. It didn’t really matter now how she had gotten here. All that mattered was how to get out of wherever she was, away from this terrifying darkness.
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“That does it,” Boomer declared. “We have to go to lunch. Now.”
Caroline had been clued in by more than one KEY News producer that the feeding of the crew was probably the single most important ingredient for a successful shoot. If the correspondent or producer took care of the crew, the crew would take care of the correspondent or producer in the field.
“I guess this is as good a time as any. But let’s just go to that deli in town,” she said. “It’s fast and it’s close.”
Ten minutes later they were staring at the menu board at Oscar’s. The men placed their orders and announced they were going to use the restroom. Caroline waited at the counter for the sandwiches. Oscar was eager to strike up a conversation.
“I guess you’ve heard the latest,” he said.
“You mean about Belinda Winthrop?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what’s going on with this town. My wife and I moved up here from the city to get away from crime. She’s starting to wonder if we made a mistake.”
Caroline watched as Oscar spread mustard on some pumpernickel bread. “I guess the police must be pretty worried,” she ventured.
“You said it,” chimed in Oscar. “One of them was just in here a little while ago to pick up sandwiches for the guys at the station.
The chief’s called in everyone, even the guys who are supposed to be on vacation. They’re freaked out about ol’ Mrs. Templeton. Though, to tell you the truth, I’d have liked to smack her myself. I went into the library one day and she wouldn’t give me the men’s room key. She was a real pill, that one.” Oscar cut a sandwich on the diagonal. “I guess she didn’t deserve to die though, did she?”
Caroline shook her head.
Oscar continued working and talking. “They thought it was something a couple of years ago when that famous play writer fellow was found dead in a ditch. But what’s happened this past week, with Mrs. Templeton and those Playhouse kids in that accident, and now maybe Belinda Winthrop meeting up with foul play—that’s made that time back then look like a nothin’.”
“I read something about that. Daniel Sterling, that was the playwright’s name,” said Caroline.
“That’s right,” said Oscar, slicing a dill pickle. “The guys on the force always thought something was fishy with the way he died, but they could never prove anything.”
“He had been at one of Belinda Winthrop’s parties the night before he died, right?”
“Yeah, and my friends on the force told me they thought one of those show business people did him in and made it look like an accident.”
“But did any of them have a motive to kill Daniel Sterling?” asked Caroline as she took out her wallet to pay.
Oscar pushed the sandwiches across the counter. “Ah, you know those showbiz types. They act like they’re all rooting for one another. I see ’em come in here, complimenting each other and acting all lovey-dovey. But if you ask me, they’re all really jealous of one another, and underneath it all, a lot of them would like to wring each other’s necks.”
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“No, Langley,” Keith yelled. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
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