“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.”
Chief Stanley noticed the cigarette butt that lay on the ground next to the cave opening. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and put them on. Then he picked up the cigarette and slid it into an envelope.
If the butt had Victoria Sterling’s DNA on it, prosecutors would have a nice little piece of evidence that could place her at the crime scene.
C H A P T E R
138
Ten minutes before the broadcast was scheduled to end, the Warrenstown police announced that Belinda Winthrop had been found in an uncharted underground cave on her property. Constance Young was able to report on KEY to America that the actress was alive.
E P I L O G U E
When Belinda woke up, Keith Fallows was sitting beside her hospital bed.
“Thank you for coming, Keith.”
“Langley wanted to come, too, Belinda, but you know, she has the matinee.”
“It’s nice that you came, though,” Belinda said softly. There were scratches on her face, and her bottom lip was split. Her blond hair lay limply on the pillow. An IV line fed into her arm. “I know you hate to miss a performance.”
“They don’t really need me now. The company knows what it’s doing.”
“How did Langley perform?” asked Belinda.
“Better than you might expect,” said Keith. “She’s not you, of course.”
Belinda smiled.
After lunch, as the crew car traveled south to the Berkshire Medical Center, Caroline was conflicted about interviewing Belinda Winthrop. Her professional side was delighted that the actress had agreed to give her an exclusive interview, but knowing that Belinda had been with Nick was exceedingly discomfiting.
The parking lot and sidewalk in front of the hospital were jammed with reporters, camera crews, and live-shot trucks. The crowd of newspeople groaned in protest as Caroline, Annabelle, Lamar, and Boomer were waved on, allowed to walk straight into the lobby, up to the front desk, and on to Belinda’s room.
“My doctors don’t think this is a good idea,” said the actress as Boomer took special care in clipping a microphone to her hospital gown. “But I insisted. From what everyone’s been telling me, I have a lot to thank you for, Caroline.”
“The dog found you, not me,” said Caroline.
“But because of you, Victoria Sterling is going to get what she deserves. You stopped her.”
“Nick’s daughter, Meg, had a lot to do with it, Belinda.”
The two women looked directly into each other’s eyes.
“It didn’t mean anything, Caroline. Believe me, it didn’t. And we both regretted it afterwards.”
Belinda talked about her time in the cave, about coming in and out of consciousness, about the bobcat cubs and her fear that she would never be found. She had already been instructed by the police that, because of pending legal proceedings, she should not give any details of Victoria Sterling’s attack on her.
“What do you think about the seventeen Remington Peters portraits of you being found?” asked Caroline.
“I’m glad they weren’t destroyed, but it makes me sad to think Remington could have deceived everyone and collected all that insurance money.” Belinda’s expression grew solemn. “He called a little while ago, and he says he did it because he couldn’t stand the whole world gaping at me. God help him. He told me he’d given all the money to charity. And to tell you the truth, I’d be willing to compensate the insurance company with my own funds if they don’t press charges.”
“And what about the marijuana the police found in his cellar? Did you ever think that he was dealing in drugs right on your property?” asked Caroline.
“No,” said Belinda firmly. “But I do have my suspicions about someone else, and I’ve shared them with the police.”
Annabelle took the interview tape to the satellite truck to feed it to New York while Caroline went back to the Warrenstown Inn to try to get some rest. The evening broadcast wanted her to do a live two-way, and having had no sleep at all overnight, she needed a nap to be able to function.
No sooner had she put her head on the pillow than her phone rang.
“It’s me. Meg. Can I come up?”
“Sure, honey.”
Caroline
had time to splash some water on her face and run a brush through her hair before Meg knocked on the door.
“Come on in.” Caroline held the door open wide.
Meg stepped across the threshold and threw her arms around her stepmother. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said. “If you hadn’t come looking for me when you did, I think Victoria really would have killed me.”
“Let’s not even think about that, Meg,” whispered Caroline, hugging her stepdaughter back.
“It’s like a bad dream,” said Meg as she and Caroline took seats on the edge of the bed.
“I know,” said Caroline. “But it’s over now.”
Meg looked down and wrung her hands in her lap. “Part of it’s not,” she said.
“You mean about your father?”
She nodded. “I guess I shouldn’t be talking about this to you, of all people, but I just can’t believe that Dad would have cheated on Mom with Belinda. I just can’t believe that. I idolized her.” Meg paused. “I idolized him,” she said softly.
“Even the best of us make mistakes, Meg,” Caroline said softly.
“So you’re all right with it? You can forgive him?”
“I’m not sure, Meg. I hope so, but it’s going to take some time to be able to put things in perspective. I do know that making a decision one way or the other right now wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”
Meg looked up. “I really hope that you and Dad can work it out, Caroline.”
“I do, too, honey.”
After Meg left, Caroline lay down again. She was exhausted. All the tension and worry and lack of sleep had caught up with her.
I’ve got to get some rest, she thought, rubbing her burning eyes. But she found herself staring at the ceiling, thinking of Nick and what their future was going to be. There were things that had to be ironed out between them, but Caroline wanted to try to be optimistic. They had so much that was good in their relationship. Nick had made a mistake, and he had admitted it. He was sorry for it. What more could he really do now? It was going to be up to her to get past this. In her heart, she wanted to.
Caroline closed her eyes, trying to relax, but the events of the last days sped through her mind. What would they mean for her future at KEY News? If Linus was going to continue to give her a hard time, so be it. She had to tell the truth as she saw it, even if it didn’t always please her boss. But these days in Warrenstown had given her a different view of things. Maybe there were other opportunities for her. If she really wanted to, it wouldn’t be too late to switch directions and try reporting.
Caroline turned over on her side and fluffed the pillow, knowing, if she wanted to fall asleep, she’d have to turn off the dialogue in her head and try to think of something pleasant, something positive.
Meg. In the midst of everything, she and Meg had been able to work things out. Their breakthrough meant Caroline could look forward to having the kind of relationship she had hoped for with her stepdaughter. She couldn’t, and didn’t want to, take the place of Meg’s mother, but she could be a good friend. Caroline knew what it was like to feel alone, and she didn’t want that for Meg. She hoped she’d be able to support Meg as she straightened herself out, finished school, and went on to find her way in life.
Caroline hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours. Now, she finally could.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There would be no Lights Out Tonight without Elizabeth, my daughter. Her summer apprenticeship at the Williamstown Theatre Festival led to recurring trips to the Berkshires. Each visit left me more convinced that I wanted to tell a story set in this unique and memorable area. Throughout the research for and writing of this book, Elizabeth was a source of much enthusiasm and insight.
For this production, many who worked behind the scenes now deserve a hand. A round of applause to the cast at St. Martin’s Press. Jen Enderlin, my thoughtful and creative editor, offered so many good suggestions. I am grateful for Jen’s expert direction. To Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, Ed Gabrielli, John Karle, John Murphy, Kim Cardascia, Jerry Todd, who designed the cover, and Tom Hallman, who illustrated it, my sincere thanks. Once again, I was truly fortunate to have the benefit of Susan M. S. Brown’s fine copyediting.
Joni Evans and Jennifer Rudolph Walsh should take their bows for their unflagging support. They are good critics and keen mentors. I know I am lucky to have them guiding my writing career.
As ever, Father Paul Holmes was waiting in the wings, ready to assist in so many, many ways. Sounding board, wise man, and loyal friend, Paul never misses a cue. For this story in particular, he contributed his theatrical knowledge, talent, and flair.
Stephanie LaRiviere shared her experiences as an apprentice dresser with me, explaining how actors are readied for the stage. Stephanie’s recollections helped me quite a bit.
Ann Ames and Joan Andriani were forthcoming and generous with their time as they assisted me with research. Their positive spirits are contagious.
Beth Tindall gets strong reviews for keeping maryjaneclark.com running. Thanks to Beth it’s current as well as inventive. Thumbs up to Colleen Kenny for adapting Lights Out Tonight into the Web site’s mini-movie.
The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout, Ph.D., aided me in my research on people with no conscience.
Finally, a standing ovation for Peggy Gould. She communicated with me almost every single day, giving me the peace of mind I needed to be able to write this story. I will always be grateful, Peggy.
So now the curtain comes down on Lights Out Tonight. To the friends and family I’ve neglected, thank you for your patience with me. Now we can go to the show.
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