Breaking news wasn’t her specialty, and Caroline knew it. She wasn’t sure what to do next, but she was certain her plan to walk around the campus and find some apprentices to interview for her piece on the Summer Playhouse could wait. She should be trying to find out what had happened to Belinda Winthrop.
Knowing Nick would be happy to spend the rest of the morning alone with Meg, Caroline met up with Lamar and Boomer. She told them about her visit to Belinda’s estate and her conversation with Linus Nazareth.
“We have a couple of choices,” said Lamar. “We can go over to the police station or drive out to Belinda Winthrop’s place.”
“Which do you think?” asked Caroline.
“You’re the editorial person,” said Lamar. “You decide.”
“All right. Belinda’s place,” said Caroline. “That’s where the most interesting video will be.”
Caroline wasn’t sure she was making the right decision until she saw the affirmation in Lamar’s eyes.
There was a police vehicle in front of the farmhouse when the KEY News team arrived. Lamar parked the crew car and hopped out, quickly gathering his gear from the trunk. He and Boomer were recording when an officer walked over to them.
Caroline identified herself and her crew.
“You’ll have to leave,” said the patrolman.
“What’s happening, Officer?” asked Caroline.
“As I said, you have to leave. Now.”
Inside the farmhouse, Victoria retold the story of not being able to find Belinda Winthrop that morning.
“Belinda usually goes for a walk in the morning, but I checked her closet, and her walking shoes are still there.”
“And you’re a houseguest of Ms. Winthrop’s?” Sergeant Weaver asked.
“Yes.”
“Anyone else on the property?”
“A caretaker and Remington Peters.”
“The artist, right?”
Victoria nodded as she exhaled and ground her cigarette butt into the ashtray.
“What’s the caretaker’s name?” asked Weaver.
“Gus Oberon.”
Sergeant Weaver and a police patrolman walked across the yard to the garage. There was no one inside.
“Let’s go try the artist,” said Weaver.
Remington Peters answered the carriage house door on the first knock. His hair was disheveled, his mouth downturned.
“May we come in?” asked Sergeant Weaver.
“Uh, yes. Of course.” Remington stood back to let the men pass.
The officers scanned the studio. Weaver’s eyes fixed on the cloth-covered easel. “What are you working on?” he asked.
“A portrait,” said Remington.
“Belinda Winthrop’s?” asked Weaver. “I saw that you are having that exhibit over at the Ambrose Gallery.” He moved closer to the easel. “Can I see?” His hand reached for the cloth.
“No.” Remington positioned himself between the policeman and the canvas. “I mean, I don’t let anyone see my work before it’s completed.”
“All right. I guess I can respect that,” said Weaver, backing away. “Tell me, though, Mr. Peters. When was the last time you saw Ms. Winthrop?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“At her party.”
“How did she seem?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did she seem upset about anything?”
Remington paused to consider the question. He could truthfully say that Belinda, actress that she was, had been the perfect hostess. If she had been upset, she hadn’t let it show. In front of her guests, Belinda had appeared as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“No, Sergeant,” he answered. “Belinda didn’t seem distressed at all. She had a lot to be happy about. Everyone at the party was telling her she’d just given the performance of a lifetime.”
As Gus came out of the woods, he could see the police car parked in front of the farmhouse. He crouched down, watching as two uniformed cops came out of the carriage house and walked toward the garage.
They were looking for him. Gus was sure of it.
He turned and went back into the woods. If the cops were going to be snooping around, he had to finish camouflaging the opening to his cave.