CHAPTER FIFTEEN E — A CONVERSATION AT THE HARDWARE STORE
Vivian found me in the hardware store on Thursday afternoon.
I was comparing hinges for a cabinet door when she stepped into the aisle.
She wore a dark coat and carried an empty shopping basket.
“You’re making things worse,” she said.
I put the hinges back on their hook.
“Which things?”
“Families are losing money because of your accusations.”
“Families are losing money because a company sold tickets before its equipment passed inspection.”
Vivian glanced toward the cashier.
“You always make it sound simple.”
“I didn’t ask you to destroy my mailbox.
”
She tightened her grip on the basket.
“That was a mistake.”
“It was three deliberate swings with a sledgehammer.”
“I thought you were hiding something that belonged to us.”
“You were right that I moved something,” I said.
“You were wrong about who had a right to it.”
She stepped closer.
“My brother has spent his entire life building things for this town.”
“Then he should know how important it is to build them safely.”
For a moment, I thought she might strike me with the basket.
Instead, she lowered her voice.
“Graham was not the only person who approved that renovation.
”
“Who else?”
Vivian looked toward the end of the aisle.
“People you trust.”
I waited.
She refused to continue.
“If you want to make accusations,” I said, “make them where people can answer.”
“You don’t understand what you’re doing to this neighborhood.”
“I understand what happened to Nora.”
Vivian flinched at her name.
She walked away without buying anything.
I stood beside the hinges, thinking about her unfinished sentence.
Until then, we had focused on the contractor and the committee.
Vivian had just suggested that the people who knew about the dangerous stage included someone outside her family.
I did not know whether she was warning me or trying to send me chasing a false lead.
Either way, I decided not to keep the conversation to myself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN F — THE MAN WHO PAID FOR THE LIGHTS
Franklin answered my call with an exhausted sigh.
“I knew she’d say something like that eventually,” he told me.
“What does she mean?”
“The theater’s biggest donor was a man named Howard Beck.”
I had heard the name before.
Beck owned several shopping centers and sponsored the annual children’s arts festival.
“Did he sit on the renovation committee?” I asked.
“No,” Franklin replied.
“He sat above it.”
Franklin explained that Beck had insisted the new rotating stage be ready for a televised fundraiser.
The date was fixed months before the machinery arrived.
When the installation fell behind schedule, Beck threatened to withdraw funding from the theater’s education program.
“That doesn’t mean he knew the release was defective,” Franklin said.
“It means everyone was afraid to tell him the truth.”
Nora insisted we speak to Beck directly.
We requested an appointment through his office and received a polite refusal.
Two days later, Beck appeared unexpectedly at the temporary rehearsal space.
He was shorter than his photographs suggested and wore a raincoat over a formal suit.
He watched children practice a simple dance on the school cafeteria floor.
“This is what we’ve been reduced to,” he said.
Nora turned toward him.
“They’re rehearsing safely.”
Beck looked at her brace.
“I remember you.”
“I remember your fundraiser,” Nora answered.
“I was supposed to perform in it.”
He asked whether they could speak privately.
Nora refused.
“You can speak here,” she said.
“My parents spent six years being told that the accident was my fault for standing in the wrong place.”
Beck glanced at the children.
“I never said that.”
“You never corrected it either.”
The arts coordinator asked the children to take a water break.
Beck waited until the room was quieter.
“I was told the machine had passed inspection,” he said.
“Who told you?” Ellis asked.
“Graham Kessler.”
“Did anyone tell you it had failed a test?”
Beck hesitated.
“Someone mentioned a delay.”
“Who?”
“The stage manager.”
Franklin, standing near the doorway, went pale.
“I told you the emergency system wasn’t ready,” he said.
Beck stared at him.
“You told me the crew wanted more time.”
“I told you the emergency system wasn’t ready,” Franklin repeated.
The cafeteria fell silent.
Beck turned away from the children.
“I said the date couldn’t change,” he admitted.
“I didn’t tell anyone to ignore a safety problem.
”
“You made it clear what would happen if they delayed,” Franklin said.
Beck had no answer.
Nora walked to the table where the children had left their water bottles.
“Then tell the investigators exactly what you remember,” she said.
“Don’t make them guess what you meant.”
