CHAPTER NINE — THE THING VIVIAN COULD NOT MOVE
Sergeant Brooks arrived with two officers and examined the brick.
She took the note and asked Soren about his security system.
His cameras had recorded a person in a hooded jacket, but the face was obscured.
The footage would not identify the attacker by itself.
I asked whether Vivian could be questioned.
“She can be questioned,” Imani said.
“That doesn’t mean I can accuse her of everything that happens on this street.”
She was right, and I hated that she was right.
The next morning, Vivian appeared at my driveway without her hammer.
She carried a potted orchid and wore the same polished smile she had used at neighborhood meetings.
“I heard about the workshop,” she said.
“Did you?”
“This has gone too far.”
I did not invite her inside.
“You started it by destroying my mailbox.”
She looked at the empty wooden base.
“I was upset.”
“You were looking for something.”
“An item that belonged to the theater.”
“Why?”
She adjusted her grip on the orchid.
“Because people can misunderstand technical objects.”
“Then explain it to them.”
“You have no idea what you’re interfering with.”
“I know a girl was injured.”
Vivian’s expression hardened.
“A terrible accident.”
“And an innocent man lost his career.”
“You don’t know he was innocent.”
I looked directly at her.
“He pushed the stop button.”
The orchid slipped slightly in her hands.
For one second, Vivian seemed to forget the performance she had prepared.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
I did not answer.
She set the orchid on the driveway and walked away.
I left the plant where it stood.
The important thing had already been moved out of her reach.
But the object that frightened her most was no longer the miniature carousel.
It was a sentence spoken aloud by someone she thought would never speak again.
CHAPTER TEN — A DOOR LEFT OPEN
By Friday, the new entertainment center had announced an open house for prospective investors.
Its advertising promised a revolutionary moving stage that would bring audiences closer to the performers.
Nora stared at the invitation on her phone.
“They’re selling the same design,” she said.
“We don’t know that,” I replied.
“We know enough to ask.”
Ellis wanted to stay away.
He had spent six years trying to rebuild a life beyond the theater.
But when Nora showed him the advertisement, he asked to see the technical demonstration.
Soren agreed to accompany us because he could explain mechanical differences without making accusations.
We entered the exhibition hall separately.
Vivian stood beside a large scale model wearing a name badge that identified her as community relations director.
She was speaking to a man in an expensive gray suit.
Behind them, a polished platform rotated beneath a canopy of lights.
A presenter invited visitors to stand on it.
Nora watched the machine turn.
“They’ve removed the side barrier,” she whispered.
Soren examined the controls from a distance.
“The emergency release is on the operator’s desk,” he said.
“Is there another one?” I asked.
“I can’t see one.”
Ellis stepped forward and asked the presenter how the platform stopped during a power failure.
The presenter answered confidently, but his explanation described a system different from the one on display.
Soren asked for a demonstration of the emergency stop.
The presenter refused.
Vivian recognized us then.
She crossed the room quickly.
“This is a private event,” she said.
“Your invitation was public,” Nora replied.
Vivian looked at Ellis.
Her face drained of color.
“You,” she said.
Ellis stood still.
“Yes,” he answered.
“I’m still here.”
