Page 17 of Reckless Chance
The month I spent working on one of the Athena’s productions was one of the most enjoyable rotations Dad ever assigned me to as part of what he referred to asmy training to become him. The enthusiasm and energy are palpable before a performance.
Even after a show, there’s usually a buzz of excitement while costumes are collected, sets and props are stored, performers hustle to change into street clothes, and the various cast and crew offer their congratulations on a successful performance. It’s also when VIPs holding backstage passes can meet the performers and experience a behind-the-scenes look firsthand.
Tonight is different.
Backstage, the atmosphere is sedate. It doesn’t make sense. The audience enjoyed the show and laughed at the correct times. Other than a hobbling acrobat, it went off without issue. Why is everyone glum?
Reaching the stage manager, who’s engrossed in a conversation with three others, I ask, “Ron, what’s going on?”
When he turns to face me, his face is stricken, and he’s mopping sweat off his forehead. What the hell?
“Mr. Cartwright, can we talk in private?”
Stepping away from his group, I signal for Lowri to stay close.
Noticing Ron’s hesitation, I say, “Go ahead. You can say anything in front of her.”
“Umm. If you’re sure, sir.”
“Get on with it. I don’t have all night.”
“I don’t know how to tell you, but there’s been a terrible accident.”
“We saw the acrobat fall and twist his ankle. Give him the time he needs to recover and call in a backup for the show. Won’t that work?”
“Yes, sir. We can use a backup for Reese. That’s not the accident I meant. The audience member fell. And … and he’s … umm … dead,” he whispers, staring at his shoes.
A quiet gasp escapes Lowri’s lips. I reach for her hand, giving it a squeeze, as I sternly ask, “What do you mean, he’s dead? How could that have happened?”
“The platform he was standing on collapsed when he pulled the lever to start the fireworks. As he fell down the hole, his necktie caught on the hooked end of the lever and strangled him.”
“How the hell could that happen?”
“We don’t know, sir. No one heard anything. The fireworks and music were too loud. When it was time for the curtain call, the performer assigned to escort the audience member backstage couldn’t find him. That’s when we discovered him … umm … hanging in the trunk of the tree.”
“What’s his name? Where is the man now?”
“His name is Owen Brentwood. The hotel doctor came. He had us move the man and attempted to revive him.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. We waited for you.”
“Damn. Call them now. No one leaves or moves until they arrive. Do you hear me?” I grit out.
“Yes, sir.” Ron turns to spread the word, and I hear the security guard phoning the police.
I reach my arm around Lowri’s shoulder. Pulling her closer, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods, and with a serious tone I’ve never heard from her, she says, “Someone better get photos of the scene quickly. You need proof that the Athena wasn’t negligent in the set design. Can we look at the tree before the police arrive?”
That’s when I remember that she’s a lawyer.
“We can. Are you sure you’re okay seeing where the victim died?”
“This will be our only chance for a close look. After the police arrive, they won’t let us anywhere near it tonight. You need to know what you’re facing so your attorneys can protect you. A guest was mortally wounded on your stage. Whether you like it or not, someone will expect to be compensated. Let’s go. I can handle it if you can.”
“I’ve never seen this serious side of you.”
