Page 20 of Script Swap
“Yes,” Nora said.“There was quite the…discussion about that after the show.And I suppose I believe Kyson; I don’t think evenhecould butcher a line so badly.But why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know.I was hoping you’d have an idea.”
Nora gave a helpless shake of her head.
I tried to think of how to say the next part without upsetting Fox.“Terrence and Tinny seemed particularly upset.”
“Did they?”Nora asked.“And you want to know why.”
“If you have any ideas.”
Another of those slanting smiles.“Unfortunately, I don’t.Aside from the obvious—this foolishness Terrence has gotten himself into.I’m sorry, Fox, but itisfoolishness.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Fox said.“It’s ridiculous.She’s practically a child, and he’s acting like every randy old goat throughout history.”
Nora gave a shrug that was surprisingly eloquent—the gist of it seemed to be:men.
“If you remember anything,” I said, “something unusual from last night, something you noticed, would you let me know?”
“Of course.”Nora folded my hand in hers.“And I meant what I said: I’d love to pick your brain sometime.In the meantime, however, I’m going to pack up my dressing room in case things keep escalating.I remember one time, she carried everything out to her car, and we had to get a locksmith to open the door.”
As she headed toward the dressing rooms, I said, “Give me some perspective here.Is this normal?”
Fox laughed.“I’d say you have to be more specific, but since we’re talking about theater types, the answer is no, nothing is normal.”They didn’t wait for me to reply.“That’s pretty much how Nora and Jonni always are, if that’s what you mean.Betty—the stage manager; you saw her talking to Jonni—is basically unflappable.And Milton—the only time I’d be worried about Milton would be if he actually started doing some work around here.”
“I guess I meant, shouldn’t they be rehearsing?”
“After last night’s debacle?Trust me, if my father hadn’t transmogrified into such a fool, he’d have them running lines until their voices dried up.”
Yikes.
“Okay, well, I guess I should take a look at the box office.Unless the sheriff still has the scene secured.”
“No,” Fox said, “she said we could use it tonight.Here we go.”
Fox took me through the house and out into the theater lobby.They produced a key and unlocked an old door near the front of the building.When they caught me considering the door, they said, “Trust me, I’ve told my father he needs to replace it with real security.”
I let that pass without any comment.
The ticket booth itself consisted of two areas.The main area held a long counter with two service windows, a CLOSED sign propped in each.Two aging cash registers sat at each station, along with two battered stools.Overhead fluorescents started buzzing as soon as Fox flicked them to life, and they were so bright that they picked out the dust bunnies on the floor.Posters on the walls.Betrayal!!!of course, since that was the current performance.There was also one forChristmas in July at Hastings Rock(clearly meant for the tourists with kids), and that perennial favorite,Our Town—I guess you had to do something during the rest of the year.The only thing truly of note was an ancient piece of masking tape along the edge of the counter, where it would only be visible to staff.In black marker, someone had writtenAl’s ghost was here.The tape looked old enough that it had fused to the laminate, and unless my oh-so-sexist education was wrong, the handwriting belonged to a boy.
The second part of the box office was behind another of those old wooden doors.Fox opened it with the same key.This back area was small, and it held only a desk, two chairs, and a safe bolted to the floor.On top of the desk sat a behemoth of a PC, a bill counter held together with duct tape, and a banker’s lamp.Overhead, an old fan with a stainless-steel cage hung from one corner of the room.Opposite it hung a little cube of a CRT television.Hints of fingerprint powder remained on the bill counter and the safe, which meant the sheriff was taking this seriously—not that I’d expected otherwise.
“Okay,” I said.“Talk me through it.”
“When my father came to collect last night’s cash, the safe was empty.”
“That’s pretty cut-and-dried.So, the obvious suspects would include whoever was working the box office, and whoever had access to the safe.”
“It’s not the boys,” Fox said.“There were two of them—Micah Borichewski and Seth Akiko.They’re teenagers, still in high school.Nice boys, and not exactly criminal masterminds.The sheriff put them through their paces, and although I don’t think I’m supposed to know this, it sounds like Micah bawled nonstop during the questioning, and Seth broke down and confessed that one time, he’d tried to put a slice of pizza in the drop safe.”
“You realize Keme’s almost the same age as those boys, right?”
“This is the same Keme who tied you up with a bath towel and left you that way until Bobby got home?”
“Because you stood there laughing!”I drew a deep breath.“Okay, how does a normal night go?”
“Well, whoever’s working the box office comes in around four.My father gets the float out of the safe, counts it, and signs it over.They work until half an hour after the show starts, and then they close the service windows.They bring the cash back here, verify each other’s count, and drop the money.”Fox indicated the safe; it wasn’t like any I’d seen before, because it had a narrow chute projecting off the side of it.“At that point, they’re done.My father comes in after the show, counts the money, and takes it to the night deposit at Hastings Rock Savings and Loan.That’s about it.”
