Page 47 of Script Swap
The hum of the theater’s HVAC filled the silence.
“What?”I said.
“He’s the custodian—”
“I know who he is,” I said.“He almost killed me by dropping a wrench on my head.Why’d you arrest him?”
The sheriff’s expression became guarded.“There was sufficient evidence.”
“What does that mean?”
The sheriff didn’t answer.
“But—” I flailed about for a better way to say it, but I ended up back at square one.“He didn’t do it.”
Other sheriffs—lesser sheriffs—would have flapped their arms and turned red and told me I was an idiot.Sheriff Acosta, though, let out a long breath (who can blame her?) and said, “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dash,” Bobby said.
“What’s his motive?”
“Among other things,” the sheriff said, “it seems Terrence hasn’t been paying his cast and crew.”
“So Milton killed him?”
“I’m not saying that’s the only reason, Dash.They’ve worked here together for a long time.They go back together.Resentments build.And Terrence wasn’t an easy man to get along with.”The sheriff must have heard her slip at the same time I did because she said, “Isn’t.”
But I was already shaking my head.
“It’s possible,” Bobby said.“Milton had access to the box office.He would have known where the key to the safe was.He had access to the dressing rooms, too.He could have swapped Kyson’s script.If Kyson figured it out and confronted him, Milton might have panicked and killed him.And then he realized he was running out of time, so he went directly to Terrence, they argued, and—”
Something about the story rang true.Whoever had killed Kysonhadpanicked; otherwise, why clonk him over the head and leave him in the bathroom?And if itwasthe same killer, then it made sense their methods would have changed if the next killing had been more carefully planned and executed.But I still found myself saying, “It’s too much.”
“From what I understand, Milton made regular use of the catwalks,” the sheriff told me.“And they connect to the control booth.”
“But that means anybody could have gotten in there.”
“Dash, I’m not saying we have the whole case put together, but the man was covered in blood and trying to run—” The sheriff stopped herself and pushed back some of her curls.“I appreciate the points you’re raising, and we’ll take them into consideration as we continue this investigation.”
But I had a sneaking suspicion that meant something like:we’ll find extra nails to make sure we hammer this thing down tight.
“It wasn’t Milton,” I said again.“He’s a weird guy.And he might be involved somehow—I mean, I still don’t know if he was trying to hurt me the other day or if it was genuinely an accident.But this doesn’t add up.Why rob the box office, but then point a finger and make everyone suspicious by swapping the scripts and programming the lights to turn off?Why swap the scripts at all?It freaked Terrence out, I can tell you that much, but we have no idea why.What were those pictures of Terrence doing on Kyson’s iPad?And where’s Tinny?”
“Miss Fowler is at the hospital,” the sheriff said, and the subtext was: we’re done here.
I nodded.The sheriff murmured to Bobby, “Get home safely,” and Bobby thanked her, and the sheriff left.
But it came to me on the drive home, under the dripping Sitka spruce, with the Pilot’s headlights so bright that the fog glowed like it was on fire: it was too dramatic.The whole thing.It was too showy.Too stagey.
Hemlock House was waiting for us: polished wainscoting, damask wallpaper, thick rugs, crystal chandeliers.The smell of the cinnamon babka Indira had baked that morning, and the restlessness of the wind in the hemlocks and the shattering waves.
Keme and Millie came out of the billiard room, and I had about zero-point-five seconds before Millie crashed into me like a cruise missile.
“Are you OKAY?What happened?Fox called Indira and said THEIR DAD GOT HURT!”
Here’s the thing: Millie’s hugs are world class, but as a human being, I also have this strange need to breathe sometimes.Plus she was, uh, emoting right in my ear.
