Page 61 of Script Swap
“If he’s telling the truth.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.Carlos is almost seventy years old, and on top of that, he’s an angel.A beautiful angel, I might add.He didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“I understand, but—”
“But nothing, Dash.Now, why are you here?What did you say about robbers?”
It took me a moment to remember my earlier theory.I shook my head.“I wanted to look around.See if there was anything that might explain why someone would attack your father.”
“Like the fact that he has apparently run The Foxworthy into the ground?”But Fox held up both hands.“I’m sorry.I know you’re trying to help.”
“Doyouhave any idea who might have wanted to—” I almost saidkill him, but I changed it to “—hurt him?”
Fox rubbed their eyes and left a streak of mascara along one temple.Seconds ticked past.A gull called, the sound far off.“I’ve been trying to figure that out all night.I don’t know, Dash.My father is many things, most of them frustrating, but he’s not a bad man.This is a community theater.We do summer stock.There are no jaded actors out for revenge, no playwrights with disappointed dreams, no set designers with their careers cut short by a tragic injury.”
Maybe not.But I couldn’t quite bring myself to point out that there were, apparently, a lot of people owed money by The Foxworthy.And there were the people on the board of directors.There were people who had money tied up in the theater.And money made people do crazy things.
“I can’t help thinking it has something to do with Kyson’s death,” I said.“It seems like too much of a coincidence: Kyson is murdered, and he has those photos of your father—”
“Those photos don’tmeananything,” Fox said.“They’re photos.Who knows why Kyson had them?Maybe he took them by accident; you know how that can happen when people press the wrong button on their phone.”
Again, I kept my mouth shut.Older people, maybe.But not someone Kyson’s age, who had practically grown up with a phone in their hand.
Instead, I said, “I just have a hard time thinking it’s not all tied together.And it all started when Kyson said, ‘I know what you did.’Someone swapped his script.And Kyson figured it out.I’m starting to think your father had an idea who it was.Or the killer, whoever they were, was afraid he’d figure it out.”
“There you go,” Fox said, waving a hand.“The photos mean nothing.”
That seemed like a large—and counterintuitive—leap, but all I said was “Do you mind if I look around?”
Fox made a noise that probably qualified as assent as they took out their phone and dropped into a chair.
I did a quick check of the desk first: it was a sleek, modern piece of glass and chrome.The desktop was clear, and it had only two drawers.The top one held an organizer tray with paperclips, rubber bands, pens and pencils, sticky notes, even a pad of stationery that said TF at the top.
There was also an envelope full of cash—and I meanfull, like, the flap wouldn’t close.
“Fox,” I said.
Their head came up, and I beckoned them around the desk.
When Fox saw the envelope, they said some words that you can’t say onSesame Street.
“Does your dad usually keep cash on hand?”
“An envelope full of it, you mean?”Fox asked.“Like the payoff from a drug deal?No, Dash, he doesn’t.”
I let the comment slide.It was a lot of money—most of the bills, from what I could see, were fifties and hundreds.But it wasn’t alotof money, if you know what I mean.This wasn’t enough cash to explain the second mortgage.
“God bless me,” Fox said (not exactly their words, but you get the idea).“What was that man doing?”
Drugs did come to mind.That was one explanation for why Terrence might need that much cash.An equally possible answer, though, was taxes.If The Foxworthy was in trouble, then maybe Terrence was trying to do as much business in cash as possible.He might be paying the actors in cash.He might be buying equipment or supplies in cash—if nothing else, because vendors might not sell to him on credit anymore.
There were other, less savory possibilities that I wasn’t ready to consider.
“Do you want to take it?”I asked.“It’s not secure.”
Fox stared at the cash.Finally, in a dispirited voice, they said, “Let me think about it.”
I slid the drawer shut and opened the lower drawer.This one was larger, and it was designed for hanging folders.It was currently full to capacity—and maybe beyond.Many of the folders were marked with tabs that explained their purpose—Taxes 2019orUtility BillsorCar.Others were clearly connected to Terrence’s work at the theater, with labels likeSet IdeasandFoxworthy Future Shows.For all of Fox’s complaints about his father’s childlike behavior, there was no evidence of it here; if anything, Terrence seemed surprisingly—unexpectedly—organized.
