Page 35 of Reckless Chance

“No. The platform was built to withstand several times his weight.”

“Is it possible that not all of the screws were installed in the first place?”

Kenny’s demeanor turns from friendly to gruff in an instant. “How dare you accuse me of running a shoddy operation here. I’ll have you know my crew and these props are top-notch. We take safety seriously. The door in the platform was properly installed and secured,” he growls.

“I didn’t mean to question the professionalism of you or your crew. We’re all human, and sometimes people forget things or make mistakes.”

“We don’t make that kind of mistake. People’s lives are at risk here. I’d swear on my grandmother’s grave that there was nothing wrong with the tree when we inspected it that afternoon.”

“Are you saying that someone sabotaged it?”

“I’m saying it wasn’t me or my crew. You can draw your own conclusions. I need to go now.”

That was an adamant denial of fault. What about all the other mishaps Amelia mentioned? Are they all random accidents rather than safety failures? Or is sabotage to blame?

Hopefully, the stage manager can shed more light on the situation.

Nope. Twenty minutes later, I still don’t know much more. Ron was understandably upset about what happened and had trouble discussing it. He blames himself for Mr. Brentwood’s death because it occurred during one of his productions. He’s beating himself up over it.

I’d hoped Ron would have an explanation for all the injuries and issues during rehearsals. Instead, he chalked them up to bad luck, carelessness by performers, and snags in perfecting a complicated production. As for the tree prop, he’s convinced the latch was defective and wants to sue the manufacturer. When pushed for his reasoning, he didn’t have any support. His theory is pure speculation.

Bottom line: I know more than before the interviews. However, my list of unanswered questions is longer. Most importantly, why are so many performers suffering unexplained injuries?

I’ll listen to the recordings on my phone and type up notes. Then I’ll talk to Sean.

23

SEAN

Finally escaping my office around 7:00 p.m., I expect to find Lowri in my apartment. Instead, I’m met with silence. While that was my comfortable, pre-Lowri norm, today it’s unsettling. I’ve quickly become accustomed to her cheerful presence. Extracting my phone from the inner pocket of my jacket, I quickly send a text.

Me: Where are you?

Lowri: In my suite typing notes from my interviews.

Me: Come on up. Let’s talk about what you learned. I have new info to share too.

Lowri: Sounds good. Do you have any snacks? I’m starving.

Me: I have plenty to fill you up.

Lowri: You’re such a comedian tonight. I need actual food.

Me: Couldn’t resist. Don’t worry. I’ll order snacks. We can’t have you losing your strength this early in the evening.

Lowri: You’re too much. Give me 10 minutes.

I was only half-joking. She’ll need her strength for the evening I’ve planned. Food is easy though. One of the advantages of living in a high-end hotel is the twenty-four-hour room service.

Order placed,I change into khakis. As I’m pulling on a knit shirt, I hear the elevator from Lowri’s suite open.

“Sean, where are you?” she asks as the doorbell rings.

“Lowri, that should be the food. Walter has the night off. Can you let them in? I’ll be out in a second.”

“No problem.”

When I emerge from my bedroom a couple of minutes later, Lowri is already moaning over a mouthful of truffle macaroni and cheese. She didn’t even bother to sit down. I knew she would enjoy comfort food.