Page 24 of Script Swap (The Last Picks #11)

My sneakers scuffed stone as I stepped inside; the house must have been well-insulated, because it still held the night’s cool, the air laced with a hint of something that might have been cedar.

A sound reached me, and I stopped: voices, barely more than murmurs, but echoing in the large, empty space.

None of the niches, cubbies, or other architectural hidey-holes was occupied.

Above me was a loft-style second story. I waited.

The voices continued. A thunk. The rustle of papers.

I took the stairs slowly, testing each step.

Some of the treads wanted to groan, so I eased my way past them.

It could be a robbery. A robbery interrupted in progress.

And Fox could have been knocked out, rendered unconscious.

Bobby had warned me, when I first came to Hastings Rock, that the coast had some rough elements who might take advantage of a situation like this.

News that Terrence was in the hospital, his home unoccupied, could have spread to the wrong person.

Maybe Fox had shown up at exactly the wrong time.

(Although, to be fair, it was hard to imagine a burglar planning to cart away all the valuables in their sporty red coupe.)

The stairs opened ahead of me directly onto the second floor.

I could rush up the remaining steps and try to catch whoever was up there by surprise.

Or I could crawl the rest of the way and hope to get a look at them and then make an informed decision.

That was clearly the better option. It was safer.

It was prudent. Heck, it was responsible.

It wasn’t cowardly, no matter how many times Keme says you’re a wuss because you can only win at Fortnite when you shoot him in the back.

Before I could move, though, Fox stepped to the top of the stairs, saw me, and screamed.

I screamed.

Fox said a bunch of words that the boys in Fortnite say all the time (Indira would forbid me and Keme from playing if she knew, which is why we have a solemn pact to only play when we’re wearing headphones).

I said a bunch of words I read in a George R. R. Martin novel.

With an extra-dramatic wave of their arms, Fox shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Saving you from robbers!” I shouted back. But I lost some steam when I added, “Maybe.”

Fox let out a wordless sound that communicated: A) I was an idiot, and B) they were at the end of their rope.

To be fair, even if they ran out of rope, they’d probably be okay.

Today’s outfit combined the best of “college lesbian” with “Appalachian miner”: so much denim, so many chains, and let’s be real, the hat with the carbide lamp pulled it all together.

They had raccoon eyes, and their color was bad, but they’d clearly had time to go home, clean up, and change before—

“Wait,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

Grimacing, Fox moved back and waved for me to climb the rest of the way.

The landing or loft or mezzanine—or whatever it was called—carried the same aesthetic from the ground floor: pine paneling, nooks and crannies and crevices, an iron stove.

Unlike the ground floor, though, here large windows gave a view of the dunes and, beyond them, the ocean.

A desk and chairs took up most of the space, and papers covered the desk.

A man stood next to the desk. Older, Latino, he had a full head of dark, graying hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a white oxford with jeans, and although age had thinned him out, he still had a leading man’s good looks.

“Carlos needed to talk to my father,” Fox said. “Dash, Carlos Zugasti. Carlos, Dash Dane. Carlos is on The Foxworthy’s board of directors.”

“I didn’t know The Foxworthy had a board of directors,” I said.

“That was one of my father’s ideas. He had lots of explanations, but the bottom line was that he needed money, and that meant opening the theater up to patrons and…investors.”

Carlos smiled. “Investors might be putting it a little strongly.”

“Yes, well,” Fox said, “there is a certain fiduciary interest, nevertheless. And when Carlos found out that my father had been trying to take out a second mortgage on The Foxworthy, he wanted to discuss the matter.”

“I hadn’t heard about Terrence’s injuries,” Carlos explained to me.

Fox waved the words away. “I assured Carlos that my father would never be so stupid as to take out a second mortgage on the theater, and in fact, I wanted to show Carlos that we owned the theater free and clear—without even a first mortgage.”

The expression on Carlos’s face fell somewhere between a grimace and embarrassment. “Fox, I didn’t know he’d been hurt.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Fox said, but their focus was on me. “Because it turns out that my father is an idiot. Not one mortgage, but two. My God, if he lives through this, I’m going to kill him myself.”

The topic of the mortgage did raise interesting questions, but I found myself considering Carlos instead. “You live in Hastings Rock?”

“Part of the year,” Carlos said. “The summers.” A hint of amusement touched his voice. “I’ve kept track of all your accomplishments.”

“That’s maybe the politest way anyone has ever addressed the issue. And you’re on the theater’s board of directors?”

“That’s right. It’s hard to get integrated into the community when you only live there half the year, so I wanted to be involved, and I’ve always had a passion for the theater.”

“Right,” I said. “And you’re concerned about the second mortgage because…”

I let the sentence trail, and Carlos, with another of those mild grimaces, picked it up. “Because the second mortgage wasn’t discussed with the board. And because this is the kind of thing that we’re meant to be involved in.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“A friend of a friend,” Carlos said. “It’s a small town. People talk.” With a trace of hesitation, he added, “There’s been complaints about checks not being honored. Sometimes, that’s nothing more than an irregularity in the accounts. Funds don’t transfer in time, that kind of thing. But…”

“Is The Foxworthy in trouble financially?” I asked. “Has it been struggling?”

“No more than usual.” But Carlos’s mouth thinned into a line. “Assuming the numbers we saw were…accurate.”

Fox huffed.

“Was there a reason he might have needed the money?” I asked. “An expense that you’d discussed, but maybe he hadn’t communicated his plans clearly? I understand there are major renovations in the near future.”

“Oh God,” Fox said, “don’t get me started on the ‘event space.’”

“We’d already budgeted for the event space,” Carlos said. “Although we had to move up the timeline after the water damage. Once the summer season is over, everything should move ahead smoothly. I understand some other equipment needs to be replaced, but we never discussed a second mortgage.”

“Do you think your father might have needed the money for something else?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Fox said. “But I intend to ask him myself. Carlos, let me walk you out; I’m sure you’ll need to discuss this with the board.”

“If I’d known Terrence had been hurt,” Carlos said, “I wouldn’t have called. But I couldn’t get a hold of him, and I thought you might know—”

“Of course,” Fox said as they started down the stairs. “It’s not your fault my father is an irresponsible child.”

Carlos said something in response to that, but the echoes in the stairwell distorted the words, and then the front door opened and shut again.

Steps clomped up the stairs. “Well,” Fox said when they rejoined me, “he’s stealing. I suppose that’s a new low.”

“We don’t know what’s going on. Let’s wait and see.”

“What are we going to see? That my father’s recklessness has, once again, brought the family business to the tipping point?

That the old fool took out a second mortgage to buy some magic beans?

My God, Dash, the magnitude of his carelessness.

” Fox drew a deep breath and wrenched at the carbide lamp.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to hear all of that.

Poor Carlos; he’s such a sweetheart, and he’s only doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. ”

“Did you think he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know what had happened to your dad?”

“Carlos?” Fox laughed. “Dash, you don’t honestly think…”

“I don’t know. I’m asking. Was he at the play last night?”

“I have no idea. He must not have been, or he would have heard about my father.”

“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.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to—” I almost said kill 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. ”