Chapter 1 - The Waitress Who Threw Wine at a Mafia Boss Before the Chandelier FellClara looked at Adrian for several seconds.
“What would you prefer?”
Adrian's expression hardened.
“The truth.”
“That I protected you?”
“Yes.”
“That I did it because I noticed something you didn't?”
“Yes.”
“That I don't care about your dry-cleaning bill?”
A faint flicker crossed his eyes.
“I already know that.”
For the first time since the chandelier fell, Clara almost smiled.
Then she remembered the evidence sleeve.
Her expression changed.
“I didn't sign that form.”
Marco stepped forward.
“We'll verify it.”
Clara nodded.
She looked at the wreckage again.
The chandelier had fallen with terrifying precision.
Not onto the ballroom floor.
Not across a random section of tables.
Onto Adrian's chair.
The chair she had forced him to leave.
Someone had wanted him standing exactly where the fixture fell.
That wasn't an accident.
And whoever had planned it knew exactly where Adrian would sit.
Clara's stomach tightened.
She turned toward the service corridor.
“Your security cameras.”
Marco followed her gaze.
“What about them?”
“The west corridor camera.”
“What about it?”
“There shouldn't be one.”
Marco frowned.
Clara pointed.
“There used to be a blind spot between the rehearsal doors and the fly-tower stairs. Someone installed a new camera.”
“How do you know?”
“My father worked this building.”
Marco immediately looked at Adrian.
Adrian nodded.
“Show me.”
They moved through the corridor.
Clara remained behind them.
Charles Whitaker protested.
“I cannot allow employees to enter restricted areas.”
Adrian turned.
“Watch me.”
They reached the security station.
The operator pulled up the footage.
At 6:31, a man in maintenance overalls entered the west corridor.
He carried a toolbox.
His face was obscured by a cap.
At 6:34, he went upstairs toward the rigging level.
At 6:47, he came back down.
At 6:49, the same man left through a side entrance.
Clara stared.
“That isn't maintenance.”
“How can you tell?” Marco asked.
“The boots.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Maintenance staff wear reinforced work boots. Those are stage shoes.”
Marco zoomed in.
She was right.
The man had worn soft-soled shoes.
Designed for walking quietly on catwalks.
Adrian stared at the screen.
“Find him.”
Marco nodded.
“Already trying.”
Clara turned away.
She suddenly felt exhausted.
Adrian noticed.
“You should sit.”
“I need to finish my shift.”
“The event is over.”
“I don't get paid if I don't finish.”
He stared at her.
“You're worried about missing two hours of wages after someone tried to kill me?”
Clara met his gaze.
“My landlord doesn't accept gratitude.”
For the first time that night, Adrian actually laughed.
It was short.
Almost unwilling.
Clara hated how much she liked the sound.
Then a man approached them.
He was old.
Maybe sixty-five.
Gray beard.
Black coat.
His eyes fixed on Clara.
“Hayes?”
Clara froze.
“Yes?”
“You're Evelyn Hayes's daughter.”
She swallowed.
“My mother?”
The man's face softened.
“Your father.”
Clara took one step toward him.
“Who are you?”
The man hesitated.
“My name is Nathan Cole.”
Adrian went completely still.
Marco noticed.
“Nathan?”
Nathan looked at him.
“I didn't know you were here.”
“Neither did I.”
“What do you want?”
Nathan glanced toward Clara.
“I heard there was an incident.”
His eyes moved to the shattered chandelier.
Then back to her.
“I was Tobias Moretti's stage consultant.”
Clara's heart skipped.
“Tobias?”
Adrian's older brother.
The man who had disappeared from the public world three years earlier after supposedly becoming ill.
Clara had never heard Adrian talk about him.
Nathan lowered his voice.
“Your father worked with Tobias.”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“Where?”
“Behind the scenes.”
“What does that mean?”
Nathan looked at Clara.
“It means your father knew the Moretti family before Adrian became the man he is now.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“That's enough.”
Nathan ignored him.
“He also knew something about the rigging.”
Clara whispered, “What?”
Nathan looked at the chandelier.
“Your father believed somebody had been using stage equipment to kill people.”
Clara felt cold.
“People?”
Nathan nodded.
“Not accidents.”
Her hand went unconsciously to the pendant at her neck.
The last thing her father had given her.
A tiny silver theater mask.
He used to say:
“Every stage has a trapdoor. Never assume the floor is solid.”
Clara had always believed it was just something theatrical men said.
Now it sounded like a warning.
Adrian noticed the pendant.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
“His name?”
Clara's jaw tightened.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“You don't.”
Adrian looked confused.
“My father was Daniel Hayes.”
The name changed something in Nathan's expression.
Adrian looked at him.
“You know that name.”
Nathan swallowed.
“Yes.”
Before he could continue, every light in the corridor went out.
The security station went black.
A scream echoed from the ballroom.
Gunfire followed.
Adrian pushed Clara down.
Marco drew his weapon.
Three shots.
Then silence.
Emergency lights came on.
A body lay near the ballroom doors.
Charles Whitaker.
Dead.
A note had been pinned to his jacket.
Adrian walked toward it.
Marco stopped him.
“Don't.”
Clara stared from behind Adrian.
The note contained only four words.
ASK HER ABOUT DANIEL HAYES.
Clara felt the blood leave her face.
Adrian turned toward her.
For the first time that night, he wasn't looking at her like a waitress.
May you like
He was looking at her like a mystery.
And somewhere above them, in the rigging level, a killer had already disappeared.
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