21. Sean
SEAN
E mily knocks on my office door, distracting me from thoughts of Lowri. I’m thankful for the interruption because it’s time to get my head back into the game rather than dwelling on what I’d rather be doing with her.
“Sean, Detective Fielder is here. He insists on speaking with you.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He wouldn’t say. I can ask again.”
“Never mind. Send him in,” I sigh.
Just what I needed today—a visit from a homicide detective. That can’t be good.
“Detective, come in and have a seat. I’m surprised to see you. How can I help you today?”
“Mr. Cartwright, thank you for meeting with me. I’m sorry to bother you unannounced, but our investigators have been looking into Mr. Brentwood’s death. They’ve asked me to take over.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“As you know, his death may not have been an accident.”
“That’s not what I was hoping to hear,” I say.
“The evidence requires further investigation. You see, there’s a latch that locks the hatch door in the tree platform in place, but the latch failed.
“That sounds like an accident to me.”
“The problem is that all four screws securing the latch fell out at the same time. We found them lying on the floor of the tree. That’s suspicious. It may be nothing, but we’re looking into it.”
“Were the holes for the screws stripped, or were the screws too small? Or was Mr. Brentwood too heavy for the platform?”
“We don’t think it was any of those issues. The holes for the screws were fine. In fact, when they put the screws back in, they held. The investigators even had an officer much larger than Mr. Brentwood stand directly on top of the platform’s hatch. No problem. The hatch held his weight.”
“Then why did the hatch drop open during the performance?”
“We’ve come up with two theories. Someone may have forgotten to put the screws in the latch to begin with or didn’t tighten them enough.
The hatch door fit snuggly in the opening.
If no one stood on it, the door would stay in place regardless of whether the screws were securely in place.
The other theory is that someone purposefully removed the screws.
If that happened, we could be looking at carelessness or murder, depending on why the screws were removed. ”
“It’s still probable that it was an accident, don’t you agree?” I blow out a sigh of relief.
“Yes, but we’re concerned that so many people on the show have been injured. We wouldn’t expect that many accidents.”
“Accidents? I’m not aware of any except for the performer who sprained his ankle.”
“Yes, we interviewed that guy. His name is Reese. He complained about the production being unsafe. He said his ankle and the death were part of a lengthy list of accidents.”
“What the hell? Why haven’t I heard about them.”
“Prior to the death, the accidents were likely minor and didn’t merit your attention.”
“Recurring problems should always be brought to my attention,” I say, turning my head to stare out the window as my fists clench.
What is wrong with my employees? They never would have let down Dad like this.
I may be young, but I’m not merely a trust-fund figurehead.
I’ve worked a rotation in every damn department in this business.
Dad made sure I learned the ropes firsthand to be ready to take over.
Will our staff ever show me the respect and loyalty they showed Dad?
I’m not merely frustrated. I’m furious. If the production isn’t safe, I should have been informed, and the show should never have opened.
I can’t believe my trusted stage manager would put people at risk.
Not securing the hatch door with screws is beyond careless.
On the other hand, if someone intentionally removed the screws to work on the hatch, did they forget to put them back? Or was it malicious?
One way or another, I’ll find out what happened.
As I’m about to ask a question, my head of security, Daniel, pops his head into my doorway. “Mr. Cartwright, do you have a minute? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know the detective was here. Do you need my help with anything?” he asks Detective Fielder.
“Not now. I was updating Mr. Cartwright on the investigation into Mr. Brentwood’s death. If you run across any new evidence though, be sure to contact me.”
“Will do.”
“Daniel, are you here to give me an update on your side of the investigation?”
“No. I wanted to let you know that the guys who were monitoring security footage caught something unusual on one of the video screens. I can come back later if you prefer.”
“That’s okay. Let’s deal with it now. What did they see?”
“A couple of the Rossi family’s guys were talking to an Athena employee outside a back entrance near the parking garage. It didn’t look like a friendly conversation.”
“How do you know it was an employee?”
“He was carrying a blue keycard. Those are only issued to employees.”
Damn. Just what I need—the Vegas mafia involved with someone who works for the Athena.
The Rossi family should know better than to mess with me.
Our families have had a standing agreement for forever.
Why break it now—particularly when my college friend, Paxton Rossi, has taken over as head of the family?
“Have you spoken with the employee?” I ask.
“No. That’s the problem. We don’t know who it is yet.”
“What do you mean? You have him on video,” I say through gritted teeth.
“The man had his back to the camera, and after they finished talking, he walked away. He didn’t enter the building or the parking garage, so we can’t see his face.
The only way we know he’s an employee is that we got a quick glance at the blue keycard in his hand.
Those color video cameras we installed are paying off. ”
My anger is rising higher as I bark, “Find out who it is. Now! I won’t have the mafia anywhere near my business. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, boss. Don’t worry. We’ll find out who he is and kick him out the door,” Daniel says, saluting me as he walks away.
“The organized crime guys can check it out for you,” Fielder offers.
“Let’s hold off on that option for now. “We’ll figure out who the guy is and fire him. He’ll be banned from ever setting foot on this property again. That should take care of it. If not, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay. I’ll keep you posted on what we find out in the Brentwood matter.”
“Thanks. My attorney is also looking into the accident. Her name’s Lowri Upton. She’s Cassie’s friend. You met her earlier this year at the Guest Chef Competition dinner.”
“I remember her. She’s quite attractive. I didn’t realize she was your lawyer.”
“She wasn’t then. We recently hired her to represent us in the legal issues surrounding Mr. Brentwood’s accident.”
“I see. If she’s going to be around for a while, I wouldn’t mind asking her out. Could you put me in touch with her?”
“She’s not available,” I declare, staring holes through him for even having that thought.
Hands up in surrender, he says, “Sorry, man. I didn’t know you were involved with her.”
“It’s not like that. She’s … never mind. Just leave her alone.”
He chuckles. “No problem. Message received. I promise to stay away unless we’re talking about the investigation, okay?” he asks as he’s leaving.
“Sure,” I grumble.
I’ll be around for those talks. Lowri doesn’t need his attention.
Feeling a little possessive, are we? Shit. What’s happening to me?
“Emily, get in here,” I yell.
“Yes, sir. What do you need?”
“Set up a meeting for me with Paxton Rossi. ASAP.”
Her eyes go wide, shoulders tense, and the writing pad she’s holding drops to the floor with a thud.
“Are you alright?” I ask in a calmer voice, watching her retrieve the notepad.
Without looking at me, she says, “I never expected that name to be spoken here.”
“I gather you’re familiar with the Rossis?”
“Isn’t everyone who’s spent time working in Vegas?”
“That’s true. Don’t panic though. I’m not in business with him in any way. Among other things, I want to remind him to keep his employees away from the Athena. Do you know how to get in touch with his assistant?”
“I can figure it out. Where are you meeting?”
“Somewhere neutral.”
Strangely, her shoulders relax, and she lets out a sigh, saying, “I’ll take care of it now.”
As she walks out the door, I wonder why she had such a strong reaction to the Rossi name. Perhaps learning that her boss is meeting with the head of a mafia family shocks her.
Emily’s reaction is the least of my concerns, considering my unintended marriage, a dead guest, a series of unexplained accidents, and now the mafia on my doorstep. I’m afraid to think what’s next.