22. Lowri
LOWRI
E mily sent a security guard to escort me this morning. I’m thankful for the company when we walk into the desolate theater. Alone, it would be spooky.
The darkness is broken by spotlights softly illuminating the row of seats where Sean and I sat during the show. We decided that would be the perfect location to hold the individual meetings, so he had Emily arrange for lighting.
Leaving the guard near the entrance, I weave my way to the lighted row. Facing the dimly lit stage, I replay the mesmerizing performance in my head. My body shivers, remembering the moment we learned about the tragic accident.
With the show temporarily closed, the managers and crew have time to address safety concerns. They also cancelled rehearsals until the investigation is complete. That means only a handful of people are working in the theater today. Fortunately, Emily arranged for the ones on my list to be here.
My first meeting is with the lead female performer, Amelia.
“Ms. Upton, is that you?” a woman’s voice asks from behind me.
Turning, I say, “Yes, I’m Lowri. You must be Amelia. Please join me and have a seat.”
“Okay. They said you wanted to ask me questions about the other night.”
“Yes. I’m one of the attorneys for the Athena. I’m investigating Mr. Brentwood’s death.”
“I didn’t see what happened.”
“Understood. Will you answer a few questions anyway?”
“Sure.”
“Do you mind if I record our conversation? I’ll use it to make notes later.” Technically, I don’t have to ask in Nevada. Unlike California, if one person consents–namely me–that makes it okay. I want Amelia to be comfortable though.
“No. That’s fine.”
“Did you notice anything different during that performance compared to the first two nights of the show or the rehearsals?”
“Everything went as usual, except it was the first time we used the tree to set off the fireworks.”
“What do you mean? I understood that the show had opened two nights before?”
“It had, but the tree wasn’t ready. During the earlier performances, the audience member stood on stage with the performers and pretended to light a fuse with a match.”
“I see. Why couldn’t you use the tree?”
“We’d had a few mishaps during rehearsals. The prop guys were unwilling to use the tree until they were certain it was safe. I heard Ron pressuring them to make sure it was onstage the night Mr. Brentwood died.”
“Why that night?”
“Because Mr. Cartwright would be attending.”
“Oh. Do you think they cut corners, and the tree still wasn’t ready?”
“I don’t know what to think. Clearly, there was a problem with the tree that night, but it wasn’t what we thought was broken.
We thought the control lever for setting off the fireworks wasn’t working.
We hadn’t heard about any problems with the hatch door in the platform.
We’ve had so many mishaps that I’m starting to believe the show is jinxed. ”
“What other mishaps?”
“The first accident was when the fireworks went off at the wrong time, burning the leg of one of the dancers. Another day, a dancer slipped on an oily spot on the stage and hurt her shoulder when she fell. Those are the only accidents that I witnessed firsthand. I’ve heard about others.”
“What else did you hear about?”
“I heard that the fake rock wall fell, and a bunch of performers landed on top of each other. The makeup crew said they spent forever covering up the resulting bruises. Then Reese messed up his ankle the same night that Mr. Brentwood died. He said the silk that he was supposed to climb gave way, causing him to fall.”
“Is it common to have this many issues in a show?”
“There are always a few snags but not like this, particularly when it’s a high-end show.”
“Do you think they were all accidents, or do you suspect someone has been trying to sabotage the show?”
“Before the last one, each accident seemed minor. Together, they start to add up, particularly given what happened to Mr. Brentwood.”
“Right. Has anything else happened that you considered out of the ordinary?”
“No. Oh, wait a minute. There was one odd thing. During a dress rehearsal, one of my costumes was filled with pins that left me with pricks all over.”
“Ouch! Were the pins left in after alterations?”
“That’s what was strange. The woman who does our fittings swore she hadn’t done any alterations because the costume was perfect the last time that I tried it.
That incident gave me nightmares. I woke up the next morning in a sweat having dreamed I was a voodoo doll, and someone was repeatedly poking me with pins.
Remembering it makes me cringe,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug.
“That’s horrible,” I say as chills run down my spine.
With a nervous laugh, she says, “No kidding. I didn’t sign up for costume acupuncture or the nightmare.” Looking down to check her smartwatch, she says, “I have to leave for another appointment. Is there anything else I can help with before I go?”
“That’s all for now. I appreciate your time. Hopefully, the show will be up and running again soon. Where can I find the person in charge of props?”
“That would be Kenny. He’s our prop master. Follow me, and we’ll find him.”
Amelia shows me around backstage as we search for Kenny. After a few minutes, we spot him on the catwalk high above the stage.
“Hey, Kenny. Do you have a minute? Can you come down? The hotel’s attorney needs to ask you some questions,” Amelia shouts.
He calls down, “Sure. Be there in a minute.”
“Good luck figuring out what happened. The show needs to reopen soon, or else a bunch of people will be out of work,” Amelia says, a frown darkening her face.
“We’re doing our best. Before the show starts up again, Mr. Cartwright needs to make sure it’s safe.” That means figuring out why there have been so many mishaps, including the ultimate tragedy that befell poor Mr. Brentwood.
The prop master arrives as Amelia exits the stage, waving a quick goodbye.
“Kenny, I’m Lowri. Is there somewhere we can talk?” I ask as we shake hands.
“Sure. Let’s go to my office.”
As I’m following him across the stage, we walk around a cart with several long sashes and various hardware. I stop, asking, “Kenny, are these the sashes the acrobats use?”
He returns to the cart, saying, “They’re called aerial silks. And yes, those are for the acrobatics.”
“Mr. Cartwright and I noticed one of the performers hurt his ankle during the show. What happened? Was there a problem with his aerial silk?”
“That was Reese. He messed up his ankle when his silk tore. He was furious.”
“What happened?”
“He’s over there. You should ask him. Hey, Reese, come here for a minute.”
“What’s up, Kenny?”
“This is Lowri Upton. She’s an attorney investigating the accidents we’ve had. She wants to ask you questions about when the silk ripped during the last show.”
“Okay,” he says skeptically.
“Nice to meet you, Reese. Where did the silk tear? At the top?”
“No. For that scene, the silk is rigged with a loop at the bottom where I put my foot. The loop ripped open. It caught me off guard. I tried to hold on with my hands, but I slipped before my grip took hold.”
“How did it tear?”
“I don’t know. The rigging specialist inspects the silks before each show. Originally, I assumed the silk caught on something sharp, but no one has found anything that could have snagged it. I wonder if someone messed with the silk on purpose.”
“Kenny, is that what you think?”
“Of course not. The silk likely had a weak spot or tiny tear that the rigging specialists missed.”
Fisting his hands at his side, Reese says in a slightly raised voice, “They are professionals. They wouldn’t miss anything that important. Besides, it’s my life on the line, so I double-check my equipment. It was fine before the performance.”
“From a distance, your silk looked like a vine. Was it one of these?”
“Vines were intertwined with a silk for that scene,” Reese explains.
“I see. Could the leaves have hidden a weakness?”
“No. If you don’t have any other questions for me, I’ll get back to work. I’m rechecking all my silks,” Reese says.
“That’s all. Thanks for your time,” I say.
“Kenny, how can you prevent accidents in the future?”
“I’ll have a second rigging specialist double-check every silk during the rigging. It’ll slow down the setup, but I can’t afford another fall. Reese was lucky he only dropped about two or three feet. It would have been much worse if he’d been higher when the silk tore,” Kenny says.
I shiver at how close we came to two dead men that night. That brings me back to the main reason I’m here. “Is the tree still backstage, or did the police take it as evidence?”
“It was too large for them to haul away, so they wrapped it in crime scene tape.”
“That’s too bad. I hoped you could demonstrate exactly how it was supposed to work.”
“I can point out the general idea from the outside. Follow me.”
“Thanks. Why didn’t you use the tree during the first two nights of the show? Was there a problem with the hatch door or the platform where the audience member was supposed to stand?”
“No, that wasn’t the issue. There was a wiring issue that prevented the lever from setting off the fireworks. We gave up on troubleshooting it and completely rewired it the morning of the show you saw. That fixed it.”
“Had you tested the platform?”
“Of course. We had been on and off the platform several times that day. There wasn’t anything wrong with the platform.”
“Then how did the trap door in the platform fall open when Mr. Brentwood stood on it?”
“I have no idea. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure it out.”
“Have you inspected the interior of the tree? The night of the accident I saw several screws on the inside floor of the tree trunk. Could they have fallen out under Mr. Brentwood’s weight?”
“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.