CHAPTER TWO — THE REHEARSAL ROOM

The dispatcher instructed Rachel not to force entry while the situation remained uncertain.
Rachel stood where she could see the main entrance and the narrow emergency door.
“What’s your name?” she called.
“Leo.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Can you open the main door?”
“Someone put a padlock on the outside.”
Rachel stared at the front hasp, which had never been part of her rental arrangement.
A blue steel lock now secured the door.
She had walked past the entrance an hour earlier and had not noticed it in the fading light.
“What about the emergency door?”
“It opens, but the alarm keeps screaming.”
Rachel looked at the red fragments on the ground.
“The alarm is broken now.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
The young man hesitated.


“Mrs. Vale said she’d come back.”
Miriam closed her eyes.
Rachel turned toward her.
“You knew a person was locked inside my building?”
“I knew the front door was locked.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I didn’t think he would trust you.”
Rachel felt as if the concrete had shifted under her feet.
A siren sounded in the distance.
A police cruiser arrived first, followed by a fire department utility truck.
Officer Denise Armand asked Rachel to identify herself and describe what she knew.
Rachel showed her the rental agreement, the broken alarm, and the padlocked entrance.
A firefighter cut the new padlock with bolt cutters.
The door swung inward, revealing a boy of perhaps seventeen seated beside a stack of folding chairs.
He wore an oversized black sweatshirt and carried a canvas bag clutched against his chest.


There were no injuries visible on his face, but his hands shook as he stood.
“My name is Leo Marin,” he said before anyone could ask.
“I came here for an audition.”
A paramedic guided Leo to the ambulance so he could be examined and speak with officers away from the crowd.
Rachel told Officer Armand that the room was licensed for rehearsals, not overnight confinement.
“Who’s responsible for the rental?” the officer asked.
“Northstar Youth Performance, according to the paperwork.”
“Who signed for the key?”
“A woman named Celia Hart.”
Miriam made a choking sound.
“That’s not her name.”
Rachel and the officer turned together.
“Then what is it?” Armand asked.
Miriam rubbed her hands down the front of her cardigan.
“She’s called Celia because she wants people to think she still works with the theater.”
“What theater?”
“The Wilton Playhouse.”
Rachel recognized the name immediately.
The Wilton Playhouse had closed three years earlier after a funding dispute.
Miriam had worked there as a costume supervisor for most of her adult life.
“Her real name is Dana Rusk,” Miriam said.
“She’s my niece.”