The small model had been repaired once. Its stop was a newer piece of wood. The real panel had been drilled twice. Lily began to suspect that the missing stop was not the only thing that had changed.

8. ARTHUR’S VERSION

Arthur Vale arrived at three, carrying a leather satchel and wearing polished boots unsuited to a demolition site. He was a narrow man in his seventies, with June’s high cheekbones and none of her warmth. When he saw the group waiting, his expression hardened.

“June,” he said. “I thought you were finished making trouble here.”

“You thought wrong.”

Arthur recognized Walter, then Daniel. He did not recognize Lily until June introduced her as the daughter of the man who had saved Benji.

“Hart,” Arthur repeated. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Why?” Lily asked.

“Because this family has suffered enough from that afternoon.”

June held out Nessa’s photograph. “Why are you measuring the blue-room panels?”

“For the display.”

“Without telling me?”

“You don’t own the panels.”

“I designed them.”

“And the theater paid for them.”

Walter interrupted. “Did you change the guide brackets?”

Arthur’s eyes flickered toward the panel leaning against the wall. “Those brackets have been replaced half a dozen times.”

“Not after the room was locked,” June said.

“Then someone replaced them before.”

Lily watched Arthur’s hands. He held the satchel against his leg with his left hand, but his right thumb kept rubbing a pale patch on his ring finger.

“What is the heritage display supposed to do?” she asked.

“Show people what the theater used to be.”

“Will the walls move?”

Arthur looked at her. “A little. A demonstration. No children inside.”

“Using the original mechanism?”

“A modern drive system.”

“Then why are you moving old brackets?”

Arthur’s patience snapped. “Because the original pieces have to fit. And because this project is already behind schedule.”

June stepped between them. “If you’re taking pieces from the room, I want to see exactly what you’ve done.”

“You have no authority over the installation.”

“Then show me as a courtesy.”

“No.”

The refusal changed the room. Walter looked at his former colleague with something like recognition, as if a long-standing suspicion had finally found a shape.

Arthur turned to leave. Lily spoke before he reached the door.

“My father wrote that the walls listened. What did he mean?”

Arthur stopped.

“It was a children’s joke,” he said.

“He hated that joke.”

“Then your father was humorless.”

“He also said somebody made a choice.”

Arthur looked back. “People say things when they’re frightened.”

“Did you?”

For a moment Arthur seemed ready to answer. Instead he walked out, leaving the smell of his cologne hanging over the sawdust.

June sank onto a stool. “He used to be the one who taught me how to build things,” she said. “Now I don’t know what he’s protecting.”