CHAPTER EIGHT — THE WRONG DELIVERY

Adrian visited his father after the inspection and brought Emily along.
Thomas had spent the afternoon refusing pain medication because it made him sleepy.
He looked embarrassed when Emily arrived carrying soup from Larkin’s.
“I can eat on my own,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“Then why the soup?”
“Because you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Adrian laughed, but Thomas did not.
He studied Emily until she sat down.
“Did you find the can?”
“We found a substitute.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“I should have stayed in the booth that night.”
“You should have spoken the next morning,” Emily said.
“Yes.”
“We need you to stop measuring this by what you should have done and help us with what we can do now.”
Thomas opened his eyes.


Emily showed him a diagram of the booth.
“Where was the sound cabinet?”
He pointed without hesitation.
“Right of the second projector.”
“Did Victor know the sound was separate?”
“He watched us record it.”
“Who else knew?”
“Helen, the editor, and three students who helped with the interviews.”
“What did the recordings capture?”
Thomas hesitated.
“One argument in the lobby.”
“Whose argument?”
“Victor and the contractor who worked on the seating.”
Emily leaned forward.
“About what?”
“The contractor was angry because Victor wanted him to invoice the same equipment twice.”
“Did you hear this yourself?”
“I heard pieces.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Thomas glanced at Adrian.
“Because I thought it was business I didn’t understand.”
Adrian stood abruptly and walked to the sink.
“Dad, you keep saying that about things you understood perfectly well.

”
Thomas looked stricken.
“Perhaps I do.”
The admission changed the room.
For the first time, Emily saw that Adrian was carrying his own anger rather than merely delivering his father’s regrets.
“You told us all our childhood that the Beacon died because neighbors stopped caring,” Adrian said.
“You let me repeat that story.”
Thomas folded his hands.
“I did.”
Adrian looked at Emily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for your father’s silence,” she answered.
“He can do that himself.”
Thomas nodded, accepting the distinction.
“I was afraid of losing my job,” he said.
“Then I lost it anyway.”
Emily did not console him.
She asked him to tell the city investigator everything he remembered, including the things he had previously dismissed as ordinary business.
Thomas agreed.

Later that night, Emily received a call from June Navarro.
“Someone was looking for you at the restaurant,” June said.
“Who?”
“A man who wouldn’t give his name.”
“What did he want?”
“He said he had something from the Beacon.”
Emily felt her stomach tighten.
“Did he leave it?”
“No, but he told me to tell you the blue arrow isn’t the only mark on the can.”
“What else?”
“He said you should look for a yellow triangle.”
Emily stared at the yellow envelope beside her bed.
“Did he say where?”
“Inside the lid.”
“Did he seem frightened?”
June paused.
“He kept checking the parking lot.”
Emily thanked her and wrote down the message.
She had just learned that someone else knew exactly how the lost can was marked.
And that person had chosen a restaurant rather than a police station to approach her.