Mara took measurements and photographed the mechanism rather than trusting the company’s diagrams. At the far end of the gym, Leon pretended to sort lantern poles while watching her. As she passed, he murmured, “Ellis powered it up last night. I heard the gears through the wall.”

“Did it work?”

“For a while. Then one corner jumped.”

“Jumped?”

“Like the whole floor tried to kick something off it.”

Mara looked back at the polished platform. Under the overhead lights, the brass wheel seemed innocent, almost festive.

“Keep everyone away from it,” she told him.

As she went out the side door, Julian called after her.

“By the way, I heard about your camera. Terrible business. Must be unsettling to realize someone can walk straight up to your house.”

Mara turned. “Word does travel.”

“Small town.”

His yellow jacket disappeared back into the gym.

***

Gabriel Bellamy was waiting in Mara’s kitchen when she returned. He had made tea and failed to drink it. On the table sat a battered photograph showing eight teenagers, two adults, and a moving stage shaped like a crooked street of miniature houses.

Mara recognized Evelyn immediately. She was younger and grinning, with welding goggles pushed into her hair. Next to her stood Gabriel, one hand resting on the shoulder of a tall man with his sleeves rolled up.

“Who’s that?” Mara asked, pointing.

“Peter Vale. Evelyn’s mechanical partner. He built the first moving floor.”

“I thought she built everything.”

“She invented the illusions. Peter made them move.”

Gabriel turned the photograph over. A note read: ALICIA’S LAST NIGHT, OCTOBER 19.

Mara frowned. “Alicia?”

“Peter’s daughter. She was twelve. Loved the parade more than anyone.”

“Where is she now?”

“Lives in Portland, last I heard. She was hurt on the final night. Not badly enough to make headlines, but badly enough that Peter shut the machinery down.”

Mara examined the picture again. “Why would a platform hurt someone?”

“It shouldn’t have. That’s what nobody could understand.”

“Did Peter know?”

“He thought he did. Then he died the following winter, before he finished taking it apart.”

Mara laid the blue fob beside the photograph.

Gabriel flinched.

“Number four,” he said quietly.

“Tell me what it opens.”

“Peter kept four demonstration keys for the moving floor. They weren’t normal locks. Each key told a different portion of the mechanism how to move.”

“A key as a program selector?”

“Simple electrical contacts, really. Number four was the emergency rehearsal route. It was supposed to send every panel to a safe resting position.”

“Supposed to?”

Gabriel rubbed his forehead. “On the last night, the emergency route did the opposite. The platform pitched up under Alicia. She fell into the scenery and broke her collarbone.”