Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [51]
“A problem?”
“I think you know, son.”
“No, sir. No idea.”
After a long pause, Alejandro said, “You think I’m blind? There’s a stop missing, but we both know where it is, don’t we?”
“I don’t. I mean, I saw one was missing, but I don’t know who took it.”
“Listen, Brady, I told you there’d be a learning curve, didn’t I? You didn’t have to try to hide the damage.”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“Uh-huh. How’d it get down the ravine, then? You think you’re the first to think of that? We take inventory, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Alejandro chuckled, and for the first time, Brady thought he might skate. “That’s where all the broken ones go eventually, man. Why try to hide it? C’mon, Brady. I gotta be able to trust you. I’m not gonna take it out of your pay, but just tell me next time, okay?”
“Well, it wasn’t me, so . . .”
“Fine, but you’re responsible.”
Brady spent the rest of the day berating himself. Why did he bring this stuff on himself? And how hard could this homework be? If he just tried, his teachers would notice. But it was too late. There was no way he’d be ready for the exams, regardless. He would have to be so good at rehearsal that afternoon that everyone would see he was irreplaceable.
19
Ten Days Later | Adamsville
Thomas Carey’s best suit had been out of fashion for a decade, but Grace had matched the navy with a light blue shirt and medium blue tie. As he pulled up to the guardhouse at the state penitentiary, Thomas felt he looked as professional as he was able. He had splurged on new socks, and he always kept his oxfords spit shined. His big Bible was on the seat, and despite his discomfort at entering the facility alone for the first time—and wishing Chaplain Russ wasn’t already a full-time retiree hundreds of miles to the south—Thomas could barely contain his excitement.
The job was his. June Byrne had been amused, then enraged, by his account of the travesty in Oldenburg. He had passed her scrutiny without a hitch. In a few minutes he would be welcomed by the warden and his staff with a coffee and pastry break; then the warden himself would debrief him and lead him on a tour.
“Let me just study your face and your car for a second,” the officer at the guardhouse said, double-checking Thomas’s documents. “We’re careful, but we like to make this as quick and easy as we can on our full-timers. Every day I’ll peek in your backseat, and I’ll watch your eyes in case you need to tell me anything—like if someone’s stowed away in your trunk—but otherwise, like I say, we won’t detain you.”
“Pardon me,” Thomas said. “That sounds great. But if someone forced me to bring him here in my trunk, couldn’t I just—?”
“Leave him in there? Sure. But what if he had an accomplice at your house and was holding a loved one hostage who might be imperiled if you didn’t get the bad guy inside here?”
“I see.”
“It’s rare, Reverend. But we try not to miss a thing. Welcome aboard.”
Forest View High School
Mr. Nabertowitz had broken his own long-standing rule and begun to allow spectators at the daily rehearsals, and the Little Theater was usually at least half full. “Normally I worry that letting people in early will spoil sales,” he said. “But we’re already sold out for all six performances, and I want all the buzz I can get.”
News of the first dress rehearsal had traveled farther and wider than anyone expected, and the place was jammed. Parents came. Friends came. Even the local press showed up.
If Brady thought he’d gotten a taste of popularity by simply landing the Conrad Birdie role, he was soon to know what it was like to be a bona fide center of attention. The cast looked great, Brady shone in his gold lamé suit, and while the staging and timing were understandably still in process, it was quickly becoming clear that this show was going to be something special.
The highlight of the afternoon for Brady had been standing next to Mr. Nabertowitz when the father character was singing his big number about what was the matter with kids these days. The actor could barely carry a tune,