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The Key She Kept When They Sold the Music Hall

"Twenty-six years I worked this hall," she said. Then the buyer's man drove his palm into her shoulder and called her a thief.

Wanda Reyes is the last stagehand on the payroll of a century-old music hall, closing night, one work light burning over the bare boards. If Hartley gets his way, she loses twenty-six years of service, her family's name in that building, and she ends the night in a police report.

Hartley walks her backward into the prop cage door. The latch clacks. Her canvas tool belt unbuckles and hits the boards with a flat thud — and a silver candlestick rolls out of it and skids three feet to the right, into the work light. "Looting for weeks. Save it for the police report."

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