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“Very. I already asked him to help.”

Something in her tone made me close the notebook.

“And he refused?”

“Yes. I told him what condition the attraction was in and offered enough that most people would have asked how soon they could start.”

I looked again at the creature above the doorway.

Most people had not made that.

“What does he do now?”

“As far as the town is concerned, mostly keeps to himself.”

Lisa did not add anything else, and I respected that. Small towns could turn one fact into an entire biography before dinner. I needed his skills, not gossip.

“Is there paperwork from when he built these?”

“There should be old contractor files in the site office. You’re running the turnaround, so look at anything related to the attraction that might help.”

Her radio erupted before I could answer.

“Lisa, the pumpkin-carving tent has tables, but no chairs.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“I’m beginning to suspect the chairs have formed their own municipality.”

I bit back a laugh while she answered the call and headed toward the front of the building.

For the next hour, I moved between the rooms and the site office, marking which pieces could be repaired, which could become static scenery, and which needed to disappear behind paint, darkness, fog, or a strategically placed performer.

I also found Duncan Rusk’s name repeatedly in the older records.

The records listed creature fabrication, mechanical effects, sculptural work, and installation.

The address attached to his old professional invoices was local.

I copied it into the back of my notebook.

I did not tell Lisa.

She had already asked him to help, and he had already told her no. Sending the same request through a different messenger would accomplish nothing.

I needed to see the man who had built the best pieces in this place and figure out whether there was another way to ask.

***

The grocery store was busy with people preparing for the weekend, and I maneuvered my cart between a display of cider jugs and a family debating how many bags of miniature chocolate bars constituted enough Halloween candy.

I had left Factory of Screams with an updated crew list, a revised room plan, and the uncomfortable certainty that the turnaround would be far stronger if Duncan Rusk could be persuaded to touch even a handful of those mechanisms.

Unfortunately, according to Lisa, he did not need money.

Fortunately, I had never believed money was the only useful form of persuasion.

I reached for two cans of pumpkin puree.