“Can you hit that?” She points at the red glow of a camera mounted above the entrance to the gift shop. She’s made a point of avoiding its scope on their tour.

It sounds like a gun going off, the way the camera snaps off its mooring.

“Wow, okay,” she says. That’s the only camera monitoring the store. Her heartbeat picks up, remembering the keys she still has, buried deep in her bag. “Hang on a sec. I have to—” But he’s already launching another stone at a nearby overhead light. No matter Frank’s plan, they added flood lighting in the 1980s. Had to—disability compliance, safety regulations or something. This willful destruction probably would’ve tickled the old guy. Back to the land, to nature’s intention. To his.

Jason sidearms a stone and takes out a knee-height walkway light. “Not those,” she says, shaking her head. “Those are originals. Or from the fifties, at least.”

“Oh, okay.” He nods like he understands, like he’s not glassy-eyed and swaying. He’s rooting for another rock when she touches his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

She lets herself into the shop, wraps her hand in one of those geometric silk scarves all the docents wear around their necks, and starts pecking at the register. They haven’t changed the code, and while it has only $200 in twenties and fives and tens, she finds the jewelry case key is still under the cash drawer. She clears out the bracelets, takes a handful of cufflinks and Wright-inspired watches and the silver letter openers. As she grabs a fistful of rings she hears another hit, but it sounds different from the quick snap of plastic and metal and glass, the extinguishing of filaments. It comes from somewhere behind her, toward Wright’s studio and the parked car. This one is loud, a boom thick enough to echo up the hills. Then everything goes dark: the green numbers on the register, the balustrade lights, the remaining overhead floods. Even the lamp glowing in Wright’s studio—the one the tour guides insist they keep on all night, like some sort of beacon—stutters off.

“Jason?” she calls into the dark. “Are you all right?” She hears nothing, sees nothing. Then she catches a movement in the window. She starts, but realizes it is only her own reflection, a dark shadow against the creeping glow of the city. She watches herself for a moment, until the horizon goes bright with red and blue.